Manzo alla Sarda

Previously

…Giovanni looked up, a new light in his eyes. "The roof," he repeated. "There's a loose tile. I remember it from my childhood. I used to think it was where the birds hid their treasures." He stood, pushing back his chair. The moon was high now, casting a silver glow across the garden. "Tomorrow," he said. "We check the roof." I nodded, and we cleared the dishes together, the taste of myrtle still on our tongues. The night was warm, the cicadas loud, and the house felt full—of stories, of secrets, of the promise of what the morning might bring.