SISTERS OF ST. ROCK BACKSTORIES (AND OTHER TALES)

 

So, I heard what Kunto said.  Very brave of him. Now, allow me to return the favor. So, since we're sharing secrets tonight…Kunto, the great mastermind, invites me to a campfire in the wild. Stars, crickets, the whole postcard. Only… he forgets one tiny detail: fire. But Kunto, in his infinite confidence, just puffs out his chest like some budget Tarzan and goes: “Don’t worry, Leti’. I’ve got this.” And then he starts rubbing sticks together. Yes, this man decides he’s going to invent fire from scratch. Twenty minutes of grunting, sweating, muttering motivational quotes to the sticks. “Come on, feel the friction!” like he was flirting with them. And you know what? Miraculously, he gets a spark. His face lights up like he’s just split the atom. He actually yells, “Did you see that? I made fire!” But then the spark hits some leaves, and suddenly it’s apocalypse now. Flames everywhere. He panics, grabs the nearest bottle to put it out. Was it water? No. It was vodka. So instead of kil...

Kunto clears his throat again, grins at the guests, and says: Alright, let me reframe the whole scene for you… so Olimpia goes into the bank to see the notary. Very official business: papers, signatures, real estate, she’s basically rewriting history in there. Meanwhile, I’m outside, waiting in the car like her personal getaway driver. After two hours, the doors fly open. Olimpia charges out like she’d just conquered Wall Street single-handedly, eyes locked on what she thinks is my car. Without breaking stride, she yanks the door open and slides into the passenger seat like she owns it. Here’s the problem: not my car. It’s the car of a married couple. The husband is still in the driver’s seat, totally frozen, mid-phone call. His jaw drops, because out of nowhere, a glamorous stranger has just thrown herself into his life. He’s like, ‘Uh… hello?’ Meanwhile, his wife has just finished at the bancomat. She turns around, cash in hand, and sees this vision of Olimpia settling comfortably in...

Kunto clears his throat, smirking. He knows that what he’s about to say will probably get him killed before he even says: 'I do'. “Alright, you’re not ready for this, neither was I, but here we go... It’s 2AM. House silent. No lights. I wander into the kitchen... and there she is. Letizia. The same Letizia who swears she hates sweets, who spits at the word ‘darling,’ who insists sugar is weakness. The woman who brags her favorite flavor is blood and violence. And yet… what do I see? Her silhouette, hunched over the counter like Gollum... only instead of clutching a ring, she’s shoveling tiramisu straight from the tray. With a serving spoon. Mascarpone dripping, cocoa smeared across her lips like a crime scene. This legendary warrior of chaos, this self-proclaimed enemy of sugar… undone by dessert. I whisper, ‘You good?’ She spins around. Eyes wild. Points the dripping spoon at me like a dagger and growls: ‘You saw nothing. This never happened.’ And in that moment, I realized: h...

  “One missing ring. One furious storm. Zero survivors (except the coffee machine).”   '' Contains 100% Arabica. And 200% Violence.'' Singapore — 15:02 15:02: My engagement ring is no more. It’s expired. Gone to meet its maker . Letizia’s engagement ring? Dead. Kaput. Popped its clogs and yeeted itself straight into the void. Enter Letizia. Not  walks in —she  detonates  into the room. Her voice lands first, three seconds before her body, like an air raid siren duct-taped to a Harley. Then the storm hits: chairs scrape, mugs fly, and somebody’s dignity gets decapitated on impact. “What the actual hell is this circus?” she roars, scattering crew like pigeons at a bus station. Listen—if the ring had been gelato, sure, I’d get it. Gelato melts, people panic, accidents happen. But this was metal. Silver. With a coffee bean and a diamond in it. Bulletproof. Unless you’re cursed. Or stupid. Or both. So tell me—which one of you feral, caffeine-guzzling lunatics did it?...

Letizia and Olimpia had a whole notebook of “potential family upgrades,” and “Vinum Est Veritas” was, hilariously, the least dangerous one. Still enough to scandalize the family for an entire summer season. "Leti’, do you remember when we were, what—sixteen? And decided my family needed more laughter and Chianti?" Olimpia grinned, tossing a lazy glance her way. "One month after we met—just thirty days of reckless obsession, and suddenly we were plotting a heraldic coup." And plot they did. They actually replaced the Colonna Aldobrandi Normanni di Anguillara Sabazia family motto with: "Vinum Est Veritas. Etiam in Mane."    Wine is truth. Even in the morning. “We spent an entire weekend trying to pick it,” Olimpia nudged Letizia’s knee, smirking. “Remember? That scroll of fake Latin mottos—voting like it was Eurovision.” Letizia laughed. “We were so serious. Like, ‘This is history in the making.’ I still have the shortlist somewhere...” - “Semper Late, Sempe...