The Don Was Only a Smoke Screen
After returning home from a flight, I realize that my bottle of hair conditioner has run out in the bathroom.
The thing is, my husband, Carlos Zappa, doesn't use hair conditioner at all.
Seeing Carlos through the frosted glass, I decide to probe him for answers.
"Did any guests stay over lately? Or have you started doing hair care?"
Carlos flips through the documents, which are stamped with the Zappa family crest, impatiently at my questions.
"Maybe a maid accidentally toppled the bottle over when she was cleaning the bathroom. Also, why are you annoying me with such minuscule matters?"
When I put on the bathrobe, I feel a ticklish sensation coming from the collar. As soon as I look down, I notice a strand of dried yellow hair being entangled in the collar. The moment the steam dissipates, I see two pairs of intertwining handprints on the bathroom's glass door.
I never thought that my home would grow this popular during my one-week trip away from home.
I've been married to Carlos for three years, and yet this is my first time finding out that he's actually this wild in bed.
So, I secretly text my father, the Don of the Carozza family.
"Dad, Carlos has cheated on me. Does the bet we made three years ago still count?"