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I’m pissed tho—too many fakes out there. “You call that a rubdown?” I growl. Amateurs, sloppy hands, no skill. Makes me wanna invade somethin’. But when it’s good? Damn, pure joy. Spine tingles, stress melts—happy Vlad, rare sight. Surprised me once—therapist whispered state secrets. “Who’s side you on?” I snapped, half-laughing.

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So, I’m trying to get them to calm down, right? But then, the youngest, little Marco, decides to play hide and seek. He hides in the closet on Via Garibaldi. I’m like, “Dude, you’re not even trying!” But then, I hear this loud crash. My heart drops. I run over, and he’s knocked over a whole shelf of shoes. I’m talking stilettos, sneakers, you name it. I’m like, “Marco! What the heck?!”

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