In a small Italian town, hundreds of years ago, there was a cobbler named Giuseppe. He was known for two things: making the finest leather shoes in the region and making the worst financial decisions this side of Naples.
Giuseppe owed a large sum of money to the town’s infamous loan-shark, Signore Malocchio. Now, Malocchio was an old, wrinkled, lopsided man with a mustache that looked like two caterpillars arguing. He was also, rather unfortunately, in love with Giuseppe’s daughter, Isabella.
Isabella was smart, beautiful, and had a glare so sharp it could cut prosciutto. She had no interest in Malocchio, partly because of his age and mostly because he once tried to impress her by juggling live eels at a town festival. (It did not go well.)
One day, Malocchio arrived at Giuseppe’s shop, clinking his gold rings together like a villain in training.
“Giuseppe!” he rasped. “Your debt is due, and your shoelaces won’t pay it. But—I am a romantic man! I will forgive your debt… if your daughter marries me.”
Giuseppe panicked. Isabella blinked twice, which, in her secret glare-code, meant, Don’t worry, Papa. I got this.
“I have a better idea,” Isabella said, stepping forward like a gladiator facing a lizard in a tuxedo. “Let fate decide.”
Malocchio raised a bushy eyebrow so high it almost became a unibrow. “Go on…”
“You see this path through the garden?” Isabella said, pointing to the village’s famous pebble walkway. “You’ll take two pebbles—one black, one white. Put them both in this small bag. If I draw the white pebble, Papa’s debt is forgiven, and I don’t have to marry you. If I draw the black one, I marry you and Papa’s debt is still forgiven.”
Malocchio grinned. He liked those odds. He was already planning wedding invitations in his head: “Malocchio & Extremely Unwilling Bride.”
But here’s the catch: Isabella had sharp eyes. As Malocchio bent down to pick up the pebbles, she saw him sneak two black ones into the bag. Classic villain move—right out of the “Shady People Doing Shady Things” handbook.
Still, Isabella said nothing. She simply smiled, reached into the bag, and pulled out a pebble.
Before showing it, she “accidentally” dropped it into the garden gravel, which was full of hundreds of pebbles that all looked alike.
“Oh no!” she said, the portrait of innocent clumsiness. “How clumsy of me! But no worries. We can just look at the one that’s still in the bag. That must tell us which one I picked, right?”
Malocchio froze like a meatball in a snowstorm. If he pulled out the other pebble, which was also black, everyone would know he’d cheated.
And so, in front of the mayor, two pigeons, and a random accordion player who showed up at the worst moments, Malocchio had to admit: “Well… looks like the one she picked was white. A deal’s a deal.”
The debt was forgiven. The wedding was canceled. Malocchio slunk away, muttering something about taking juggling lessons from someone less slippery.
And Isabella? She opened a successful conflict resolution business and started charging extra for “strategic pebble-based justice.”
