Little Gino Terwilliger was in his bedroom in his parents' London flat, drawing pictures of various gruesome deaths for the Simpson family, especially Bart, to give to his papa.
"Die, Bart! Die, Bart!" he shouted, using his now dull red crayon to scribble all over his drawing of Bart.
In his study, Bob was going over a new plan to sneak back into America and get to Springfield when he heard the faint sound of Gino crying, and it was coming closer and closer. When the door burst open, Bob angrily turned around in his chair and snapped, "Gino, how many times has Papa told you not to interrupt him when he's-"
Sniffling, Gino held his finger up for his father to see. Bob took a look and sighed impatiently.
"It's only a tiny paper cut, nothing to wail about. If it hurts that badly, get Mama to put a band-aid on it."
Gino wiped some tears off his cheek and left sadly.
Hours later, when Gino was in bed, Bob was still sitting in more-or-less the same position when he felt slender arms wrap around his shoulders.
"Roberto, amore, I am feeling lonely," Francesca whispered in a sultry tone.
"I'll join you soon, mia cara," Bob mumbled, not looking at her.
Francesca was alone all night, missing the doting father and passionate husband that her Roberto used to be, and her already strong hatred of the Simpsons was steadily increasing. Bob's desire for vengeance on them, especially Bart, seemed to have completely consumed him, leaving him to consider Francesca and Gino as now merely accomplices at best, and afterthoughts or hindrances at worst.
Alright, maybe things would have been better if Francesca hadn't convinced Bob to pursue his vendetta, but it was the Simpsons' own fault! She and Bob had tried to be hospitable, and the thanks they'd received was having their lives ruined by a drunken little girl!
Stroking the empty side of her double bed, Francesca hoped that once the Simpsons were dead, the man she'd fallen in love with would come back.