It's a tradition in the city, though I'll be the first to admit I've not upheld any traditions.
They're meant for families, and until this year, I had none.
"Marta said there’ll be cookies," Sofia says, "and hot chocolate."
She lets me hang her shawl on a hanger while Angelica removes her own coat and hangs it.
The foyer is full of people preparing for the evening.
Choir members waltz through carrying cups of water and wearing their long Christmas-colored gowns.
I watch Sofia's eyes widen as she squeals.
"Look, Papa! The singers." She looks up at me, and it melts my heart.
It isn't the first time I've heard her use the word "Papa", but it is the first time she's said it to me directly.
"We should get our seats before they run out," I tell her, then I hold out my elbow to Angelica who wraps her arm around my bicep with a stiff expression on her face.
We both know the risk of being out and about together.
Things haven't calmed down at all, and Gerard's attacks have grown more bold lately.
But I don’t want my family to feel like they're prisoners in our home.
This public event poses less of a risk than the Christmas market or other more isolating traditions.
And I have men posted outside to watch things.
Sofia grins and we head into the sanctuary together.
It's warm, filled with the sound of voices that echo around the space.
Tables line one wall with refreshments and pews are arranged in rows facing a small stage where the choir will perform.
The vaulted ceiling is magnificent in a display of stained glass the likes of which I haven't appreciated in years, but tonight it draws my gaze upward.
Sofia tugs on my sleeve and points to the refreshment table. "Can I get cookies?"
"After the performance," Angelica says. "You'll get too jittery to sit still."
"But what if they run out?" Sofia pouts, and I chuckle.
"They won't run out. I promise," I tell her, which is good enough.
She believes I'm a man of my word and that's what I'm trying to be.
Sofia pouts but accepts the answer.
We find seats near the middle of the hall. Rico and Luca position themselves near the exits.
They blend in well enough, but they know how important it is to me that my family stays safe.
The choir takes the stage and begins to sing traditional carols in Italian.
The voices are clear and sweet.
Sofia sits between Angelica and me, swinging her legs and watching the performance with wide eyes.
