Elena mirrors me, easing the blade through the parchment. When the seam opens, steam curls up and fogs her lashes. She closes her eyes for a heartbeat, inhales, and that quiet sound leaves her—approval and pleasure all at once.
It hits me low in the gut and makes me ache.
“It smells like…” Her laugh puffs out like a soft breath. “Mamma’s kitchen,” she says with wonder, eyes sparkling with sudden tears.
Her eyes shine, and I’m already half out of my chair before she shakes her head and waves me back.
I lean in, voice low. “Mi dispiace,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She shakes her head quickly, thumb swiping the corner of one eye. “No, no. I’m okay,” she whispers, a small, shaky laugh. “It’s good. It just… sneaks up.”
“Then let it,” I tell her. “Eat while it’s hot.” I nudge the lemon closer. “For her,” I add, and sit back, giving her the space to take a bite and a moment.
Elena picks up the lemon wedge and squeezes droplets across the cod. She lifts a corner, tests it with her fork; it flakes and falls apart.
The first bite makes her shoulders drop completely.
“It’s perfect,” she says, and there’s no reluctance this time.
“No pink?” I ask, lifting my chin to look over. “I told them if anything was pink, I’d just do it myself.”
“Control issues,” she teases with a smile.
“Where it matters, yes,” I say, then I cut myself a piece and let the layers fall open. The first bite melts on my tongue.
We eat comfortably, like we’ve done it before. There’s a silence between us that isn’t hostile. It lets me settle into the rhythm of the meal and the company.
“Will you tell me?” Elena asks softly.
I look up and meet her eyes.
“What you were thinking about before?”
It’s my turn to clear my throat and reach for the spritz. I sip and wish there was something stronger in there, something to make this easier.
She watches for a moment, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I…”
She turns back to her food intently, stabbing the fork a little harder than necessary.
I am ready to accept the out, ready to turn the subject away.
But it’s not fair.
I can’t ask her to take my wants into consideration, ask her to give up her career, change the trajectory of her entire life without giving her anything of me.
“My children. And ours.” I nod to her stomach. “Maybe even more. Vito and Caterina arguing. Nico watching but wanting no part of it. My brothers. You.”
I bite my lip and hesitate on the next part. “Lucia. Her daughters. Even that bastard. If that’s what it takes.”
My eyes flick to the empty seats surrounding the long table and see her once again. All of them, adding their own chaos to the scene.
“I want to see my grandchildren, and not just pictures and short clips through a glass wall on a small phone screen.”
Her look shifts, and there’s a bit of prosecutor in it, but she keeps her voice soft. “Pictures and clips you shouldn’t have seen,” she says. Not an accusation, just a fact.
“They’re my blood,” I say, my voice going hard and quiet at once. “I won’t apologize for watching the only way I can. I don’t knock on her door. I don’t make calls that ruin her dinner. Paparazzi don’t catch any pictures of them. Dixon has that kind of power.So I do what I have to. No one disturbs them, and she never knows they were there.” I shake my head. “I won’t apologize.”
She doesn’t ask me to.
