‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Nonno agreed, dealing out dinner plates as though he held a deck of cards. ‘It sounds like maybe you need to take a step back?’
‘It’s not that simple, Nonno.’
‘Not if you want to make partner.’ Dad’s expression was hidden by steam as he removed the lid from the casserole dish, which he had placed on a trivet on the bench.
She scowled. ‘Chances of that are getting slimmer by the day. The boss’s nephew moved over from Sydney a few months back.’
‘That should lighten your workload—’ Nonno started.
‘So you’ve got competition?’ Dante interrupted, cracking his knuckles. For a fleeting moment, Jemma wondered if he could deal with herrealissue. It was ridiculous how the threats she’d received preyed upon her mind. During the day, she was watching over her shoulder, hyperaware of her surroundings. At night she lay awake, dissecting the words she’d memorised: the tone, phrasing, subtext. Trying to work out who could have sent them. Because without that vital information, she’d never know thewhy.
‘Looks that way,’ she replied, deliberately cheerful. ‘The boss put us on a case together, but it’s evolved into both a domestic violence charge and divorce proceedings. My colleague’s elected to take on the divorce.’ Rohan’s choice had her perplexed: divorce proceedings required little more than accounting skills and offered no opportunity for him to impress Gerard with his legal ability. ‘But he’s set on making me look like an idiot by denying access to information.’ Rohan had claimed the locked file was an IT error, but his excuse had been too quick, too easy to be believable.
‘It’s lucky competition brings out the best in you, then,’ Dad said.
‘That’s such a dad thing to say,’ she scoffed.
‘And a grandfather thing,’ Nonno put in, puffing out his chest. ‘How many award ceremonies have we attended for you,cara mia?’
‘Possibly less than we would have attended had there been more than onenipotein the family,’ Nonna said, scowling at Jemma’s father.
Dad threw up his hands. ‘Hey, Dante could have given you grandkids too, you know.’
‘Still got time,’ Dante said.
Jemma winced. Considering her uncle’s current relationship was with her mother, him having kids now would provide her with … a half-sibling? Or some weirdly related cousin? Usually, conversations that led to her mother were avoided at family gatherings.
‘Don’t worry too much,’ Dad said, barely under his breath. ‘Steroids cause infertility.’
Jemma spluttered as she tried to swallow her laugh.
‘Bro! Told you last year, I was all natural,’ her uncle protested.
‘Lot has happened in a year,’ Dad countered in classic understatement, given his own life changes.
‘Boys!’ Nonna cautioned.
‘A lot but not enough.’ Nonno passed the plates along the bench and Dad ladled ragout over the nests of handmade tagliatelle. The men worked with practised efficiency, not needing Nonna’s constant invocations and instructions—although they got them, regardless. ‘Dante’s started this lunch service, but we need a new menu to reflect it. Otherwise we’ll have our regular customers coming in at lunchtime to get the lower price and we’ll have no evening trade. We have to offer something different at lunchtime. And it has to be fast.’ He uttered the last word with distaste; her grandparents believed food was one of the great joys of life, and should take time to both prepare and eat.
‘We’re screwed because Pierce’s cafe has the whole focaccia and soup lunch thing happening,’ Dante complained.
‘Hey, the cafe was there before you decided to mess around with the tratt’s hours,’ Dad shot back.
‘Eh, eh, eh,’ Nonna said, banging a palm on the counter. ‘Enough.Mangia!’
Her sons followed her direction, still bickering as they leaned across one another to fill their plates.
Dad turned to Jemma. ‘Actually, holiday aside, I could use your professional help with some stuff back home.’
‘This is home,’ Nonna said.
The corners of Dad’s eyes crinkled, but he didn’t acknowledge his mother.
‘We’re decades into the two thousands, Pierce,’ Jemma replied. ‘Nowadays we have this great device that magically sends words through the air. You know, you can email anything you want to me. Or Zoom or Teams.’
‘I very much doubt Sam’s grandparents are going to be comfortable with any of those options. They’re looking for some advice on their wills.’
Dad had never really understood the difference between a barrister and a solicitor. ‘Estate law isn’t my area. You’ll want a specialist lawyer to talk them through testamentary trusts or something similar.’
