"We can do that."
"Hot dogs?" She wrinkles her nose. "Lorenzo Sartori, restaurant mogul, eating street vendor hot dogs?"
"For you? I'd eat gas station sushi."
She laughs, the sound filling the room. It's been a month of healing, of learning to be married without death threats hanging over us.
Pietro suggested this trip. Actually, he insisted on it. "Take a fucking week off," he'd said. "Both of you. Get out of Chicago, act like newlyweds instead of war generals."
So here we are, hiding in a Manhattan hotel, pretending the world doesn't exist beyond these walls.
"Times Square," Sophia says decisively. "I want to see all those lights. And Broadway—can we see a show? And the Empire State Building. Oh, and that museum with the dinosaurs?—"
"The Natural History Museum."
"Yes! And I want to walk through Central Park at night?—"
"Not happening."
She pouts. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not letting you get mugged in Central Park."
"You'd protect me."
"I'd kill anyone who looked at you wrong, which would ruin our vacation when NYPD shows up."
She considers this. "Fair point." She kisses my shoulder. "What about you? What do you want to see?"
I stare at the ceiling, the question hitting differently than she intended. "Nothing. Everything. I don't care as long as you're there."
"That's sweet but also a cop-out." She studies my face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Liar." She sits up fully now, sheet pooling at her waist. "You've been weird all morning. Well, weirder than usual."
I reach for her but she pulls back.
"No. No distracting me with sex. Talk."
I drop my hand, go back to staring at the ceiling. The ornate molding reminds me of the compound, of home, of all the shit we left behind for this week.
"I'm worried about Vittoria."
Sophia's expression softens. She lies back down, curling into my side. "Tell me."
"She was close with Ava. Ava was like a second mother to her. Riccardo and Ava couldn't have kids. She couldn't carry to term. They tried for years before giving up. So Vittoria became... not a replacement, but something close."
Sophia's hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
"Now Vittoria knows about Luna's son," I continue. "Riccardo's actual child. And she can't say anything to Ava. Because it would destroy her. She's barely holding on as it is. Learning that Riccardo had a son with someone else? That the baby she always wanted exists, just not with her?" I shake my head. "It would be cruel."
"But keeping it from her is killing Vittoria."
"I know." The weight of family secrets presses down on me, even here, even now. "She called me yesterday while you were in the shower. She sounded... hollow. Like she's disappearing inside herself."
"Maybe Ava needs to know," Sophia says carefully. "Maybe the truth would be better than?—"
