Lily burrows deeper into Kristen's shoulder.
My mother has the softest heart of anyone in this family. She's the one who feeds stray cats behind the kitchen. Who cried for three days when Valentino's dog died. Who still lights candles for my father every Sunday even though?—
Even though he didn't deserve her. Not even close.
The thing people don't understand about Aria Sartori is that soft doesn't mean weak. She raised six children in this world. Buried a husband. Buried a son. Watched another one nearly die. And through all of it, she held this family together with nothing but sheer will and the kind of love that refuses to break.
She also manipulates every single one of us like we're chess pieces and she's playing a game only she can see.
"Pietro, darling, I'm sure you're right about the security protocols. But wouldn't it be such a shame if I mentioned this to Father Dominic at confession? You know how he worries about me being lonely..."
"Nico, sweetheart, of course you don't have to come to Sunday dinner. I'll just sit here by myself, thinking about how quickly children forget their mothers..."
She fights for things. For people. For what she thinks is right. Animal rights, workers' rights, the rights of the gardener's daughter to attend a decent school. She marched in protests when we were kids. Donated to causes that made my father pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter prayers for patience.
This is why we haven't told her about Giuseppe's other family. About the children he had with her while he was married to our mother.
She loved him. Completely.
Telling her would destroy everything in her and she won't rebuild.
But right now, watching her vibrate with excitement as she ushers Kristen and Lily through the door, I realize something else.
Since Riccardo died, she hasn't done this.
She hasn't tried to take care of someone new. Hasn't reached out beyond the family. Hasn't had this light in her eyes.
My mother is a Sartori. She shows kindness the way we show everything else—with overwhelming force and the expectation of compliance.
"Come, come! I made pasta al forno, Lily, do you like pasta? Of course you like pasta, all children like pasta. And there's tiramisu for after, but only if you eat your vegetables. Nico, don't just stand there, come!"
Kristen shoots me a look of pure panic.
Welcome to the family, I don't say.
You're not getting out of this, I also don't say.
I get closer to her.
"Relax," I murmur, low enough that only she can hear. "She's not going to hurt you. She's going to feed you until you can't move and then send you home with leftovers."
"That's supposed to be comforting?"
"It's the truth."
Lily is watching my mother with suspicious fascination, still clutching her rabbits like a shield.
"Bunny, Bunbun, and Sir Floppington," my mother says, crouching down to Lily's eye level. "What beautiful names. Did you choose them yourself?"
Lily nods slowly.
"You have excellent taste." My mother holds out her hand. "I'm Aria. Would you like to see my garden? I have a fountain with fish in it."
Lily looks at her mother. Then at me. Then back at Aria.
"Real fish?"
"Very real. Orange ones and white ones and one grumpy black one who doesn't like anyone."
