That sends laughs throughout the room. Some of the tightness eases.
But it snaps back up when the door opens in the foyer. We can’t see what’s going on from here, but I imagine Vivian opening the door, greeting them. On cue, the voices of children, girls, fills the room.
Luca goes still in a way I’ve only seen a handful of times. Not frozen—halted.
His head turns toward the foyer, slowly. His eyes sharpen, then go unfocused for half a second. His mouth opens and closes once. No words.
He stands without meaning to. Elena’s hand slides off his and he doesn’t notice. He takes one step toward the hall and stopshimself on the second. His chest lifts, holds. He swallows hard, jaw working.
Another quick burst of high, bright chatter. The small voice trills and then laughs.
Elena stands next to him, and his hand reaches for hers, squeezes tight.
The corner of his mouth pulls tight. Not quite a smile.
“Dio,” he says under his breath. It’s not a prayer. It’s awe.
He nods to himself once and straightens his shoulders.
Vivian steps into the room first, a half-step over the threshold so everyone sees her before anything else. She clears her throat lightly, not to announce—just to give us a beat. Then she turns her body to allow them to pass.
Lucia comes in behind her with a daughter in each hand, and it’s clear at a glance she isn’t that thin kid from old photos anymore.
She’s grown into herself—standing tall, sharper features that compliment her big, dark eyes. Long black curls fall down her back, the sides pinned away from her face. Her makeup is neat, and her dress was probably chosen as carefully as Caterina’s.
Sofia, five, stays welded to her hip, chin tucked. Charlotte, almost three, hesitates at the seam between tile and rug, then crosses it in two hopping steps.
Nick Dixon is a step behind them.
The man who bought Luca’s prison to make sure his remaining years were powerless. After one of our men disobeyed orders and went after Lucia, harming her in the process, who could blame him?
Well, Luca had. Less than a year ago, he walked out of prison ready to settle that score until Elena changed the plan.
Now, they’re tentatively repairing for Lucia’s sake.
Nick keeps it simple with a dark sport coat, no tie, the picture of a man prepared for anything, but hoping for civility. His hands are empty until Charlotte folds against his leg, and he lifts her without fuss. He clocks the exits, clocks faces, clocks me, then Luca. No posturing. Just a man who knows the history and is willing to set it aside for his family.
No one rushes. No one moves.
Elena steps forward first. It gives the rest of us permission. She goes only two steps and stops so Luca can decide his own pace. “Hi,” she says to Lucia, voice steady and soft. “Welcome.”
Lucia’s smile is small, there and gone. “Hi.” She glances at Luca once. Then back to Elena. “Thank you for having us.”
“Of course.” Elena’s eyes drop to the girls. “Sofia.” She keeps her distance. “And Charlotte. I’m Elena. We met before.”
Sofia half-hides behind Lucia’s skirt and manages a little wave. Charlotte makes a small sound and presses her face into her dad’s neck shyly.
Luca hasn’t moved. I can feel the force he’s holding in place same as I feel the air from the windows. His hands open and close once. He steps forward, finally, like he’s measuring where the ground is. Elena’s hand brushes the back of his shirt as he passes.
Though they met over drinks once a few weeks ago to test the ground, this is still very new for them.
He stops at a distance. “Lucia.”
“Hello, Papá,” she says, and it’s quiet. The word stumbles a little on its way out, but it gets there.
He breathes, just once, audible. “You look well.”
“So do you.” She turns a fraction toward her husband. He steps forward, shifting Charlotte in his arms.
