The dining room is impressive—crystal chandelier, dark mahogany table set with fine china and silver that reflects the candlelight. Riccardo takes his place at the head, with Ava to his right. Zoe sits across from Vittoria, leaving me beside my wife.
Servers appear with the first course—buffalo mozzarella with heirloom tomatoes—and pour a crisp white wine into fresh glasses.
I lean close to Zoe as the others discuss Chicago politics, my lips brushing her ear. "You look really sexy in that dress tonight." My voice is low enough that only she can hear. "Green suits you."
Her reaction surprises me—a flush of pink spreads across her cheeks, and she momentarily loses her composure. It's fascinating to see this side of her—vulnerable, almost shy—when I'm used to her sharp tongue and defiant glares. The woman who challenges me at every turn, who fights me with the ferocity of a cornered animal, is blushing like a schoolgirl.
"The biggest brat I've ever met," I murmur, "and yet here you are, blushing at asimple compliment."
Her eyes flash to mine, that familiar fire returning. "I think the wine is getting to me," she whispers back, but the curve of her lips betrays her.
"Of course," I say, reaching under the table to rest my hand on her thigh, feeling her muscles tense beneath the fabric. "The wine."
Riccardo raises his glass. "To family," he says. "Old and new."
I squeeze Zoe's thigh gently as we join the toast. For tonight, at least, we're convincing everyone that we belong together. Including, perhaps, ourselves.
I raise my glass alongside everyone else, feeling the weight of Riccardo's toast.
Servers appear with the main course – osso buco with saffron risotto, the veal tender and falling off the bone. The rich aroma fills the room as we begin eating.
"So," Ava says, her eyes bright with curiosity as she looks between Zoe and me, "you must tell us how you two met."
Zoe's fork freezes halfway to her mouth. For a split second, panic flashes across her face before she recovers, setting her fork down carefully.
I place my hand over hers on the table, my thumb brushing her knuckles. "It wasn't anything dramatic," I say smoothly. "I saw her at a pool. She was reading." I allow myself a genuine smile at the memory.
Zoe's fingers relax beneath mine. "He was insufferably arrogant," she adds, playing along perfectly. "But persistent."
"The best things are worth pursuing," I say, meeting her eyes.
Vittoria snorts into her wine glass. "God, you're still such a romantic under all that scary mafia boss exterior."
"Speaking of business," Riccardo interjects, clearly sensing the conversation veering toward sensitive territory, "have you tried the new trattoria on Columbus? Their chef trained in Naples—makes a carbonara that would make your grandmother weep."
"High praise," I say, grateful for the redirect. "We'll have to visit before heading back to New York."
The conversation shifts to Italian cuisine, with Ava and Riccardo debating the merits of northern versus southern cooking traditions. I notice Zoe relaxing beside me, her shoulders losing their tension as she takes a bite of the risotto.
"This is incredible," she says to Ava. "Would you mind sharing the recipe?"
"Family secret," Ava winks. "But perhaps I could be persuaded to email it to you."
I drain the last of my wine, setting the crystal glass on the table as Riccardo catches my eye with a meaningful glance.
"Damiano," he says, his voice shifting from casual to business in an instant, "why don't we discuss our venture in my office while the ladies enjoy their dessert?"
I nod, squeezing Zoe's hand under the table before rising. "Of course."
Zoe's eyes meet mine, a question in their green depths. I give her a subtle nod—she'll be fine with Ava and Vittoria. She's proven she can handle herself.
"Don't worry," Vittoria says to Zoe with a mischievous smile, "we'll keep you entertained."
I follow Riccardo down a long hallway lined with family photographs and Italian landscapes.
"You've chosen well," he says over his shoulder. "She has fire."
I don't reply immediately, considering his assessment of Zoe. "She's... unexpected."
