But I also learned she had earned that reverence.
That was why, even at forty-four, I still gave it to her.
Respect—above everything.
Before I could respond, Eloá’s imposing figure appeared at the entrance of the ballroom. A sudden silence rippled through the room as attention snapped toward her.
She approached in a long black dress, flawless, with jewelry that was discreet only in style—not in price. Her gaze swept the room until it landed directly on me.
For a second, her severe expression softened—barely—a near imperceptible nod of approval.
“And here she comes,” André murmured beside me, an ironic smile on his lips. “Better put on your best favorite-grandson face.”
“Shut up, André,” I muttered through clenched teeth as Eloá reached us and extended her hand.
I leaned down automatically and kissed the back of it, feeling the full weight of her assessing gaze. When I looked up, her face was perfectly composed again—serious, unreadable.
“Enrico. I’m pleased to see you punctual this year,” she said. Then her eyes cut briefly to André. “As for you… let’s pretend I didn’t notice you arrived late again.”
André only smiled, offering her a silent, shameless toast.
“Couldn’t miss the chance to make a dramatic entrance, Nonna.”
Eloá inhaled, clearly disapproving of his lightness, and dismissed him entirely. Her attention returned to me.
“I expect you to enjoy the party, Enrico. And remember to greet your other brothers. Matteo honored us by appearing this time, and Luca—as always—is somewhere being excessively pleasant with guests.” She paused, holding my gaze. When shespoke again, her voice dropped—quiet, incisive. “And when you have a moment, I want to speak with you privately.”
“Of course, Nonna,” I replied immediately, already feeling familiar tension settle across my shoulders.
Without another word, she moved away with cold elegance, joining another circle of eager, influential guests.
Beside me, André let out a low laugh.
“No matter how much you do, she always wants more from you.”
“She has expectations,” I said evenly. “And she knows I’ll meet them.”
André watched me for a moment, his expression shifting between amusement and something deeper I didn’t care to name.
“You know, Enrico… sometimes I actually feel sorry for you.”
I shot him a genuinely irritated look.
“Do me a favor,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Keep it to yourself.”
He smiled and took a slow sip of his drink.
“Maybe I will. But you can’t deny one thing: even though we’re all gathered here today playing the perfect family, there’s not a single real thing about this show.”
I didn’t answer. I just looked out over the ballroom—over the excessive décor, the polished smiles, the carefully staged performance Eloá forced us to maintain year after year.
And as always, I played my role perfectly.
“I’m getting a drink,” I said finally, walking away from André before he could say more.
