I glance at Roberto. He stands apart, phone in his hand, not using it. He looks over, and my chest pulls tight. He holds my gaze for a beat that feels like a held breath, then looks away to Luca and says something I can’t hear. The line of his mouth is firm. He’s steady because everyone needs him steady.
I never pictured this. When I thought “crime family,” I thought shadows and threats and men who slouch in corners. I didn’t think of a father rubbing a thumb over his son’s shoulder to settle him, or a sister begging the volunteer for a time estimate, or a wife passing out water and telling Nico to sit down because his face is gray.
I didn’t think of family in the literal sense—people who show up, who stay, who count the minutes together, whether it helps or not.
Nico’s leg bounces. Luca reaches over and presses a hand to his knee, murmurs something to him.
Nico nods once and stares harder at the floor.
Bianca takes the empty cup from my hand and swaps it for a fresh water. “Drink,” she says gently, and moves on to Caterina.
I cap and uncap the bottle twice before I take a sip. My stomach doesn’t want it. I make myself swallow anyway.
“Do you need to go?” Caterina asks me under her breath. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying,” I say.
“Okay.” She squeezes my fingers once and lets go.
A man in scrubs crosses the hall. Every head turns again. He walks past us to a different group, and the muscles in my neck loosen by a millimeter. This is what we do: tense, release, repeat.
Roberto steps closer to Luca and Elena and murmurs something about the police report. Giovanni answers with a few words that sound like “lawyer” and “later.” The only words that I’ve overheard from anyone are “setup” and “warehouse.”
I try not to picture a warehouse. I try not to picture how Antonio went down. I try not to picture Nico dragging him through a loading bay while bullets snapped. My brain plays it anyway, filling in missing frames with the worst options.
I focus on what I can see. Elena’s hand steady on Luca. Bianca’s soft “hey, sit” when Giovanni’s pacing gets too fast. Caterina’s foot pressing flat to stop the bounce. Roberto’s shoulders squared like a wall between this family and whatever comes down the hall.
The thought hits me hard: they are a family before anything else. It doesn’t absolve anything. It doesn’t make the comps vanish or the headlines untrue. But it’s here in front of me, undeniable.
Caterina leans toward me. “Thank you for staying,” she says.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I answer.
“I do,” she says quietly. “It matters.”
Roberto’s phone buzzes once. He silences it without looking. His eyes lift and find mine again, just for a beat. There’s worry there I recognize and something else I can’t name, not with all these people and fluorescent lighting and the smell of antiseptic stuck in my nose.
I want to go to him. I want to put my arms around him, tell him everything will be okay.
The elevator pings, and Vito steps out, jacket half-zipped, eyes scanning until he spots us. He moves straight to Luca first—quick clasp, a hug for Elena—then to Nico.
“You good?” Vito asks him.
“I’m fine,” Nico says, which isn’t true, but he says it anyway.
Vito turns to me and Caterina. “Cat.” He pulls her in for a fast hug, then gives me a short nod. “Olivia.”
“Hi,” I say.
He looks to Roberto. “Update?”
“Nothing since the last one,” Roberto says. “They’re still working on him.”
Vito’s jaw tightens. He gives Bianca a brief squeeze on the shoulder, then lowers his voice to Luca and Giovanni. They drift a few steps away, followed by Nico and Roberto, toward the windows. I can’t hear the words, but I suspect they’re discussing whatever Vito found in the warehouse. Or maybe they’re planning their revenge. I don’t know, and I’m too tired to care right now.
Caterina slides down in her chair until the back of her head touches the wall. She closes her eyes. Her hands are folded tight in her lap; the whites of her knuckles show. She isn’t sleeping. Every time a shoe squeaks or the doors swing, her lashes lift a fraction.
I sit with her. I don’t say anything. I count my breaths, sip water that tastes like nothing, and watch the hallway for someone in scrubs who looks like they belong to us.
