The main house sits back from the road like a fortress dressed up as a home. Pale stone, dark trim, big windows glowing warm. Expensive landscaping that never looks fussy. Nothing out of place. Nothing left to chance.
All just the way my father built it nearly thirty years ago, when it was just him and my mother.
Until recently, I lived here. Not in the house—out back, in the pool house. Back when my father was still in prison, the house felt too big and too empty, but the property was quiet.
Then he got out. Then he married Elena. Then baby Alessandra came along, and the house filled up. I moved into my own place because I like my privacy and my quiet, and I don’t apologize for it.
I can love my family and still need space from them.
I open the door and step out, gravel crunching under my shoes. The air smells like cut grass and summer heat, the kind that clings to the back of your neck. Somewhere beyond the wall, life is happening, but it might as well be a different world.
I adjust my cuffs out of habit, then stop because I’m not going into a meeting. It’s Sunday dinner with the family.
The front door opens before I knock. One of the staff members greets me. No small talk because they know me.
Warmth hits me the moment I cross the threshold. Not just the temperature—sound, too. Voices overlapping. A burst of laughter. The clink of dishes. The house is alive tonight, and for a second I pause like I’m bracing for impact. I’m always conflicted in that way. I love my family, and I love gathering with them, but I have my limits.
Then I step in, and let the door shut behind me.
The house smells like garlic and wine and a mix of colognes I recognize.
The living room opens up wide and bright with warm lamps. Voices overlap in a way that feels familiar instead of chaotic. Somebody laughs, somebody talks over them, and nobody cares because this is how it always is when we’re all in the same house.
Antonio is on the couch instead of pacing like he usually does, one arm held a little too carefully against his side. The shot did more than leave a scar. It slowed him down. He sees me and lifts two fingers in greeting.
Vito is across from him, half turned toward Caterina, hands moving as he talks. Caterina sits on the armchair, legs crossed, expression unimpressed in the way only she can pull off. She sees me and gives me a look that’s equal parts hello and where have you been.
“Finally,” she says, like I’m late on purpose, but her eyes soften for a second when they land on me.
I shake my head and step farther in, the corner of my mouth tugging up despite myself. “Good to see you too,” I say, and it comes out easy. Then my gaze shifts toward the hall as Bianca walks from the direction of the kitchen with a tray in her hand.
My Uncle Gio is right there to swoop it out of her hands before she’s taken a step into the room. She directs him to a table on the side, and a couple of staffers with more trays follow.
Bianca wipes her hands on a dish towel like she’s been in motion for hours. She looks tired, but it’s the good kind of tired. The kind that comes from feeding people you love.
Gio’s hand finds the small of her back for a second, steadying her as she shifts the tray, and she leans into him without thinking.
Voices pull my attention down the hall. Footsteps. A softer laugh I recognize as Elena’s. Then my father appears with Elena beside him. A small ball of energy with dark hair and big blue eyes lets out a squeal and barrels toward me with her arms lifted high.
I drop my keys into my pocket and crouch fast, arms opening before she reaches me. She hits me with the full force of her little body, hands grabbing for my shirt, laughter bubbling out of her like she’s been saving it up. I catch her under the arms and lift her, and she squeals again, legs kicking, face bright.
“Hey, bambina,” I say into her hair. She smells like soap and a bit like candy. Alessandra pats my cheek with a little palm, then grabs my jaw, and I let her because she can get away with anything.
Odd to think of someone so little and… new as my sister, but it seems my family is growing every day.
Speaking of…
“Where’s Roberto?” I ask.
“Late. Probably got caught up fucking his new bride— Ow!” Vito shoves away from Caterina, glaring at her like she just stabbed him.
“Watch your mouth,” she says, shifting her eyes to Alessandra in my arms and Stephano, who’s just started saying his first words, sitting on the floor and playing with blocks.
Vito rubs his ribs, indignant. “What? It’s true.”
Luca says nothing, just gives Vito a look that makes him shut up mid-breath.
Vito mutters something under his breath and drops onto the couch again, still rubbing his side.
