It's unsettling.
Everyone in her position should be working an angle by now. Asking about investment opportunities. Mentioning a cousin who needs a job. Probing for weaknesses she could exploit later. That's how this works. Someone saves a Sartori's life or just helps with something even smaller than that and they cash in. It's expected. Practically tradition.
Instead, Kristen Thomas acts like she's waiting for someone to realize there's been a mistake and escort her out.
"The chicken is wonderful, Mrs. Sartori," she says quietly. Her eyes stay on her plate.
"Aria, please." My mother beams from the head of the table. "And it's an old family recipe."
Lily, completely unbothered by the tension her mother radiates, grins up at Aria with marinara sauce on her chin. "My grandma makes mac and cheese from the blue box. It's so good."
Carmela laughs. "Simple pleasures are underrated, little one."
I watch Kristen's face as her daughter speaks. There's pride there, but also something that looks like fear. Like she's worried Lily will say the wrong thing. Reveal too much. Get them both in trouble.
Who taught you to be afraid of your own child's voice?
The question surfaces before I can stop it. I file it away for later analysis.
"Kristen," Pietro says from his seat beside Nora, "Nico mentioned you had medical aspirations. What drew you to that path?"
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. She sets it down carefully, like the silverware might be a test she needs to pass.
"I always wanted to help people." The answer comes out rehearsed. Safe. "But life had other plans."
"Life often does." Lorenzo nods from his seat next to Sophia. His tone is warm, understanding. My brother has always been better at this. The human connection part. "What kind of medicine interested you?"
"Emergency care." For just a moment, her eyes sparkle. "The fast decisions. The way everything becomes clear when someone needs help." She catches herself, shrinks back. "But that was a long time ago."
Sophia leans forward. "It doesn't have to be. People return to school all the time."
"Maybe." Kristen's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "When Lily's older. When things are more stable for us."
Stable. The word lands wrong. Even Lily could be sure that stable isn't even on her horizon if she knew to read and had a look at Kristen's file.
"Mommy, can I have more bread?" Lily tugs at Kristen's sleeve.
"Of course, baby." Kristen reaches for the basket, but Valentino beats her to it.
"Allow me, piccola." My cousin passes the bread with his most charming smile. The one that works on everyone from customs agents to suspicious widows.
Lily accepts it without hesitation.
"Lily," Vittoria leans across the table, her dark eyes bright with mischief, "what's your favorite thing in the whole world?"
Lily considers this with the gravity of a four-year-old philosopher. Her brow furrows. She taps her chin with one tiny finger.
"Bunnies," she declares. "And pancakes. And Mommy's singing even though she sounds like a frog."
The table erupts.
Lorenzo nearly chokes on his wine. Sophia buries her face in his shoulder. Even Valentino, who rarely cracks a smile that isn't calculated, lets out a genuine laugh.
Kristen's face goes scarlet. "Lily?—"
"What?" Lily blinks up at her mother with pure innocence. "You said it first. You said 'I sound like a dying frog but at least you love me.'"
More laughter. Nora wipes her eyes. Pietro's shoulders shake.
