They embrace briefly. The way men in our world do. One arm, three pats on the back, done. Valentino's gaze finds mine over Pietro's shoulder.
"Nico." He extends his hand.
I take it. His grip is firm, calloused from years of work he doesn't talk about. Running operations in Sicily means different things than it does here. Older methods. Older loyalties. Valentino bridges both worlds. Traditional enough for the old guard, practical enough for modern business.
"How bad is it?" he asks quietly.
I don't pretend to misunderstand. "Worse than last time. He's... cruel now. Uses it like armor."
Valentino nods slowly. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see the boy who used to sneak me cigarettes when we were teenagers. Before everything went to shit.
"And you?" His dark eyes search my face. "How are you holding up?"
The question catches me off guard. No one asks me that. I'm the one who watches, who calculates, who sees threats before they materialize. I'm not the one who needs checking on.
"Fine," I say automatically.
Valentino's expression says he doesn't believe me. But he doesn't push. That's why we get along. He knows when to leave things alone.
"We should talk later," he says. "Business in Palermo. Some concerns."
"My office. Tonight."
He nods once, then follows the women toward the kitchen.
Aria's return changes things. Bruno's isolation can't hold against her determination. And whatever business Valentino brought from Sicily. It's not good news. His tells are subtle, but I've known him too long.
Something's wrong.
Pietro appears beside me again. "You okay?"
"She's a badass for a woman her age."
"Years of practice on Papa." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "She's scared, Nico. That's all this is. She's terrified of losing another son, and fear makes her..."
"Violent?"
"Passionate." He sighs. "I need you to find that housekeeper. Soon. Mama came here because Giulia can't get on a plane without a person she trusts. They'll leave both the same day and Giulia's absence will be felt even more. She's the only one who can manage this family without bloodshed."
I think of the stack of resumes I haven't touched. The interviews I've been avoiding. The impossible task of finding someone who can navigate our world without flinching.
"I'll handle it."
CHAPTER THREE
Kristen
The bathroom mirror has a crack running through the corner. I found it that way when we moved in, and the landlord swore he'd replace it. That was eight months ago.
I lean closer to the glass, careful to angle my face away from the fracture so I don't look like some cubist painting while I apply mascara. The catering company wants us polished but not flashy. Makeup required, hair pulled back, invisible enough to blend into the background while we serve champagne to people.
The mascara wand trembles slightly in my grip. I set it down, press my palms flat against the chipped porcelain sink, and breathe.
You can do this. It's one night. Eight hours. Then home.
From the bedroom, I hear Lily giggling at something on the screen. Peter Pan. Again. We've watched it so many times I could recite the dialogue in my sleep, but the sound of her laughter makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
I finish my makeup. Foundation to cover the dark circles, blush to fake some colour in my cheeks, lipstick in a shadethe company calls "professional nude" which sounds vaguely inappropriate if you think about it too hard.
