Thankfully, the arrival of Gabe with another man I don't know ends the awkward situation. Gabe seems taller than I remembered. Broad. Quiet. The kind of man who looks like he'd rather be underestimated.
The other man nods at me, "So this is the woman who's been rearranging our Don's priorities," he says warmly.
"And improving them," I answer without missing a beat.
His laugh is genuine. Massimo introduces him, "Alessio, Jenna."
He's different from the others. I can't quite put my finger on it. But his edges seem sharper. His eyes seem to calculate before they blink. If Damiano is brute strength and Enzo is strategy carved in stone, Alessio is precision.
Then it's Gabe's and my turn to shake hands. "Nice to see you again, Jenna. You look," he throws a look at Massimo, "better."
Massimo pulls me against his chest. "Let's get some drinks."
Amauri bounces from one man to the other like he's known them all his life. Chatting and, for some reason, really latching on to Enzo, peppering him with questions. Before the foodarrives from the kitchen, Enzo leans back in his chair and looks over Gabe's shoulder at the phone in his hands. "Did the suburbs survive the drive over?"
Gabe doesn't look up. "Traffic was light."
Alessio lifts a brow. "Because you already know the traffic patterns."
Damiano pours wine. "Cameras help."
I glance at Gabe. "Cameras?"
He finally looks at me. Calm. Unbothered.
"Monitoring," he corrects.
"For what?" I ask curiously, I wouldn't have pegged him for the suburban type. He studies me like I'm testing him.
"Stability."
Enzo smirks. "In someone else's marriage?"
Massimo says nothing, but I feel the amusement vibrating under his skin. Gabe's jaw tightens just slightly.
"She's happy," he says quietly.
There's something in the way he says it. Not envy. Not resentment. Restraint. I'm still confused, "And you're… observing? What? Whom?"
"For now." Enzo's words hang in the air. Amauri looks between them all, confused but fascinated.
"Is he a spy?" he whispers loudly.
Damiano coughs into his drink. Gabe actually smiles. "Something like that."
Dinner is brought up, interrupting the confusing conversation. Plates are set down. Steak. Potatoes. Wine for the adults. Sparkling water for Amauri, who insists on clinking glasses like he's part of a secret council. The stories shift. No details. Just pieces of shared history meant to entertain—even though they are somewhat questionable for the ears of a ten-year-old.
"The night we took the north side," Damiano starts.
Massimo arches a brow. "You mean the night you got stuck on a fence?"
Alessio laughs. "He did. Tore his pants clean open."
"It was strategic," Damiano protests. "Distraction."
"You screamed," Gabe says mildly.
"I did not."
