“How was work?”
She smiles. “Mrs. Delacroix wouldn’t let me leave until I promised to bring you by next week. She wants to see ‘the handsome one.’”
“I’m the handsome one?”
“Apparently.” Natalia grins, that new ease in her expression still catching me off guard sometimes. “Anna’s been talking about you. Showing off the sketch you did of her.”
Something tightens at the base of my throat. I take a slow pull of scotch to wash it down. “That so?”
“She tells everyone you’re her grandson-in-law. Even though we’re not married yet and that’s not how it works.” Natalia laughs, and it’s lighter than I’ve ever heard it. Freer. “She had a good day. Remembered my name. Asked when I’m bringing you back.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Can’t wait.” She grins up at me.
She’s two months into the nursing program now. Working as an aide at Anna’s facility in the meantime, and she comes home every night with stories about the residents, the small victories, the hard days.
Last week, she held a woman’s hand while she passed. Came home quiet, crawled into bed with me, and didn’t say anything for an hour. Then she told me it was the most important thing she’d ever done.
She’s building a life. One she chose. No permission required. Watching her turn into this confident, sharp-edged woman... fuck. It knocks the wind out of me sometimes.
I squeeze her hand and lead her over to the table when my father announces that the food is ready.
Dinner happens the way dinner always happens at my father’s house: loud, overstuffed, and punctuated by at least three arguments that everyone forgets about by dessert. Natalia ends up between Mia and Paolo’s wife Quinn, talking about something that makes all of them laugh, and I end up helping my father pull more chairs out because we never have enough, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Valentina spits up on someone’s shirt and no one even cares.
I used to think wanting this shit made me weak. Looked at the men in my family and thought they were going soft. I spent my whole life trying to prove I was the deadliest bastard in the room, terrified of being the family fuck-up. Never realized I was fighting the wrong goddamn war.
My father rises from his chair, lifting his glass.
“I’m not giving a speech,” he says, which is exactly how all his speeches start. “But there are things that need to be said, and I’m going to say them.”
“Jesus,” my cousin, Alessio, mutters. “That can’t be good.”
Mia elbows him without looking.
“This family has been through hell.” My father’s voice is measured, the way it always is. “We’ve lost people. We’ve made mistakes.” A pause. His eyes find mine across the table and hold. “I’ve made mistakes.”
My father raises his glass. “Luca. You came back from a mission I never should have sent you on, and you came back different. Better. You made choices I didn’t expect, and they were the right ones.” He pauses. “You’re a capo now. That’s official, and it’s earned.”
He sits down.
Then, quietly, almost to his plate, “I’m proud of you.”
I can’t speak.
My whole life, I wanted him to see me. To really see me, not as the screwup, not as the backup, not as the kid who couldn’t quite measure up. And here he is, in front of everyone, saying the words I didn’t know I still needed to hear.
Natalia’s eyes shine at me from across the table.
I find my voice somewhere. “Thanks, Dad.”
He nods once. And just like that, dinner resumes, because the Andrettis don’t do prolonged emotional moments. But I catch Dario’s eye across the table, and he raises his glass to me, andMatteo claps me on the shoulder as he passes, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough.
Later, when the party has wound down and people are starting to drift home, I find Natalia on the edge of the pool, her feet in the water, her head tipped back to look at the stars.
I sit down next to her.
“Big night,” she says. “How does it feel? Capo?”
