“Don’t push your luck,” my father warns.
Matteo gives him a two-finger salute. “You got it, Sir.”
“Saw-ocks,” Cesar shouts again, wiggling his feet as if to show us he knows what the word means. He was wearing tiny shoes earlier in the night when I spotted him, and it seems like he’s kicked them off.
Matteo chuckles, nodding at me. “Do you want to switch? Cesar isn’t as calm but he won’t pull your hair if you put it behind your back. He happens to be quite fond of pretty girls.”
“Ya zastrelyu yego,”Lev snaps.
I will shoot him.
“You know, I think you’d get along swimmingly with my brother Nico,” Matteo tells him, completely unfazed. He likely didn’t understand the Russian threat, but the tone was unmistakably violent.
Uncle Lev breathes out sharply through his nose. “I have met Cesar’s little protégé already.”
“That’s right,” Matteo says, snapping his fingers. “You were friends with my uncle, weren’t you?”
“Acquaintance,” Uncle says like a correction.
“You came to his funeral,” Matteo points out. “That’s friendship.”
“What is your point, boy?”
Matteo lifts a brow, tilting his head. “My point is that you knew my uncle. You knew what kind of man he was, and I know he would talk about his brother and his nephews. You should trust that your friend didn’t leave this world with nephews that he would be ashamed of. He helped raise us, and he did a great job.”
You could hear a pin drop at the table.
“I’m not saying you need to trust me blindly, but you should know that I would never do anything to disrespect your family. Especially not to Anya. Morettis put the safety of women and children—especiallyfamily—above all else. Always have, always will.”
Uncle Mikhail clears his throat and drains his glass while Uncle Lev and my father stare at Matteo as if he’s grown an extra set of eyes.
“So, shall we switch the babies?”
“Okay,” I agree, reluctantly letting him take Isobella back.
Holding Cesar is a completely different experience than holding his sister. He’s squirmy and expressive, a bit heavier, and completely obsessed with attention. Any time I take my eyes off him to speak to Matteo or my father, he reaches for my face and tries to turn it back.
It’s the first time someone has touched my face—outside of trying to save my life—in years. If he wasn’t a tiny, precious baby, it might be terrifying. Instead, it makes my insides feel all gooeyand warm. Like the way I feel when I hold a kitten or watch videos of baby otters.
It’s lovely.
When the party has died down almost entirely, and the time to leave has come, sadness creeps in. I wish, not for the first time, that I was normal. That I could stay here overnight to spend more time with my niece and nephew. That I could run up to Dmitri and tell him how beautiful his children are without feeling like I need to throw up.
“Until next time, Miss Morozov,” Matteo says, playfully bowing to me as he stands up with both babies. “Something tells me we’ll talk soon.”
This time, Uncle Lev doesn’t growl at him.
“I’ll speak with your father,” Father says, eyeing him carefully.
Grinning, Matteo simply replies, “Sweet. I’m going to go get these kids to their mama before they pass out. Say bye-bye, babies.”
“No!” Cesar yells, giggling wildly as he cracks himself up.
“Ba,” Isobella says, waving as she softly tucks herself into the crook of Matteo’s arm.
Chest aching, I wave back sadly. “Goodbye.”
One Hour Later
