Christ.
She looks amazing.
The afternoon light from the window catches her hair. Turns the brown strands golden at the edges.
She's waiting for me to continue.
I pick up the spoon again. Take another bite of soup to buy myself time.
"Lorenzo and Sophia are solid," I start. "Stronger than ever. She's been good for him. Softened some of his edges."
Marina's expression flickers. Something like relief crosses her face before she schools it back to neutral.
"Pietro stepped back," I say.
Marina's eyes widen. "What?"
"He handed the position to Bruno."
She shakes her head slowly. Like she's trying to process information that doesn't fit into any category she has.
"Bruno," she repeats. "The one in the wheelchair."
"Yes."
"He's the Don now?"
"He is."
I watch her work through it. She met Bruno once, maybe twice, during those chaotic weeks two years ago. She would have seen the bitterness. The rage. The man who pushed everyone away because he couldn't stand being seen as less than what he was.
"How?" she asks.
I take another spoonful of soup. Let the warmth settle in my stomach.
"He changed," I say. "Or maybe he didn't change. Maybe he just finally let someone see who he really was underneath all that anger."
Marina tilts her head. "Someone?"
"His wife. Antonella."
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Bruno got married?"
"Arranged marriage. Her father owed debts to the family. She was traded to settle them."
Marina's expression darkens. I can see the judgment forming. The assumptions about what that means.
"It's not what you think," I say quickly. "It started that way. Cold. Transactional."
"That sounds exactly like what I think."
"He fell in love with her." I say.
Marina's hands have uncurled in her lap. She's leaning forward slightly. Engaged despite herself.
"She's pregnant now," I add.
