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I chuckle. “No idea, but I’m listening.”

“She was convinced I’d been with another broad. And let me tell you, I have my flaws, but stepping out on my wife was never one of them. Never even tempted to. But Giada got it in her head that I’d spent my night fucking my way through a Roman orgy, and nothing I said convinced her otherwise. So what does she do? She says we’re going out. She picks the place. And where does she pick? The goddamn Landing Strip.”

My brow furrows. “The what?”

“The Landing Strip. It was a shitty little strip club near LaGuardia, kind of the rival to Lickety Splits. So imagine my face when my pissed-off wife takes us out to what I think is dinner, and we roll up at the competition.”

I chuckle. “Sounds like she got you good⁠—”

“Oh, that ain’t the half of it. We get in there, and it turns out they’re having some kinda amateur night. And my goddamn wife gets up on that fuckin’ stage, looks me right in the eye, and strips down to her birthday suit.”

The ick factor of the story is reduced somewhat because I never knew Nonna. But still.

“That was her payback for an affair I never had!” he chuckles. “Shaking her ass for a bunch of drunk truckers that I had to stop myself from murdering.” He sighs. “Then she told me we were good and that she believed me.” He grins. “We did go to dinner after that, at a real nice place. And damned if that woman didn’t pay for the meal with a handful of crumpled singles she'd made in tips.”

I’m laughing so hard by this point that I don’t even care that Frank’s made himself cozy on my lap, superballs and all.

“Kid, I don’t know Bella,” Vito says, jabbing his cigar at me. “But I can spot a Giada a mile away, and your wife has that touch of devil in her, too. I can tell.”

Yeah…about that…

“Here’s the thing,” my grandfather sighs. “Life is short. And it may sound stupid, since you’re still wet behind the ears, but once you’ve lived as long as I have, you realize exactly how short it is. So whether you believe in God, or reincarnation, or have your own bleak as fuck ‘ya just die’ outlook?”

He cocks a brow at me.

“You never know when it’s the last time you’re gonna hear your favorite song. You don’t know what your last meal is gonna be, or what the last sunset you see is gonna look like. So, have principles and stick to them. Love boldly and without fear. And for God’s sake, Dame…”

He levels the business end of his cigar at me.

“Go fuck your damn wife.”

20

BELLA

“I got married.”

“Wow,” Dr. Fallon says absently, blinking sleep from her eyes.

My brow furrows. “That's your response?”

“It’s my immediate one. I’m still processing.” She yawns. “And…waking up.”

I’ve always been something of a night owl. I saw a shirt one time that said “some people’s ancestors raised the children. Others kept the cave clean. But I am descended from those who stayed up to face the darkness unafraid.”

Now, the shirt is beyond fucking cringe, and the man wearing it was flag-waving, Bible-thumping youth pastor who was molesting eleven year olds.

But, that cringetastic t-shirt messaging really left an impression on me. Maybe my ancestors were the ones who stayed up late to keep the fire going and guard the cave against saber-toothed tigers?

Anyway, sometimes I have to make myself remember that not everyone is going to be awake at two in the morning and readily available for conversation.

Or drop-in therapy, for that matter.

“You’re dying to use the word impulsive, aren’t you?”

Dr. Fallon smiles. “No, not with you.”

“Irrational?”