Page 4 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"That was fifteen years ago! How was I supposed to know the fountain wasn't chlorinated?"

"I had blue hair for a month!"

But…maybe having my sisters as accomplices in what I'm already planning wouldn't be the worst thing...

"Ladies!" Mama emerges from the kitchen like a tiny Italian storm cloud. At five-foot-nothing, Maria Gallo still manages to command any room she enters. "What is all this shouting? This is a restaurant, not a soccer stadium!"

"Sorry, Mama," we chorus, like we're teenagers again instead of grown women.

"Now," Mama pulls up a chair, her expression softening as she looks at me. "Tell me what this Drake person did exactly."

I explain the takeover, the firing, the humiliating escort out. With each detail, Mama's expression darkens like she's planning a hit. Knowing her, she probably is.

"On your birthday," she mutters. "No respect. These big companies—they forget about family, about tradition." She gestures around the restaurant. "Look at this place. Your bisnonno built it from nothing. Through wars, recessions, that terrible summer when everyone wanted fusion cuisine..." She shudders. "We survived because we stuck together."

"I know, Mama." And I do know. The weight of four generations of Gallos seems to press down on my shoulders. "But times change. Sometimes we have to adapt."

"Like Drake Enterprises adapted you right out of a job?" Lucia mutters.

"Not helping."

"Actually..." Lucia pulls out her phone. "Maybe I am helping. Look what just popped up on Instagram."

She shows me a post from Drake Enterprises' account: a photo of champagne towers being set up for tonight's gala. The caption reads: "Celebrating innovation and community at our annual charity gala!"

"Community?" Nonna scoffs. "They wouldn't know community if it served them an authentic carbonara!"

I pull out the invitation, finally laying it on the table. "So maybe someone should remind them."

My sisters' eyes light up like Christmas came early.

"I knew it!" Lucia crows. "You were planning this the whole time!"

"Planning is a strong word," I hedge. "Contemplating. Considering. Possibly fantasizing about while driving here..."

"Mackenzie Regina Gallo," Mama's using my full name, but her eyes are twinkling. "Are you thinking of crashing this fancy party?"

"Crashing is such an ugly word." I finger the embossed invitation. "I mean, technically, I was invited."

"Before they fired you," Sofia points out.

"Details." I wave my hand. "Besides, it's for charity. Really, it would be selfish of me not to go."

Luna pokes her head around the corner. "Is Zia Mac going to crash a party? Can we help?"

"Homework!" we all shout in unison, and she disappears again, giggling.

"You're teaching my children bad habits," Sofia says, but she's already reaching for her phone. "I'm calling my stylist friend. That suit needs some zhuzhing if you're going to crash a gala."

"I'm not going to crash—" I start to protest, but who am I kidding? I've been planning this since I saw those champagne flutes being unpacked. "Okay, fine. But I'm just going to make an appearance, maybe make some pointed comments about corporate ethics, and leave with my dignity intact."

Lucia cackles. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, sorella. Now, let's talk about your hair..."

Two hours later, I'm freshly styled (thanks to Sofia's expertise), slightly buzzed (thanks to Lucia's heavy pour), and absolutely certain this is either the best or worst idea I've ever had.

"Remember," Mama fixes my collar, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You're a Gallo. We don't get mad..."

"We get even," my sisters chorus.

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