Page 4 of Broken Honor

I smile softly. “Maybe he sensed we were all distracted by the heat.”

“Mm, maybe. Or maybe even the Holy Spirit gets bored sometimes.”

I laugh—a light, soft sound—and she grins, pleased to have pulled it from me.

We round the corner toward Via San Lorenzo, heading back toward the café. The city feels quite still, as if reluctant to wake. Sunlight filters through the trees, casting delicate shadows over the stone walls and worn storefronts.

Then Bea glances at me sideways, a little too casual.

“Did you hear about Lucia?”

I turn my head toward her. “Lucia D’Amato?”

She nods, eyes forward. “She’s pregnant.”

I blink. “What?”

“Two months along.”

My feet falter slightly, and she slows beside me to match my pace.

“Lucia?” I repeat, still unsure I’ve heard correctly.

Bea nods again, then leans a little closer like she’s slipping me a secret.“Giovanni Ferri.”

I stop walking altogether.

“Giovanni? But… Signora Imelda’s son?”

Bea’s lips twist into a knowing half-smile. “The very one.”

I shake my head slowly, trying to understand. “But… Lucia and Giovanni?”

“I know,” Bea says, as if she’d expected my disbelief.

I picture Signora Imelda immediately—petite and soft-spoken, with silver curls tucked into a delicate scarf and hands that always smelled of lavender and flour. She never missed a Sunday Mass, always left a prayer card tucked into the pews. I can’t imagine her as a grandmother yet.

I walk again, slower now, the news still settling in my chest. “They must’ve been in love,” I say gently. “Maybe it happened quickly. Maybe he fell for her laugh, or her wit. She’s always been charming in that quiet way, hasn’t she?”

Bea hums beside me. “Charming, sure.”

“Maybe he saw something beautiful in her,” I continue softly, imagining it in my mind. “Something others missed. Maybe he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he knew she was the one, right from the start. They’ll get married, of course, and then… It'll be a lovely life. A small house, a garden. He’ll bring her fresh bread from his mother’s kitchen, and she’ll teach their children the rosary.”

Bea makes a sound that’s somewhere between amusement and affection.

I glance at her. “What?”

“Tesoro, you really do live in a painting.”

I laugh again, cheeks warming. “I just… I like to think the best of people.”

“Mm.” Her tone shifts slightly, a little heavier. “Giovanni wants nothing to do with her.”

I stop again.

Bea sighs, tugging gently on my sleeve to keep us moving. “His family’s forcing the wedding. Reverend Father nearly burst a vein when he found out.”

“But… that’s awful.”

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