Page 21 of Of Lies and Shadows

“It’s new. I read something about it online.” I smile. “It boosts creativity and it’ll sneak a few veggies into Alessio without him noticing.”

He huffs a low breath. “Ah. Vegetables. Alessio’s mortal enemies.”

“We’re working on making them his friends. His little pirate body needs them.”

His brows twitch, whether in surprise or amusement, I can’t tell, but the sharp edges of his expression dull just a little.

He looks at his desk, and the way his face turns serious, I know he’s about to refuse. And because I think of it, because I know what’s coming, I continue.

“It’s not just for them. It’s good for you too. Creating memories.”

He looks up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me off. Frankly, I’d understand. It would be deserved. But instead, he’s quiet for a beat.

“I have ten minutes.”

It’s not much. But it’s more than I expected.

I return to the kitchen ahead of him, brushing flour from my sleeves and trying not to overthink his answer.

Ten minutes. He said yes.

Alessio is up to his elbows in tomato sauce, already shouting orders at an imaginary crew.

Lucia looks up the moment I walk back in.

“Did it work?” she whispers.

I smile. “He’s on his way.”

Alessio blinks and straightens, and I catch the joy he istrying to smother. “Papa is coming?”

Before I can answer, the door creaks open behind me, and Dante steps into the kitchen.

He looks out of place in his dark slacks and button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair slightly mussed, his usual air of lethal command muted under a faint cloud of uncertainty behind his dark-framed glasses. He smells like cedar and clean soap with something sharper underneath, danger, maybe, or restraint.

Lucia immediately beams. “Papa! You’re here!”

Alessio stares wide-eyed. “Are you going to make a pizza?”

Dante raises a brow. “Is that the requirement?”

Alessio narrows his eyes. “It’s pizza night.”

Dante turns to me. “It seems I must make a pizza.”

I nod with a little smile, slipping a few spinach leaves onto Alessio’s pizza to finish the “dragon scales.”

Dante notices and gives me a wink to show he caught the ploy. And damn, if that doesn’t twist something in my stomach in a way it really shouldn’t.

He finally exhales, like he’s facing down an armed negotiation, and walks slowly toward the counter.

“What do I do?”

Lucia jumps up, grabbing his hand with both of hers. “I’ll show you.”

He lets her drag him to the station I’d set up earlier, where dough waits patiently beside toppings in bright little bowls lined up like paint palettes.

Lucia rolls out the dough with effort, her tongue between her teeth, while Dante stands awkwardly beside her.

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