Page 65 of Of Lies and Shadows

Vito nods slowly, a glint of anticipation in his eye. “You want blood, don’t you?”

“No,” I correct, standing and buttoning my jacket. “I want truth. Blood comes after.”

Vito leans forward. “What now?”

“Now, we start shifting plans. Quietly. We see how much we can reroute without involving the core. Damage control until this is resolved.”

He grins. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

By the time we’re finished, it’s past six. My temples throb from the hours of focus, lack of food, and too much black coffee. Everything in my body aches. My shoulders are stiff, my jaw is clenched, and my head is pounding just enough to remind me I haven’t eaten all day.

When I step into the house, all I want is a drink, a shower, and maybe a few moments where no one needsanything from me.

But then I hear it.

Lucia’s squeal of joy. Alessio’s excited shout. And then her laugh, low, sultry, effortless.

Real.

Real in a way I haven’t heard in weeks. Not directed at me, of course. No, her laugh is always for the children. Or for Bruno. Never for me.

But still, it does something. My headache fades just enough. My steps grow lighter as I head toward the kitchen, drawn by the sound like a man chasing warmth through a blizzard.

And for a second, I feel it, something I’ve never had, not really.

Is this what it’s like to come home? If only any of it belonged to me.

The kitchen is a mess of flour and laughter.

Lucia is standing on a stool with tomato sauce on her nose, while Alessio is wearing the same tomato sauce all over his mouth and Francesca?—

Francesca isglowing.

She’s got her sleeves rolled up, her curls pinned back, a smudge of flour on her cheek, and a smile so bright it hits me in the chest like a sucker punch. She’s laughing at something Lucia just said, nudging Alessio out of the way with her hip while she helps him roll out the dough again. It’s chaos. Warm, loud, perfect chaos.

And then Alessio spots me in the doorway.

“Papa!” he cries. “Come make pizza!”

Lucia whips her head around, eyes going wide. “Please,Papa? It’s the night before school. We’re all doing it. Even Cece said so!”

I glance at Francesca.

She’s still smiling, soft and open. For a moment, she even looks like she means it. “You’ll need to earn your spot,” she teases, tossing a pinch of flour in my direction. “We don’t let amateurs near the sauce.”

“Is that so?” I smirk, slipping off my jacket.

“Yes,” Alessio says proudly. “Cece showed us. She made it epic.”

I raise a brow and glance at her again. “Epic, huh?”

She shrugs with faux modesty. “They’re easily impressed.”

I step up to the counter beside her, and for the first time in days, something in my chest unwinds. I reach for the dough, my fingers brushing hers. She doesn’t pull away. I press my hand to the small of her back when I lean to grab the sauce ladle. She stiffens, just slightly, and though she doesn’t move away, she doesn’t lean into it either. Her body is warm, soft, present… but not open.

Too close.

“Spread it in circles,” she instructs, glancing sideways at me, her voice playful again. “Unless you like chaos.”

---