10. 10 – Caterina
10 – Caterina
S tefan’s hand is tight around mine as we skirt around the piles of boxes in the entrance hall and walk into the bright, airy kitchen. The low murmur of conversation greets us, and I have to stop.
To take it in.
Luc is chopping something at the black granite counter, Gio leaning beside him with his arms crossed. Two beers sit on the counter beside them, icy cold droplets sliding down the glass bottles. Music is coming from somewhere, low and inviting.
And at the table—
Dante grins at me. “She’s very clever, our figlia .”
And he sounds so proud in that second that a lump appears in my throat. Slowly, I move my gaze to Alessia. She sits in his lap, her entire attention focused on the pasta heaped on the plate in front of her.
Every inch of space within two feet of her is covered in sauce.
Beside me, Stefano coughs in what sounds suspiciously like amusement.
Including Dante.
He doesn’t seem to care that his pristine white shirt is splattered with sauce. Even his face and neck are covered, what looks like small fingerprints spread out on his cheeks. Instead, he watches as Alessia reaches for another piece of pasta, squishing it between her fingers.
Her own face is covered in orange sauce. Some of her curls stick out with it, and she burbles to herself before she shoves the entire piece of pasta in and chews it thoughtfully.
I take a step forward without thinking, but she swallows without hesitation.
Slowly, I make my way around the table. Dante follows my movements, his smile fading as I take a seat opposite them.
Avoiding his gaze, I keep my eyes on Alessia. Watch every movement she makes, as Dante returns to feeding her – or trying to.
A glass of wine appears in front of me, and I look up at Luc. He still looks exhausted, but he offers me a smile as he passes a beer to Stefano. “I ordered some supplies. Including clothes. They’re in the hall.”
I glance down at the white shirt I’m wearing as a dress. “Thanks.”
His hand brushes against my shoulder before he returns to the meal. I glance to the door as Gio slides into the seat beside mine, watching Dante and Alessia. “Has anyone seen Dom?”
Heads shake.
“He’s in his room,” Luc says, tipping back his beer and taking a deep swig. “I’ll put him some food aside if he doesn’t come down. For your mother too. She’s not coming down?”
Stefano jerks at the question Luc aims at him. “No. She… prefers the quiet. Grazie .”
My eyes slide back to Alessia. I watch her play with the pasta, with Dante’s watch. Her own eyes, bright green with vivid curiosity, move around the room.
They settle on me. And she starts to wriggle against Dante’s hold, her hands out.
I watch with my heart in my mouth as she slides from his lap, her hand wrapped around his finger as she uses the edge of the table to steady herself. And then she starts to move, determination in every wobbling step as she circles the round table, her finger slipping from Dante’s as he settles back into his seat and crosses his arms.
His eyebrow raises when I glare at him. Challenging.
Alessia rounds the square wooden table, and my arm flies out when she wobbles. She grips it with a toothy grin, pulling on it as she moves closer. And my heart… it squeezes, twists, as she reaches the edge of my chair and holds out her arm.
My daughter is a surprisingly heavy bundle in my arms as I carefully lift her. Sticky fingers immediately tangle in my hair, a hand on my cheek as she leans in close.
My throat bobs.
She settles against me, playing with damp strands of hair as Luc places steaming plates of pasta down. All of them try hard not to stare as I fumble my way around Alessia, pausing to offer her a piece of pasta that she accepts after scrutinising it.
“Does she… what does she have? Need?” I ask awkwardly.
Useless.
Bea would have known what she needed.
Luc waves his hand. A hint of color appears on his cheeks. “I may have gotten a little carried away. But I thought if she stays, she’ll need—,”
I straighten. “Stays?”
Dante straightens as well. “She won’t be able to come with us, Cat. Not until this is over.”
My hands slip around her, holding her. “Who?”
“My mother.” Luc taps his fingers against the table. “She’ll be back in a few days. She’d be delighted to have a little one around the house, Caterina. The staff will help.”
I stiffen, irritation curling through me. “Then it’s settled, it seems.”
And I hate myself, as Luc flinches. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t – it’s only a suggestion. If there’s anything else you want to do—,”
But there isn’t.
I should have thought about it. But I didn’t .
Pull yourself together, Corvo.
I breathe in the sweet, soapy, tinged-with-tomato scent that lingers in her hair as she reaches for more pasta.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course she can’t come.”
Another separation beckons, for who knows how long.
I wonder if I’ll come back, this time. If I’ll ever have that time with her, to learn her, to learn how to be what she needs.
Alessia holds up some pasta to my mouth, and I snap my teeth at it. My hand jumps up to catch the back of her head as she throws it back, a loud, happy cackle of laughter before she offers it to me again. And my lips curve up, as I force that sadness down.
I will come back , I promise her silently. I’ll come back for you.
Her eyes move past me and stop. I turn to see Stefano watching. He stares at Alessia, and she stares back at him. “Ba.”
He freezes when she leans forward. Her hands open and close in a clear demand. “ Ba !”
“I think she wants you.” I bite my lip to hide my smile as he stiffens.
“I don’t…,” he clears his throat. “I’ve never held a baby.”
But he reaches out for her, and she says it again as he lifts her, settling her against his large chest. His hand is large enough to cover her entire back as she buries her face into his shirt, smearing sauce over it. A small yawn sounds. “Ba.”
Dante frowns. “Like I said. No taste.”
I scowl at him, but he looks unrepentant. Across from me, Gio smirks. “What did you say about being the… what was it… favorite uncle , Morelli?”
Luc narrows his eyes. “Eighteen years is a long time, Fusco . She’ll come back to me. Won’t you, cuoricino ?”
Stefano’s voice is a low, uncertain rumble. “She’s…ah, asleep.”
My eyes slide over them all. At Stefano, with Alessia curled up against his chest. At Gio and Luc as they rib each other. And at Dante, who glances at the door before looking back to me. “Go. We’ve got her. Or… Asante has, it seems.”
Slowly, I push my chair back. “Gio… where are my knives?”
One of us is missing, and I’m not going to let him hide away.