33. Amara
AMARA
HOPE WEARS LIPSTICK AND HEELS
“ S urprise!” Bianca beams, already pushing past Arman and making her way into the house like she owns the place. Bianca is the picture of chic, wearing sunglasses indoors and clutching a venti coffee like a trophy.
Alena trails behind her, more reserved, but her smile is warm. She’s holding a large bag in one hand and something that looks suspiciously like a basket of muffins in the other.
“Oh my god, you look almost alive,” Bianca says, tossing her bag onto the chair like she owns the place. “What are we watching? Something dark and depressing to match the vibe? Please say it’s a mafia documentary.”
I actually laugh. It slips out before I can stop it.
Alena smiles warmly as she sets a paper bag on the table and comes. We enter the living room where she sits beside me. “We brought you some things. Not a prison break, unfortunately.”
“Plus,” Bianca says dramatically, “you’re officially one of us now. The girls’ club is a little ruthless about check-ins.”
I’m trying not to show how much their visit means to me. Everyone I love turns to shit, and I don’t want to fuck this up.
They move into the living room like they’ve been here a dozen times. Alena brings a handful of books with her, and as she gets closer, it looks like an entire shelf of baby books.
“Okay,” she says, already flipping through one.
“I brought the basics. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Ina May, and even some weird Scandinavian ones that Niccoló swears by because it’s ‘less dramatic.’” She air-quotes, making a face .
“I swear, he thinks everything American is a marketing ploy.”
“Isn’t it?” Bianca tosses herself on the couch like a cat and grabs a muffin from the thick, authentic wicker basket, not the Chinese knockoffs.
“These are carrot cake muffins, to die for,” she says, drawing the last three words out as she takes a huge bite of one.
Her mouth is full. “I know, betrayal. But they’re the only ones Alena could eat without barfing when she was expecting. ”
Alena glares at her sister-in-law. “Thanks, B. You’re really setting the tone here.”
I laugh, and it surprises me. It actually bubbles out of me, unfiltered.
Bianca winks. “You’re welcome. I take my job very seriously.”
Alena walks me through the basics—what to eat, what to avoid, why pregnancy dreams are deranged and terrifying. She’s gentle and smart and makes me feel like I’m not completely losing my mind.
We settle into a conversation about life in general and the kids. Then, Amara opens her bag and pulls out a few hardcover books— What to Expect When You’re Expecting , Nurture , and a stack of pamphlets from some trendy holistic clinic in the city.
“I know it’s probably too soon for some of these,” she says, placing one hand gently over mine. “But I wanted you to have them. Just in case you needed answers. Or something to throw at Pietro.”
Bianca keeps the mood light. And Alena tells me stories about Matteo and how he tried to convince her that babies don’t need a diaper-changing station if you’re “strategic with table space.”
“ Table space , Amara,” she deadpans. “I nearly walked out right then.”
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m filled with muffins, and my cheeks actually hurt from smiling .
It’s the first time I’ve felt anything close to normal in weeks.
Then Bianca says, too casually, “You know, for someone so emotionally constipated, Pietro did call us.”
Alena shoots her a look. “Bianca.”
“What?” Bianca shrugs. “She deserves to know he’s thinking about her. All that broody ‘I’ll protect her by ignoring her’ bullshit has a shelf life.”
My smile falters just a little.
Because that’s the part I can’t talk about.
Not to them.
They’re his blood. And no matter how kind they are to me, I can’t make them witness me unraveling. No one likes a Karen, and I refuse to whine over the fact that Pietro won’t include me in his life.
His family has taken me in, fed me, and held my hand through terror and trauma. But I can’t unload my mess onto them. I can’t say, Hey, I’m in love with your brother, and I think he’s breaking my heart by pretending he isn’t in love with me too.
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. I would like to know if Pietro told them anything else. If he talks about me.
Is he keeping his distance out of guilt… or because the feelings are gone?
“I can’t believe he called you to come check on me,” I blurt.
Bianca gasps. “Wait—how long would Pietro keep it a secret?” she quickly glances at her sidekick.
Alena smirks. “Well, it’s not a secret now. And it would have remained a secret indefinitely if you hadn’t spilled the beans,” she smirks.
“Does he hold a grudge forever?” I ask, surprised.
“Pietro broods when he’s stewing over something, and a mafia war is more than something,” Bianca says with zero subtlety. “Besides, he didn’t say ‘go fix Amara’s mood,’ but you know…” She shrugs. “We read between the broody lines.”
Alena rolls her eyes affectionately. “He’s worried. And you’ve been on your own for too long.”
Bianca snorts, flopping onto the other end of the couch. “Pietro’s broody as hell lately. It’s like talking to a vampire. I don’t know what you did to him, but the man has moody Italian drama prince written all over him these days.”
I laugh so hard I’m about to spew a muffin.
Alena exchanges a look with Bianca when I don’t comment. Then Bianca says, “You don’t have to defend him to us. We love him, but trust me, we know .”
My cheeks flush. “He’s just… processing things.” I don’t know why I’m making excuses for the man who’s crushed me, but I’m loyal like that. “Thanks for coming,” I say, keeping my voice light but managing to change the topic just the same. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
Alena smiles softly. “You’re not alone, Amara. Found family isn’t always quiet. But it’s solid. You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
Bianca leans over and stage-whispers, “Also, we brought chocolate. And I might’ve smuggled in a mini bottle of Prosecco just for sniffing purposes.”
The look on my face must have alarmed her. She’s a character. That’s when Bianca reaches out and ruffles my hair with zero permission. “Honey, we are the abnormal. You’re one of us now. Embrace the chaos,” she says as she stands and heads to the kitchen.
“Do you have any champagne in this majestic house? My God, I didn’t know my brothers had this beauty hidden!” She disappears into the kitchen and then I hear, “Ah, here is it.” A bottle makes a “pop” and the fizzy sound follows in its wake. The refrigerator door opens and shuts.
Within minutes, she reappears in the living room with three glasses. She bends to serve us. “Take the middle one, it only has a splash of alcohol, but you need it. We can’t have the baby stressed out!”
I love her. She’s bubbly, and her effervescent smile warms my heart. She’s a force of nature. I wouldn’t put anything past her when it comes to protecting her family.
So instead of going it alone, I accepted my new family’s help, and I leaned into the laughter. I laughed so much my sides ached.
And to think my day was full before Bianca’s absurd impression of Renalto’s poker face and Alena’s patient explanations of prenatal vitamins. But it’s hard to pretend things are normal when they aren’t.
But for a little while, with them here, it almost feels like maybe someday… this could be my new normal.
The fact remains that Pietro knew I was lonely, and he called on his family to help. This is not the move of a man who doesn’t care about me.
This is a man who cares about me immensely. He didn’t have to do that, but I’m so happy he did.
I am still chuckling at their one-liners and wit long after the girls left. But the fact that Pietro noticed me warms my heart and gives me hope.
* * *
I’ve been concerned about Sarah’s safety, and today, I noticed a burner phone on the nightstand near me. This is new.
As if I willed it to life, it suddenly buzzes next to me, causing me to jump. I don’t recognize the number, but I already know who it is.
“Sarah?” I answer, curling onto my side.
“Hey,” she says, breathless like she’s just stepped outside. “How’s house arrest?”
“Glamorous as ever,” I mutter. “I am exploring the house today as I’m bored and going crazy. So, you know. Peak mental health.”
She laughs softly. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Yet.”
There’s a pause, like she’s bracing for something. Then, “I got the all-clear. I’m going back to work Monday.”
I sit up. “Wait—what?”
“Matteo’s team. They said the threat level on me is low enough now. I guess I’m no longer high priority.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out for a second.
“That’s… great,” I manage. “Really great.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sarah says quickly. “And don’t do that. Don’t go all mopey and spiral-y on me.”
“I’m not,” I lie. “I mean, I’m happy for you. Really. You’ve been stuck in hiding for weeks, too. You deserve to get your life back. I’m really sorry about all of this.”
“I knew there was a risk of some shit happening. Don’t beat yourself up. Luckily for us, we’re both still here to talk about it. And at a future date, we’ll laugh about it.”
I close my eyes, rubbing my temple. “I don’t know about that.”
Sarah is quiet momentarily before saying, “I’m just a witness to all this. You? You’re in it. You’re the daughter of the man who started the fire, and you’re carrying the baby of the man trying to put it out.”
“That’s poetic,” I say pensively. “But I did stupid things. I don’t know if Pietro will ever forgive me.”
“About the pregnancy?” she says gently.
“That and other things.” I pause.
“What else happened?”
“He found out I was a Moretti and didn’t say anything. I didn’t know our families hated each other. And on top of it, my father threatened to kill Pietro if I didn’t marry the Serb he promised me to.”
“So that’s why you ran away?” She asks, trying to keep her voice steady.