Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nico
The kid hasn't said a word since we left the apartment.
In the building, she wouldn't shut up. Bunny this, Bunbun that, Sir Floppington the Third needs a seatbelt. But the second Liam opened the SUV door, she went silent. Pressed herself against Kristen's side like she was trying to disappear into her mother's oversized sweater.
Smart kid. Liam has that effect on people.
I watch them in the rearview mirror. Kristen's arm wrapped tight around Lily, her jaw set in that stubborn line of hers. The streetlights flash across her face as we drive and I find myself staring at details I have no business noticing.
Chestnut hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that's coming loose at the temples. Soft curves hidden under clothes that don't fit her—too big in the shoulders, too long in the sleeves. Borrowed, probably from someone twice her size.
She's beautiful.
Her beauty is soft. Is the beauty that even trying to hide it makes it imposible.
I only stare at her because I observe people.
It's what I do. I could tell you the eye color of every person in that apartment building lobby, the make and model of every car parked on her street, the exact number of steps from her door to the stairwell.
Noticing that Kristen Thomas has a body I'd like to see out of those baggy clothes is just data collection.
Nothing more.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. Defiant. Annoyed. Like I'm the inconvenience here.
If it weren't for the kid clutching her stuffed rabbits, I would've handled this differently. A few choice words about what happens to people who refuse Sartori hospitality. A reminder that gratitude isn't optional when my family extends it.
But Lily looked at me and showed me her bunny collection like I was someone worth trusting. And kids don't trust easy strangers.
Fucking hell.
The gates swing open as we approach.
"Is this a castle?" Lily whispers. First words she's said since we got in the car. I turn back to look at her.
"No," I say.
"It looks like a castle."
"It's a house."
"A really big house." She clutches the rabbits closer to her chest. "Does a princess live here?"
Kristen's arm tightens around her daughter. "Lily, don't—"
"My sister thinks she's a princess," I say before I can stop myself. "But she's actually a pain in my ass."
Lily giggles. The sound is unexpectedly... something. I don't know. I don't have words for what it is.
Kristen stares at me like I've grown a second head. Fair enough. I don't make jokes. I don't talk to children. I don't do whatever the hell I'm doing right now. And I certainly can't talk to a toddler like that I guess.
The SUV rolls to a stop in front of the main entrance. Liam kills the engine and steps out, moving around to open Kristen's door. She hesitates, her hand finding Lily's.
She unbuckles Lily's seatbelt and lifts her daughter onto her hip, those three stuffed rabbits wedged between them. I exit my side and come around to escort them up the stairs.
The front doors open before we reach them.
And there she is. My mother standing in the doorway.
She's wearing the blue dress. The one she wore to Riccardo's funeral because he always said it was his favorite.
Jesus Christ, Ma.
"You came!" She claps her hands together, beaming at Kristen like she's a long-lost daughter instead of a stranger who tried to cancel twice. "And this must be Lily. Che bella bambina!"
Lily burrows deeper into Kristen's shoulder.
My mother has the softest heart of anyone in this family. She's the one who feeds stray cats behind the kitchen. Who cried for three days when Valentino's dog died. Who still lights candles for my father every Sunday even though—
Even though he didn't deserve her. Not even close.
The thing people don't understand about Aria Sartori is that soft doesn't mean weak.
She raised six children in this world. Buried a husband.
Buried a son. Watched another one nearly die.
And through all of it, she held this family together with nothing but sheer will and the kind of love that refuses to break.
She also manipulates every single one of us like we're chess pieces and she's playing a game only she can see.
"Pietro, darling, I'm sure you're right about the security protocols. But wouldn't it be such a shame if I mentioned this to Father Dominic at confession? You know how he worries about me being lonely..."
"Nico, sweetheart, of course you don't have to come to Sunday dinner. I'll just sit here by myself, thinking about how quickly children forget their mothers..."
She fights for things. For people. For what she thinks is right.
Animal rights, workers' rights, the rights of the gardener's daughter to attend a decent school.
She marched in protests when we were kids.
Donated to causes that made my father pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter prayers for patience.
This is why we haven't told her about Giuseppe's other family. About the children he had with her while he was married to our mother.
She loved him. Completely.
Telling her would destroy everything in her and she won't rebuild.
But right now, watching her vibrate with excitement as she ushers Kristen and Lily through the door, I realize something else.
Since Riccardo died, she hasn't done this.
She hasn't tried to take care of someone new. Hasn't reached out beyond the family. Hasn't had this light in her eyes.
My mother is a Sartori. She shows kindness the way we show everything else—with overwhelming force and the expectation of compliance.
"Come, come! I made pasta al forno, Lily, do you like pasta? Of course you like pasta, all children like pasta. And there's tiramisu for after, but only if you eat your vegetables. Nico, don't just stand there, come!"
Kristen shoots me a look of pure panic.
Welcome to the family, I don't say.
You're not getting out of this, I also don't say.
I get closer to her.
"Relax," I murmur, low enough that only she can hear. "She's not going to hurt you. She's going to feed you until you can't move and then send you home with leftovers."
"That's supposed to be comforting?"
"It's the truth."
Lily is watching my mother with suspicious fascination, still clutching her rabbits like a shield.
Aria asks her who are those sweet bunnies she’s holding. Lily tells her.
"Bunny, Bunbun, and Sir Floppington," my mother says, crouching down to Lily's eye level. "What beautiful names. Did you choose them yourself?"
Lily nods slowly.
"You have excellent taste." My mother holds out her hand. "I'm Aria. Would you like to see my garden? I have a fountain with fish in it."
Lily looks at her mother. Then at me. Then back at Aria.
"Real fish?"
"Very real. Orange ones and white ones and one grumpy black one who doesn't like anyone."
Lily considers this. Then she reaches out and takes my mother's hand.
Kristen makes a sound. Small, strangled, somewhere between relief and terror. Her daughter just willingly went with a stranger into a house that might as well be a fortress. A house full of people who do terrible things.
I should feel guilty about this.
I don't.
"She'll be fine," I tell Kristen. "My mother would die before letting anything happen to a child."
"I barely know your mother."
"You saved her life. That makes you a member of the family for her now."
Kristen's eyes snap to mine. "I don't want to be family."
"Too bad." I gesture toward the hallway where my mother and Lily have disappeared.
Kristen
The foyer stretches before me. It comes out of a magazine. Crystal chandeliers hang from ceilings so high they could swallow my entire apartment. Twice.
Don't touch anything. You can't afford to replace it.
I stand frozen near the door, watching Aria disappear with Lily toward whatever magical garden exists in this place. My daughter's excited voice sounds off walls that probably cost more than I'll make in my lifetime.
Nico stands a few feet away, his posture rigid. The tension radiating off him says everything.
He doesn't want me here.
Good. Makes two of us.
I study the sweeping staircase, the fresh flowers arranged in vases taller than Lily, the oil paintings that look old enough to belong in museums. Everything gleams.
My mind flashes to my apartment. The water stain on the ceiling.
This is what he saw when he walked into my home.
This is what my life looks like through his eyes.
Nothing. Less than nothing.
Rich people build these palaces and never think about the rest of us. Never wonder how someone goes home to a one-bedroom with a temperamental toaster. Why would they? We're invisible until we're useful.
"Follow me." Nico's voice cuts through my spiral.
Not please follow me. Not would you like to. Just a command. Two words. Like I'm one of his employees.
I guess tonight, I am.
I follow him through a hallway lined with more art, more fresh flowers, more evidence of a life I'll never understand. My flats make soft sounds on the hardwood floors. His expensive shoes make none.
He moves like he owns the world. I've never met a person with such confidence.
We enter a living room that's bigger than my entire apartment building's lobby. A fireplace dominates one wall—not for warmth, I bet, but for atmosphere. Leather furniture. More of those floor-to-ceiling windows I noticed from outside.
And people. So many people.
My stomach drops.
A young woman with dark hair and striking features rises from one of the couches, her smile warm. She moves toward me.
"You must be Kristen." She takes my hand before I can decide if I should offer it. "I'm Vittoria. Nico's sister. Thank you for saving our mother."
"I just—it wasn't—" I stumble over words like an idiot.
But Vittoria's already turning, gesturing to the room like a tour guide at a museum.
"Let me introduce everyone." She points to a dark-haired man with brown eyes sitting beside a honey-haired woman. "That's Lorenzo, my brother, and his wife Sophia."
Lorenzo nods. Sophia offers a small wave and a softer smile.
"Nora and Pietro." Vittoria indicates a red-haired woman with striking green eyes and a man who radiates authority even while seated. He's got the same dark coloring as Nico, the same intensity.
"Valentino and Carmela." A broad, silver-templed man with the posture of a soldier. An older woman beside him with kind eyes and the same elegant bone structure as Aria.
"And you already met Liam." Vittoria finishes with a gesture toward the corner where the driver stands.
Too many names. Too many faces. Too many people who belong here when I absolutely don't.
Lorenzo. Sophia. Nora. Pietro. Valentino. Carmela. Liam.
I'll forget half of them in five minutes.
"Please, sit." Vittoria guides me toward an empty armchair. The leather is so soft it feels like butter. I perch on the edge, afraid to lean back. Afraid to leave a mark on something this expensive.
Nico doesn't sit. He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"So, Kristen." Vittoria settles onto the couch across from me, tucking her legs beneath her like we're old friends at a sleepover. "Tell us about yourself."
My mind goes blank.
Tell us about yourself.
What am I supposed to say? I'm nobody interesting. I'm a single mom who can't keep a job. I live in a crappy apartment. I spend my nights Googling medical conditions because I wanted to be a doctor once, before life happened.
That's fascinating. Please, tell us more about your Goodwill appliances.
"There's not much to tell." I smooth my hands over my thighs, buying time. "I'm from Chicago. Born and raised."
"Where in Chicago?" Nora asks. The redhead leans forward, genuine curiosity in those green eyes.
"South side, originally. Rogers Park now." I don't mention the neighborhood's reputation. They probably already know. "It's just me and Lily."
"And Lily's father?" Lorenzo's wife—Sophia—asks the question gently, like she already knows it's a minefield.
"Not in the picture." The words come out flat. Practiced. "We separated eight months ago."
"That must be hard." Sophia's voice holds something that sounds like understanding. "Raising a child alone."
You have no idea.
"Lily makes it worth it." That part's true. The only true thing about my life, some days.
The tension in my shoulders loosens. Just a fraction.
"What about your family?" Nora asks. "Parents? Siblings?"
"Only child. Raised by my mom." I pick at my thumbnail, a nervous habit I've never broken. "My dad left when I was two. I don't remember him."
The room goes quiet.
Great. Now they feel sorry for you.
"My mother's still around," I add quickly. "She helps with Lily sometimes. We're... close."
The lie tastes bitter. Close isn't the word. Complicated. Exhausting. Disappointing.
"Family is everything." Carmela speaks for the first time. "Even when they drive you crazy, yes?"
"Especially then," I agree.
The broad man with silver at his temples shifts in his chair. "What do you do for work, Kristen?"
The question hits like a punch.
Did. Past tense. What did I do.
"Catering, mostly." I force my voice steady. "Before that, waitressing. Retail. Whatever pays the bills."
I don't mention being fired. Don't mention the stack of past-due notices on my kitchen counter or the $1,500 monthly payment that keeps me awake at night.