Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nico
The dining room could seat thirty. Tonight, we're using maybe a quarter of the table, clustered at one end like survivors on a lifeboat.
I take my seat across from Kristen, which gives me an unobstructed view of her trying to disappear into the upholstery.
She's pulled her chair as close to Lily's booster seat as physically possible. Her shoulders curve inward. Her hands stay in her lap when they're not cutting food into microscopic pieces for her daughter. She takes up approximately the same amount of space as a small bird.
It's unsettling.
Everyone in her position should be working an angle by now.
Asking about investment opportunities. Mentioning a cousin who needs a job.
Probing for weaknesses she could exploit later.
That's how this works. Someone saves a Sartori's life or just helps with something even smaller than that and they cash in. It's expected. Practically tradition.
Instead, Kristen Thomas acts like she's waiting for someone to realize there's been a mistake and escort her out.
"The chicken is wonderful, Mrs. Sartori," she says quietly. Her eyes stay on her plate.
"Aria, please." My mother beams from the head of the table. "And it's an old family recipe."
Lily, completely unbothered by the tension her mother radiates, grins up at Aria with marinara sauce on her chin. "My grandma makes mac and cheese from the blue box. It's so good."
Carmela laughs. "Simple pleasures are underrated, little one."
I watch Kristen's face as her daughter speaks. There's pride there, but also something that looks like fear. Like she's worried Lily will say the wrong thing. Reveal too much. Get them both in trouble.
Who taught you to be afraid of your own child's voice?
The question surfaces before I can stop it. I file it away for later analysis.
"Kristen," Pietro says from his seat beside Nora, "Nico mentioned you had medical aspirations. What drew you to that path?"
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. She sets it down carefully, like the silverware might be a test she needs to pass.
"I always wanted to help people." The answer comes out rehearsed. Safe. "But life had other plans."
"Life often does." Lorenzo nods from his seat next to Sophia. His tone is warm, understanding. My brother has always been better at this. The human connection part. "What kind of medicine interested you?"
"Emergency care." For just a moment, her eyes sparkle. "The fast decisions. The way everything becomes clear when someone needs help." She catches herself, shrinks back. "But that was a long time ago."
Sophia leans forward. "It doesn't have to be. People return to school all the time."
"Maybe." Kristen's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "When Lily's older. When things are more stable for us."
Stable. The word lands wrong. Even Lily could be sure that stable isn't even on her horizon if she knew to read and had a look at Kristen's file.
"Mommy, can I have more bread?" Lily tugs at Kristen's sleeve.
"Of course, baby." Kristen reaches for the basket, but Valentino beats her to it.
"Allow me, piccola." My cousin passes the bread with his most charming smile. The one that works on everyone from customs agents to suspicious widows.
Lily accepts it without hesitation.
"Lily," Vittoria leans across the table, her dark eyes bright with mischief, "what's your favorite thing in the whole world?"
Lily considers this with the gravity of a four-year-old philosopher. Her brow furrows. She taps her chin with one tiny finger.
"Bunnies," she declares. "And pancakes. And Mommy's singing even though she sounds like a frog."
The table erupts.
Lorenzo nearly chokes on his wine. Sophia buries her face in his shoulder. Even Valentino, who rarely cracks a smile that isn't calculated, lets out a genuine laugh.
Kristen's face goes scarlet. "Lily—"
"What?" Lily blinks up at her mother with pure innocence. "You said it first. You said 'I sound like a dying frog but at least you love me.'"
More laughter. Nora wipes her eyes. Pietro's shoulders shake.
I don't laugh. But something in my chest loosens. Just slightly.
"I think frogs are underrated," Vittoria says seriously. "Some of them are very musical."
"Really?" Lily's eyes go wide.
"Absolutely. There's a frog in South America that sounds like a tiny bell."
"Mommy!" Lily tugs at Kristen's sleeve. "You sound like a bell."
"A dying bell, maybe," Kristen mutters, but she's fighting a smile. The first one I've seen all night.
It transforms her face. Softens the tension around her eyes.
I file that away too. Don't know why though.
"Do you have any pets?" Vittoria asks Lily.
"No." Lily's face falls. "Our apartment doesn't allow them. But Mommy says when we have a house, I can have a bunny. A real one. Not stuffed."
"That sounds like a very good plan."
"What's your bunny's name going to be?" I hear myself ask.
Every head at the table turns toward me. Even Liam, stationed by the door, raises an eyebrow.
I don't talk to children. I don't talk to anyone I don't have to. This is established fact.
Lily doesn't seem to notice the shift. She beams at me like I've asked the most important question of the evening.
"Sir Floppington the Fourth," she announces. "Because I already have Sir Floppington the Third. He's stuffed. The real one will be his son."
"Logical," I say.
"That's what Mommy says." Lily nods approvingly. "She says I'm very logistical."
"Logical, baby," Kristen corrects gently.
"That's what I said."
I watch Kristen through the rest of the meal. The way she relaxes by degrees.
But I also notice when the shift happens.
It's subtle. A glance at the clock on the wall. A slight straightening of her spine. The protective hunch returning to her shoulders.
She wants to leave.
Not because she's uncomfortable anymore. Because she's too comfortable. Because this feels like something she can't afford to want.
I recognize the pattern. I've seen it in mirrors.
"Liam will drive you home after dessert," I say quietly, cutting through the conversation. "My mother's tiramisu is worth the wait."
Kristen's eyes meet mine.
"Thank you," she says.
Aria brings out the tiramisu herself, refusing help from anyone. Lily declares it "the best chocolate cake ever" and gets mascarpone on her nose. Kristen laughs and wipes it off with her napkin.
Then Pietro clears his throat.
I know what's coming before he opens his mouth. I want to stop him. Signal him somehow. But the words are already forming.
"Kristen." Pietro leans back in his chair, his expression warm but serious. "Our family owes you a debt. You saved my mother's life. That's not something we take lightly."
Kristen goes still.
"We'd like to do something for you. Anything. Money, opportunities, whatever you need. Name it."
Worst possible question.
I watch her face transform in real-time. The openness from moments ago slams shut like a vault door.
Kristen
My spine locks. The warmth from Aria's cooking, from Lily's laughter, from this strange evening where I almost forgot who I was—it evaporates like morning fog.
Money talking.
Like nobody in the world could possibly do something good just because it's the right thing to do.
"I don't want your money."
Pietro's expression doesn't change. He's probably dealt with harder negotiations than a broke single mom from the South Side. "It's not about what you want. It's about what's owed."
"Nothing is owed." I set my napkin on the table. My hands want to shake but I won't let them. "I know you're trying to do something good here. I get it. But where I come from, helping someone isn't a transaction."
Silence.
"People should help each other because it's what you do," I continue, and I know I'm being harsh.
I know these people fed me and my daughter and haven't been anything but kind tonight.
But something ugly and defensive has crawled up my throat and I can't swallow it back down.
"Not for rewards. Not for favors. Not to settle some imaginary debt. "
Aria makes a soft sound, her hand pressing against her chest.
Great. Now I've upset the woman I saved.
But I can't stop. The words keep coming.
"I helped your mother because she was choking. I didn't know who she was. I didn't care." My voice wavers but holds. "And even if I had known, I would have done the exact same thing. Because that's what decent people do. They help."
Pietro opens his mouth to respond, but a small voice cuts through the tension.
"My mommy has no job now."
No.
"So if you have any job to give her, that would be good," my daughter continues, matter-of-fact. "She works really hard. And she makes good pancakes. Even when the toaster is mean."
I want to cry.
I want to crawl under this expensive table and disappear.
A four-year-old shouldn't know about job loss. Shouldn't have any job to give her as part of her vocabulary.
This is so unfair.
The room is quiet. Someone shifts in their chair. I can't look at any of them. Can't see the pity that's probably written across their faces.
I stand.
"I'm grateful for tonight." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "For the dinner, the hospitality, all of it. If that counts as paying off whatever debt you think exists, then we're even."
I move toward Lily's chair, reaching to lift her down. My hands know this motion by heart. The slight weight of her, the way she automatically wraps her arms around my neck.
"I have a job you can have."
Nico's voice stops me cold.
I turn to look at him.
"We need a housekeeper," he continues. "Someone to manage the household staff. The position starts in two days."
No, no, no.
A job. Here. In this house.
"That's very generous." I keep my voice even. "But I'm okay. I have some alternatives lined up."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I don't have alternatives. I have a stack of rejected applications and a bank account that's bleeding out faster than I can patch it.
But I also have pride. And the way Nico Sartori can see straight through my bullshit makes me want to prove I don't need his charity.
Nico doesn't argue. Doesn't push. He just turns to the man standing near the doorway.
"Liam. Escort Kristen and Lily home."
That's it?
I blink. I expected... I don't know what I expected.
Liam nods and moves toward us.
Lily squirms in my arms. "Wait, Mommy. I have to say bye."
I set her down, and she runs straight to Aria. The older woman's face transforms.
"Thank you for dinner, Miss Aria." Lily's voice is formal, the way she gets when she's trying to be grown-up. "The fish were really pretty. And the cake was yummy."
Aria kneels down. "You are welcome anytime, piccola. Anytime at all."
Then she pulls Lily into a hug.
I watch my daughter disappear into the embrace of a woman she met three hours ago. Lily doesn't hug people. Not easily.
Aria releases Lily and looks up at me. Her eyes are wet.
Before I can react, she's standing and pulling me into her arms.
I freeze.
My body doesn't know what to do with this. Doesn't know what to do with softness that isn't from my daughter. Jack never hugged me like this. My mother's embraces always felt like obligations, duties performed rather than affection given.
Hug her back. Just do it.
I force my arms to move. Force myself to return the gesture even though every muscle in my body screams to retreat.
"Thank you," Aria whispers against my ear.
She releases me before I can respond.
"Goodnight," I manage. "Thank you all for—"
"Tomorrow."
Nico's voice again.
"I'll come by tomorrow evening," he says. "To bring the contract and discuss compensation."
I spin around. "I said I have alternatives."
"You said." His expression doesn't change. "Tomorrow at six. We'll talk."
I stare at him. He stares back.
This man doesn't hear the word no.
He probably hasn't heard it his entire life. People like him get told yes, sir and of course and whatever you need.
I could argue. Could plant my feet and refuse until I'm blue in the face.
But Lily's tired. I'm tired. And something tells me Nico Sartori would simply show up tomorrow regardless of what I say right now.
Pick your battles, Kristen.
I exhale slowly. "Goodnight."
It's not agreement. It's not surrender. It's just acknowledgment.
Acknowledgment that this conversation isn't over.
That Nico Sartori has decided something, and my opinion on the matter is apparently irrelevant.
Liam leads us through the maze of hallways toward the front door. Lily chatters about the fish in the garden, about the pretty lights, about how Sir Floppington wants to come back and see the "princess sister."
I don't respond. My mind is too busy spinning.
A job here. In this house. With these people.
Tomorrow, Nico will show up at my apartment.
Or, I think, I could simply not answer the door.
But even as the thought forms, I know it's useless.
Because if there's one thing I've learned tonight, it's this: Nico Sartori doesn't take no for an answer.
And something tells me a locked door won't stop him either.