Chapter 34 Besiana
Besiana
This is how they welcome you back after a betrayal.
The Rosetti mansion is dressed for Christmas, draped in twinkling lights that cut through the fog like beacons.
I glance at Domenico beside me, who never looks distant, and squeeze his hand harder than I mean to.
He doesn’t flinch. I could crush his fingers and he wouldn’t even blink.
“You’re still worried?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
I won’t pretend I’m not. The last time I was here, I left by the back door, fleeing the Rosetti wrath. I look at the mansion, at the family who has every right to hate me.
“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” I ask.
His smile is calm, unfazed. “It’s family. It’s never a good idea.”
I hold onto his hand as we walk through the front door.
Inside, the house is even more transformed.
Tall trees, decked in red and green, sit in every room.
Lights and ribbons cover the railings. Even the cold marble floors look warmer, crowded with packages and boxes and bags.
I’m trying to take it all in when I hear the one voice I’ve been dreading most.
“Besa!” Carmela comes at me full force, a blur of brown curls and shiny green velvet. She wraps her arms around me, and I’m not sure what to do with my hands. “I’m so glad you’re here! And you wore the green dress. You look a million bucks, hon.”
I’m not sure what to say, either.
“I—”
“She’s worried,” Domenico finishes for me.
“About what?” Carmela pulls back just far enough to look me in the eyes. “We’ve missed you!”
“See?” Dom says.
I see. I see that he’s right, and I see that I’m ridiculous, and I feel relief on the Carmela front for the first time in three weeks.
It doesn’t last. It’s swallowed by chaos as Dom's mother, Gianna, rushes to hug me, and then I’m engulfed by greetings and laughter, loud and loving. The rest of the family crowds around us, eager and bright-eyed. Eleanor and Juliet, even Sal.
“You still look too thin,” Gianna says, shaking her head as she hugs me. “Does he not feed you?”
“I feed her very well, Ma.” Dom is beside me, reassuring, still holding my hand.
Carmela tugs at my other one. She’s pulling me through a jumble of siblings and husbands and cousins. Each hug feels like an exclamation mark. I don’t know how to keep up.
Beside me, Eleanor gives me a knowing look. “Not used to this?” she says.
“Not really.”
Not at all. The closest we ever got to celebrations at home was when Baba got what he wanted, a successful business deal or some underhanded coup, and he came home with a case of champagne and got drunk by himself.
“We can tell,” says a voice that could only be Leonardo’s.
“She’ll be fine,” Sal says, amused, as if he’s been watching this unfold exactly as expected. “Give her time.”
“And an aspirin,” Rafe mutters, his arms crossed. He looks at Dom with a knowing smirk.
“If she’s staying, she’ll need more than an aspirin,” Emilio adds.
Matteo grins. “Ear plugs. Definitely ear plugs.”
“It’s Christmas!” Carmela says. “We can be quiet.”
“Wanna bet?” Leo cracks his knuckles, and I wonder how soon this will end in disaster. He’s already wrestling with Matteo, both of them laughing. I should feel like a stranger. I should feel alone. I don’t.
“What do you think?” Domenico asks. His eyes are intent, missing nothing.
“Honest?”
He nods.
“I think I’m terrified,” I admit.
I let go of his hand for a second to brush the hair from my eyes. When I take it again, it’s because I want to, not because I need to.
“That all?” His voice is softer, low enough that no one else hears.
“Terrified but happy.”
He sweeps up my hand and kisses it. “Sounds like every damn Christmas I've ever endured.”
I try to answer, but Carmela pulls me away again, chattering as fast as the rest of the room is moving. She leads me to a pair of plush couches, both buried under boxes and paper.
“Here! You sit by us.” She pushes aside a stack of shiny packages, a bright smile on her face. “We have so much to catch up on.”
We do, but I don’t know where to start. Carmela makes it easy, filling in the gaps with easy questions. What have I been doing? How is the hotel? What is our new place like and when are we moving in?
“It’s a big old house,” I say. “It needs a lot of work, but we’ll make it home.”
She beams, and I realize she likes the sound of that as much as I do.
Eleanor’s beside me, opening a giant box with one hand and stroking her sleeping puppy with the other. It’s curly and tiny and far too adorable to belong to a Rosetti.
“Juliet is going to spoil him,” she says. “And speaking of siblings—” She raises her voice, making sure Dom can hear. “Are you going to let Paz visit the new house?”
Domenico lifts an eyebrow from across the room. “Not until that mutt is toilet trained.”
“Ooh, I’ll come too,” Carmela says, practically vibrating with excitement. “You won’t know I’m there.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Dom teases.
“Afraid? You? Thought nothing scared you.” Matteo. I can see him flipping a silver coin through his fingers.
“This one does,” Dom says, nodding toward me.
I’m drowning in questions, attention, and love. It’s wonderful and terrifying, but I feel an odd comfort in the chaos. I’m not used to this, and they know it, and somehow that makes it easier.
Juliet passes us a tray of small glasses, each one full of something strong and clear. Carmela downs hers with the same energy she does everything else, and the room fills with laughter as she scrunches her face.
“Don’t worry,” Eleanor tells me. “It’ll calm down. They can’t keep this up forever.”
“I heard that,” Leonardo says.
“And you’re wrong,” Rafe adds.
“They are all wrong,” says a tiny voice, accented and commanding. “They can do this all damn day. Especially if there’s drinking involved.”
A tiny, elegant woman in a bright red dress joins us. I know immediately who she is, though this is the first time I’ve seen her.
“You must be Nanna Toni,” I say.
“And you must be the one who caused all that trouble.” She smiles, a wide and wicked grin. “Good for you.”
She’s less than five feet tall, but she’s as intimidating as Salvatore, and the two of them watch the room like it’s their own private show.
Nanna Toni lets out a laugh that would make a sailor blush, and I hear her mutter something about finding a drink. Carmela leaps up to find her grandmother a beverage, and I lean back against the soft cushions, losing myself in the whirl of wrapping paper and ribbons and voices.
A world I never imagined. A world where holidays mean more than new deals or successful takeovers. They mean something.
“Besa!” Carmela calls from the dining room. She’s already clearing space at a long, crowded table. “You’re sitting next to me!”
Everyone takes their places. The table is filled, and so are the chairs, the benches, and the plates. It’s madness, and I find myself grinning as I take it all in. This is Christmas. This is family.
The energy of the room is like nothing I’ve experienced.
Bright and noisy and warm, full of more food than I’ve ever seen.
Carmela is in constant motion, rushing between the kitchen and the dining room with giant trays since the staff are all on leave.
She’s trailed by laughter and the smells of garlic and wine.
The boys are too busy arguing about whose gift will be the most embarrassing. It’s a toss-up between Matteo and Leo.
Nanna Toni takes her place at the table’s head. “Where’s my drink?”
Rafe raises his glass. “Be grateful you have plates.”
Gianna shakes her head. “See? Spoiled.”
“Spoiled?” Matteo makes a show of shock. “How can we be spoiled when we had to set the table?”
“And you didn’t even do that right.” This from Emilio, who isn’t paying attention to anything but the screen of his phone.
I can’t keep up, but I can’t stop smiling.
“Dom,” I call. He’s watching from the doorway, taking it all in like it’s his own private kingdom.
“Yes?”
“Get over here.”
I make room for him, though it’s tight. He slides in next to me, and Carmela claps her hands in triumph.
“Finally!” She passes him a giant plate. “We can eat!”
He nods to the chaos around us and leans in close, saying, “And you thought you wouldn’t be welcome.”
I fill my plate. Antipasto, roast pork, polenta, lasagna, potatoes. Everything delicious.
Beside me, Carmela fills my glass. “Is this your first Italian Christmas?”
“It’s my first Christmas,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. She looks as if she doesn’t know whether to be excited or sorry for me.
Dom leans in to whisper. “She’s finally speechless.”
I chuckle. “She’ll get over it.”
The room explodes with laughter as Sal spills red wine on Leo’s head. Everyone is talking at once, trying to be heard over the clatter of plates and the sounds of a too-big family. It’s everything my world never was, and I can’t get enough of it.
Carmela never stops moving, never stops chattering. She tells stories between bites and fills my plate as often as she fills my ears. My only break is when Leo and Eleanor get in a loud, good-natured fight over who got each other the worst gift.
“We should open them now,” Eleanor teases.
“Yeah,” Leo says. “So we know who’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“I think I will.”
“No way.”
“I thought you liked couches,” Matteo says. “Or am I confusing that with rugs by the fire?”
“You told them about that?” Eleanor demands of her husband, blushing furiously.
Leo put an arm around Eleanor. “Of course not,” he says, but we all know he’s lying.
“Just the highlights,” Leo grins.
Eleanor whacks her husband’s chest, but she leans into him happily while the conversation flows.
It’s impossible to be afraid when there’s so much warmth. Impossible to feel like an outsider when Carmela keeps pulling me into her world. I get lost in the food, the stories, the noise.
This is what belonging feels like.
The meal stretches into dessert, then more presents, more madness. Everything seems to multiply. Every gift is too much, and every laugh is a reminder of what I’ve spent my life missing, but won’t have to anymore.
Domenico pulls me aside for a moment, and I take a deep breath. I can still hear them in the other room. Their voices carry, bright and wild, as if they’ll never stop.
“Hey.” He brushes his fingers along my cheek, feather-light.
“Hey.”
“Too much?”
“Never.”
“You sure? It’s a lot.”
“It’s good,” I say. “They’re good.”
“They’re loud.”
He’s right. His family is noisy and wild, the opposite of Domenico's steady calm.
“Then how’d you end up with a family like that?” I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Luck,” he says. He kisses me, deep and certain, like he has all the time in the world. “And, in your case, good taste.”
He looks at me, waiting. “What?” I ask.
“You’re happy.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
A crash and a shout from the next room. Carmela and Eleanor, each with a pile of new gifts. Leo is cursing, as loud as ever. Dom doesn’t move. I can tell he doesn’t want to let go.
Nanna Toni yells for us to get back in there, and Dom shakes his head in amused surrender. “See? Too loud.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.” He pulls me close. He never raises his voice, even with the rest of them shouting like it’s their job.
“Get back in here!” Nanna Toni’s orders are final. “They’re singing and it’s awful!”
It’s not awful. It’s chaos and comfort and everything I need. We walk back into the living room, and Carmela throws her arms around me. She’s holding a neatly wrapped box. It’s deep, bright red, and looks as warm as everything else here.
“For you,” she says. “Merry Christmas.”
“Should I be afraid?” I ask.
“Never,” she says. Her eyes are as bright as the paper. “You’ll love it.”
She watches, eager and expectant, as I open it. It’s a bottle and two crystal glasses. I cock my head in question.
"Aged grappa, hon,” she explains. “You’re family, so you gotta drink like it. Drink it when you stop doubting you belong here. Or when you want to set something on fire.”
I love it. She doesn’t know it, but it’s as important as my mother’s knife, as the house Dom and I will make our own. I hold it tight, and she hugs me again, tighter than before.
The rest of the family gathers around us, waiting for what happens next. The piano. A bunch of carols, and then one that echoes in the back of my memory.
“Lindi Mesia, u gezua gjithesia,” the voices sing in unison, and my heart stutters.
The language I’ve tried to forget, sung back to me in a way I never imagined. Carmela doesn’t stop smiling. She’s taught it to them, just for me.
The way they sing, the words don’t sound harsh. They don’t sound like threats or orders. They’re gentle, round, and full. They remind me of Mami. For once, the Albanian language is beautiful, and I decide to learn it all over again.
I look at Dom, at his family, at my new world. I’m not sure I know how to belong like this, but they don’t seem to care.