40. Silas
CHAPTER FORTY
“ O pen,” I said, holding up a forkful of eggs to her mouth .
“Are you serious?” She squinted at me like I’d just suggested a murder-suicide pact.
“Very.”
She sighed, plucking the fork right out of my hand. “Stop it. One time was enough. Do I look like a baby bird to you?”
My lips twitched. “Noted.”
“Good.” She took a slow, exaggerated bite, making a show of chewing at a deliberate, obnoxious pace.
I shook my head, grabbing my own plate and settling onto the stool beside her.
The kitchen was bathed in warm morning light, spilling through the massive windows, highlighting the steam curling from our mugs.
It was weirdly easy. We’d spent days waking up tangled together, soft hands tracing over skin, and slow, sleepy murmurs before either of us was willing to move. Days of her stealing half my coffee supply, of me making sure she ate something first. It should’ve been too much. But I liked it.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her hair was still a mess from sleep, the ends curling slightly from where they’d been pressed into my chest all night. She was warm, still soft around the edges, the stubborn lines of her usual scowl not quite set yet.
And then there was the way she was looking at me. Like she was cataloguing details. Filing me away. Afraid of whatever this was too.
She had no idea, did she? No idea how far gone I was. How I kept catching myself watching her like this, like a man memorising something he wasn’t meant to keep.
She cleared her throat, picking at a piece of toast. “You know, I’m starting to think you have a thing for making sure I eat. ”
I took a slow sip of my coffee, watching her over the rim of my mug. Did she really just now figure that out? After all this time? My lips curved slightly. “Problem?”
“No,” she shook her head, picking up her own mug like she could hide behind it. “Just something I’ve noticed.”
“Hmm, I’ve noticed things too,” I said.
She arched a brow. “Like what?”
“Like how you steal the blankets in your sleep.”
Her jaw dropped. Perfect .
“Excuse me?”
I nodded. “Woke up at least three times last night freezing my ass off.”
“Sounds like a you problem,” she said without a shred of sympathy.
I huffed, setting down my mug. “Not when you’re actively committing crimes against my warmth.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she took another sip of coffee. I loved that sound. Loved the way it softened something inside me that had been tarnished and blackened by metaphorical ash.
She glanced down at the spread in front of us—pastries, eggs, bacon, toast, the whole goddamn breakfast lineup.
“Where did you learn to make stuff like this?” She asked, her gaze flicking to mine.
I lifted a brow. “Where did I learn to make… basic breakfast food?”
She scoffed, grabbing a pastry. “No offence, but I haven’t met many of your species that cook, so please, excuse the question.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Learning wasn’t really a choice. Not at first.”
Her head tilted slightly, eyes sharper now. Always looking for pieces of me I didn’t know how to give. “Oh?”
I toyed with the rim of my mug, gaze dropping for a second.
“When I was a kid, Mamma worked two, sometimes three jobs just to keep us afloat. Most days, I barely saw her except for the few minutes before she left for a shift or after she got home, exhausted, barely standing. It was me and my sisters most of the time, so if I didn’t figure out how to cook,” I huffed a breath, “we wouldn’t eat. ”
Flashes of the past flickered in my mind.
The kitchen in our cramped apartment—peeling linoleum floors, the fridge that rattled every time you shut it, the stovetop burners that only worked if you lit them manually with a match.
I was nine the first time I burned my hand trying to do it.
By ten, I was cooking full meals alone.
Spaghetti with canned tomatoes, day-old bread crisped in the oven to make it last longer, eggs and rice because it was cheap and filled us.
I stood on a rickety wooden chair, stirring whatever I could throw together, one eye on the pot, the other on my sisters.
The stove burner clicked, the blue flame flickering like it might give out at any second. I grabbed a dented tin of cheap tomato sauce, tipping the last bit of it in, stirring fast, hoping it would thicken a little.
There wasn’t enough. There never was.
Gigi bounced on her heels behind me, already reaching toward the bread rolls.
“Gigi, siediti,” I muttered, stirring the thin sauce, willing it to stretch just one more night.
She groaned but didn’t listen, her dark curls bouncing as she leaned toward the counter again.
Vita smacked her hand away before she could steal a roll. “Aspetta, Gigi!” she snapped.
The kitchen was too small, too hot, too loud. The radio hummed in the background, playing some old song Mamma loved, but it barely cut through the noise of their bickering.
Gigi pouted, rubbing her hand.
Vita rolled her eyes. “We wait for Lassi, stupida.”
I reached for the bag of pasta and dumped in more than I should have.
More starch. More filler. It’d help. Even if it meant I’d have to pick through my own plate later, make sure they had enough before I took my share.
I grabbed three chipped plates from the cupboard and Gigi whined again, kicking the back of my chair like I wasn’t already moving fast enough.
“Finito?” she asked hopefully.
I looked down at the thin sauce, the too-pale pasta, the stale bread.
It would have to be.
“è finito.” It’s done.
I scooped up the first plate, setting it down in front of Gigi without a word.
She beamed, shoving a roll in her mouth.
Vita crossed her arms, eyeing me up. “You’re eating too, right?”
I glanced back at the pot, calculating whether there’d be enough if I took my usual half-portion.
She narrowed her eyes. “Lassi.”
I sighed, grabbing a fork and twirling some spaghetti onto my plate.
It was more than I should’ve taken, but less than I wanted.
“Mangia,” I muttered, flicking her ear as I passed. Eat.
She huffed but took her plate anyway, muttering something under her breath.
By the time Mamma got home, her uniform was wrinkled, her face drawn, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. She barely made it to the table before she slumped into a chair, taking in the plates, the half-gone bread, the mostly empty pot.
She reached out, brushing a ha nd over my hair, like she didn’t have the energy for more.
“Grazie per aver tenuto tutto insieme oggi.”
Thanks for holding it all together today.
I just nodded, stabbing at my food, already thinking about how I’d make it stretch tomorrow. Because if I didn’t, who would?
“Ti voglio bene, Lassi.”
I love you, Lassi.
I swallowed hard, glancing at her. Her eyes were closed, head resting on her folded arms.
“Ti voglio bene, Mamma.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was what it was.” I shrugged. “She’s great though. She did everything she could for us. She never stopped trying, never gave up, even when things were rough.”
She didn’t say anything right away. Just watched me, like she was picking apart what I wasn’t saying. But instead of pushing, she tilted her head. “You have two sisters?”
I nodded. “Vittoria’s the middle one, she’s a teacher. Married. Has a son, Nico. Quiet but so damn smart. Politest kid I’ve ever met. Probably the only nine-year-old I’ve met who thanks the waiter at a restaurant without being prompted.”
A soft smile pulled at her mouth. “And your other sister?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Giulietta’s the youngest. She’s married too, has five kids, and somehow more energy than anyone else I know. Her whole family is a cat-five hurricane, but they keep things… interesting.”
The last time I’d seen them, I’d barely made it through the door before I was under siege.
One set of twins had wrapped themselves around my legs, and the other set were shoving LEGO spaceships in my face.
Gigi had appeared in the chaos and thrown a crying toddler into my arms like he was a misplaced handbag.
“So you have a boatload of nieces and nephews?”
“Yeah. They’re a handful, but they’re great kids. I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like. They live back home. But I show up when I can.”
I left it at that. Didn’t tell her that every time I left, I swore I’d go back sooner. That I had no reason not to visit more. We were all just so busy now we were older.
The kids were growing up fast too, and I was missing it.
Maybe I should take Lilith with me next time I visit.
I knew they’d love her.
Mamma would fuss over her like crazy—pull her into a hug before she even got her coat off, start trying to feed her within the first five minutes.
And the kids would swarm her. No doubt about it.
And my sisters… they’d be obsessed .
“So you’re not from Seattle then?” Lilith asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I took a sip of coffee. “Nope.”
“Where are you from?”
“Originally?” I leaned back in my chair. “Colorado. Born and raised.”
I let the flicker of confusion hang on her face for a second, then smirked. “That was a lie.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”
“I’m from Bolognina, in Northern Italy.”
“But you moved here?”
“Yeah. When I was eight. Mamma wanted a better life for us. She was already working herself into the ground, and she figured if she was going to be exhausted all the time, it might as well be in a country where we had more opportunities. So we landed in Colorado.”
Not exactly the kind of big, amazing American life people imagined when they left Italy. Too open. Too quiet. No street vendors, no motorbikes weaving through traffic. Just empty roads and a sky too big for a kid used to crowded alleyways.
And no Nonna and Nonno.
“Why Colorado?”
“We had family there. Distant cousins. Mamma didn’t know them well, but it was something. Didn’t last long though, we were mostly on our own.”