7. Adriano
Sunday lunch at Nico and Isabella’s is loud before I even get through the front door. The smell of oregano, basil, and tomatoes makes my mouth water.
Letty is bouncing beside me in the elevator like she’s physically incapable of containing excitement for more than thirty consecutive seconds.
“Do not run the second those doors open,” I warn her as the elevator stops.
“I won’t.”
The immediate lie almost makes me smile. I know she wants to do what I ask. I also know when to pick my fights. One of the biggest parenting realizations was that not all fights are worth having. So I pick them carefully.
The elevator doors slide open and I can hear Matteo arguing with someone and Elena laughing over the top of him.
Letty disappears like a launched missile.
“Zio Matteo!”
“Princess menace!” Matteo booms back instantly.
By the time I catch up, she’s already attached herself to his leg while he pretends to stagger dramatically under the impact. I feel my lips twitch with a smile at the sight. The people in this room would die for my daughter, and I’d die for them.
“You’ve grown since yesterday. This is getting worrisome. What will I do if you overtake me?”
“That’s because I’m nearly five, and I won’t overtake you, silly. You’re old.”
“Jesus Christ,” Matteo mutters. “Way to hit a man where it hurts.”
“You still have a baby face,” Nico says dryly from the kitchen. “Relax.”
“I’m in my thirties, basically ancient, but I appreciate you saying I look young.”
“You said that at twenty-eight too.”
“Yeah, well, I feel ancient now.”
The apartment is warm enough inside that the cold Manhattan air still clinging to my coat immediately starts fading.
Christmas music, my sister-in-law’s favorite, drifts softly somewhere in the background beneath the noise of overlapping conversations and Letty explaining something very seriously to Rossi involving dragons and snow.
I shrug out of my coat and finally glance around. Then stop.
Casey is sitting on the floor beside Isabella’s sofa, helping her build what appears to be an aggressively unstable gingerbread village.
For a second, the scene catches strangely somewhere behind my ribs.
Not because she’s here.
Because she looks different.
Not physically.
She’s wearing a cream sweater that slips slightly off one shoulder when she leans forward, dark jeans tucked into boots, her hair loose around her face instead of twisted into the careful styles she usually wears at home.
But that’s not it.
It’s the expression.
She’s laughing at something Isabella says, head tilted back slightly, one hand pressed against her chest as Letty runs up and loudly insists gumdrops are “aesthetically very important.”
And suddenly I’m remembering Thanksgiving.
The woman who teased Matteo within ten minutes of meeting him.
Who stole food off Isabella’s plate while arguing with Nico about Christmas films.
Who’d looked relaxed inside herself in a way the woman currently living in my house almost never does.
The laughter fades quickly when she notices me standing there.
Not completely.
But enough.
That shift again.
Like watching someone instinctively pull a curtain half-closed.
“Well,” Isabella says immediately, catching my expression with the speed of a sniper, “look who finally decided to arrive.”
“I’m on time.”
“Technically.”
“You invited us for one.”
“It’s twelve fifty-six.”
“I’m still unclear on the issue.”
Casey’s mouth twitches slightly around her coffee cup before she lowers it again.
There it is.
A glimpse.
Then it disappears.
Interesting.
“Daddy,” Letty gasps suddenly, horrified. “Uncle Matteo ate a gumdrop.”
Matteo looks unrepentant. “I regret nothing.”
“That was the doorbell!”
“Does a gingerbread house need a doorbell?”
My daughter sighs and shakes her head. “For guests. You’re bad, Uncle Matteo. You’re banished.”
“From the kingdom?”
“Yes.”
He drops dramatically onto the floor beside Casey, pressing a hand to his chest. “Cruel. I loved that kingdom.”
“You ate part of it,” Rossi points out from the armchair.
Matteo tosses our head of security and friend a dirty look. “Whose side are you on?”
Rossi smirks as Elena places a hand on his shoulder in affection. He squeezes her hand gently before he glances at Letty. “Hers. Always hers.”
Casey laughs again, softer this time, and Matteo immediately points at her triumphantly. “There she is.”
The words are teasing.
But something in the room shifts slightly anyway.
Casey’s smile falters for half a second as all eyes land on her.
Too brief for Letty to notice, but not brief enough for me to miss it.
Isabella shoots Matteo a look sharp enough to draw blood.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“Try having thoughts privately.”
“I’m charming publicly.”
“You’re exhausting publicly.”
“That, too.”
Nico appears from the kitchen carrying wine glasses. “Adriano, stop standing in the doorway like a hitman and sit down.”
I move further into the room slowly, my attention catching briefly on Casey again as she reaches for another gumdrop from the bowl.
Her phone lights up beside her.
The screen flashes so quickly I don’t catch the name.
I do catch the reaction.
The way her fingers still briefly before she flips the phone face down without checking it properly.
Conversation continues around her uninterrupted.
Only Casey goes quieter afterward, withdrawing into herself in a way I don’t like.
Again.
I sit opposite her, loosening my cuffs while Letty climbs directly into my lap, holding three gingerbread men and what looks concerningly like glitter. Fuck me, I’m gonna be wearing glitter to yet another meeting tomorrow.
“Why is there craft herpes on your face?” Matteo asks her.
“Matteo,” Elena snaps.
“Why is there real herpes on yours?” I ask deadpan.
“Adi,” Elena admonishes but with less fierceness.
I smirk and sip my water.
“What? I do not. How dare you? My face could launch a thousand ships. Women go wild for this face.”
Casey chokes on her coffee. Actually chokes.
For one glorious second, she looks genuinely unguarded, coughing and laughing at the same time while Isabella collapses sideways against the floor cushions, wheezing.
Even Nico looks amused.
“You cannot say that in front of children,” Elena says.
“I absolutely can. I just did.”
“Adriano,” Elena demands.
“I’m choosing silence. Seriously, Elena, there’s no hope for Matteo.”
“Coward,” Matteo informs me.
Casey wipes carefully beneath her eyes, still laughing quietly under her breath.
The sound settles oddly low in my chest.
Because it’s different from the polite version she gives at home.
Warmer.
Real.
And suddenly I understand why Isabella keeps watching her with concern when she thinks nobody notices.
Lunch becomes louder after that.
Rossi and Matteo argue over football. Elena keeps trying to feed everyone. Letty smuggles extra marshmallows onto dessert plates like a tiny criminal mastermind while Casey helps Isabella carry dishes back and forth from the kitchen despite repeated instructions to stop helping.
Every now and then, I catch glimpses of the woman from Thanksgiving again.
A sarcastic comment under her breath.
A quick grin.
The way she nudges Isabella with her hip while stealing a piece of bread straight from the cutting board.
Then her phone lights up.
And the version of her that’s slowly emerging folds quietly back inward again.
By the third time it happens, irritation starts pressing steadily at the base of my skull.
Not because of the interruption.
Because whoever keeps contacting her is clearly upsetting her enough that she stops participating in conversations every single time the screen lights up.
“You’re glaring,” Nico says quietly beside me.
“I’m thinking.”
“That expression usually costs people money.”
“I’ll try to seem less threatening.”
“You won’t.”
Fair.
Across the room, Letty crawls directly into Casey’s lap, carrying half a gingerbread roof.
“You’re prettier when you laugh,” she announces.
The entire room goes silent for one catastrophic second. Casey freezes. Matteo makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like swallowed laughter. And Isabella immediately hides her face behind a wine glass.
I close my eyes briefly. “Leticia,” I say carefully.
“What?” she asks innocently. “She is.”
Casey’s cheeks flush pink so quickly it almost distracts me from the fact that Matteo is now visibly vibrating with the effort not to speak.
Elena rescues everyone first. “Of course she is, Tesoro. Now stop emotionally terrorizing adults and eat your pasta.”
“I was being NICE.”
“You were being observant,” Rossi mutters.
That finally breaks the tension enough for conversation to resume, though Matteo is still grinning like he’s being physically sustained by my irritation.
I meet his gaze flatly.
He looks delighted by it.
Of course he does.
Later, while the women clear dessert plates despite Elena loudly insisting nobody helps properly except her, Nico drifts toward the balcony with a fresh whiskey.
I follow mostly because Matteo follows too, which usually means trouble.
Cold winter air cuts through the warmth immediately when Nico slides the balcony doors open. Manhattan glitters below us in gold and white.
Matteo steals one of Nico’s cigars despite not actually smoking it, mostly just holding it dramatically while leaning against the railing. “You look tense,” he tells me.
“You look unemployed.”
“Rude. My job is social, so it looks like fun.”
Nico sips his whiskey calmly. “Ignore him. He’s bored.”
“I’m never bored. I’m vibrant.”
“You threatened a man with bodily harm three days ago.”
Matteo frowns. “He deserved it.”
“You say that constantly.”
“Because people are disappointing. And that one was a misogynistic pig.”
I lean against the railing, glancing back through the glass doors automatically. Casey is inside helping Letty lick frosting off a spoon while Isabella talks beside her.
She smiles at something Isabella says. And I feel it in my chest.
Then I see her glance down at her phone as it lights up again. Even through the glass, I see the change immediately. The smile disappears. She silences the call without even looking properly.
Something cold settles unpleasantly in my chest. “She seeing someone?” I ask without looking away.
Both my brothers go quiet.
That alone is enough to irritate me.
Slowly, I turn back toward them.
Matteo’s eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline.
Nico looks profoundly unsurprised.
“I’m asking,” I say evenly, “because if someone is repeatedly contacting the woman caring for my daughter in a way that’s upsetting her, I’d like to know if it’s something I should be concerned about.”
“That sounded very professional,” Matteo says solemnly. “Good job.”
“It was professional, fuck nugget.”
“Hmm.”
I ignore him.
Nico studies me for a second too long before answering carefully. “Something happened recently.”
Not enough information. “What kind of something?”
“That’s not really my story to tell.”
“She’s living in my house.”
“And she’s Isabella’s best friend. And I’m not a fan of the spare room.”
Fair. Annoying, but fair.
Matteo finally grins outright. “Oh, this is fun.”
“There’s nothing fun happening.”
“You’re emotionally monitoring the nanny.”
“I’m assessing potential risk.”
“You noticed she stopped laughing every time her phone went off.”
“That’s called observation. And clearly, so did you.”
“That’s called interest, and I noticed because I saw you watching her like a creeper.”
I stare at him.
He looks thrilled by that, too.
Nico sighs into his whiskey. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s in danger.”
“Then why does she look like that every time the phone rings?”
Silence stretches briefly.
Not long. Just enough.
Nico’s gaze shifts back through the glass toward Isabella and Casey. “When someone breaks your trust badly enough,” he says quietly, “sometimes hearing from them again feels like ripping stitches out before the wound closes properly.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
Before I can respond, Matteo points suddenly toward the living room. “Uh oh.”
Inside, Letty has apparently covered Casey’s nose in frosting.
Casey retaliates immediately.
Isabella screams.
Rossi looks delighted, but Elena looks horrified.
And for the first time since Thanksgiving, Casey laughs without restraint, head falling back while Letty clings to her arm, shrieking with delight.
The sound carries faintly through the glass even from out here.
Warm.
Real.
Alive.
Beside me, Matteo looks unbearably smug. “Oh,” he says softly. “You are so fucked.”