29. Cat
— ? —
Cat
There are people on the porch.
I see them from the car window as we pull up the drive, two figures, one tall with a cane, one shorter and rounder and already waving with both hands above her head.
“Mamma?”
The word comes out strangled. The driver pulls to a stop, and I’m out of the car the moment we stop moving, my heels sinking into the gravel.
“CATERINA!”
My mother meets me at the bottom of the steps, pulling me into her arms. My father is right behind her, his cane tapping on the wood, and then they’re both holding me, the belly pressed between three people crying in two languages.
“Mia figlia, mia bambina, look at you-” Mamma is sobbing, her hands on my face, my shoulders, my belly. “Look at this belly, look how beautiful you are, let me see you properly-”
“How are you here? How did you-”
“Your husband,” Papà says, his voice thick. “He called us last week. Said you needed your family.”
“He flew you here? Without telling me?”
“He said it should be a surprise. That you’d been through enough and deserved something good.” Mamma pulls back to look at my face. “He was right. Look at your face. You’ve been crying.”
“I cry at everything now. The baby makes me emotional.”
“The baby makes you honest. Not the same thing.” She cups my cheeks. “My beautiful girl. Let me look at you.”
I turn to look at Max, who’s standing by the car watching us.
“You flew them in?”
“Through channels that can’t be traced. You’ve been through a lot, Cat. I thought you might want to see them.”
“You thought-” I can’t finish the sentence. My mother is crying, my father is blinking hard, and I’m somewhere between laughing and sobbing myself. “Thank you. God, Max, thank you.”
“Come inside, come inside,” Mamma commands, already steering me toward the door. “You need to sit down. You need to eat something. You need to tell me everything that’s happened since I last saw you, and don’t you dare leave out the important parts.”
“Which parts are the important parts?”
“All of them! The running away, the hiding, this farm, this baby, everything, Caterina. I want to hear everything.”
“Rosa.” Papà’s voice cuts through. “Take her inside. I need a word with Massimo first.”
“Salvatore, they just got here-”
“It won’t take long. Go on.”
I hesitate on the porch steps. “Papà-”
“Inside, figlia mia. This is between me and him.”
Max is already climbing the steps, his face composed. “Of course, sir. We should talk.”
The two men settle into the porch chairs as Mamma pulls me through the door. The last thing I see is my father leaning forward, his cane tapping once against the wood.
“Start from the beginning,” Mamma says, pressing a cup of tea into my hands. “And don’t skip anything.”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time. Your father will be out there for a while; you know how he is.”
“What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Honor. Responsibility. All the things men think they need to settle between themselves.”
“Should I be worried?”
“About your father? He’s not going to shoot your husband on the porch, Caterina. Too many witnesses.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think.”
“It’s not meant to be. Now.” She settles into the chair across from me. “Tell me about the running. All of it. Don’t you dare protect me from the hard parts.”
“The hard parts are the whole story.”
“Then I want the whole story.”
So I tell her. The freeze, the meeting, the note I found. The months of hiding, the bar in Pennsylvania, the terror of being pregnant and alone. Max finding me. The farm. The slow, painful process of rebuilding trust.
“And then Sergio’s faction tried to kill us both,” I finish. “Max took a bullet protecting me. He almost died, Mamma.”
“Madonna mia.” She crosses herself. “All of this, and you didn’t call me?”
“I couldn’t. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? Caterina, I am your mother. You don’t protect me. I protect you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She reaches across and takes my hand. “And now? This man who almost got you killed, you trust him?”
“His choices put me in danger. I’m not forgetting that because he saved me afterward.”
“But he’s the reason you were in danger in the first place.”
“That’s… complicated.”
“Explain it to me, then. Make me understand why my daughter should stay with a man who put her through all of this.”
Her grip on my hand tightens, and I understand this isn’t an interrogation. It’s a mother making sure her daughter isn’t walking back into a fire.
“Because when I asked to check everyone he trusted, he gave me the names. Because he changed plans when I disagreed, instead of shutting the door. Because he told both families what he did to me and gave me a way to stop it happening again. I needed those things as much as I needed him to come for me.”
“Those are things I can understand,” she says.
“It’s real, Mamma. He loves me. I know that now, in a way I wasn’t sure of before.”
She studies my face for a long moment. “And you? Do you love him?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Even after everything?”
“Especially after everything. The hard parts showed me who he really is. And who he really is, that’s someone I want to spend my life with.”
She’s quiet, processing. Then she looks toward the window, toward the porch where the men are still talking.
“Your father will have things to say about all of this.”
“I know.”
“He’s not happy about what happened to you.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to be.”
“But he’s also not a fool. He sees what I see: that you’re different now. Stronger. More certain of what you want.” She squeezes my hand. “If Massimo can make you happy, your father will find a way to accept him. Eventually.”
“And you?”
“Me?” She snorts. “I accepted him the moment I saw the way he looks at you. That man is besotted, Caterina. Completely gone. Any mother could see it.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now drink your tea before it gets cold. And tell me about this baby. Is it a boy or a girl? Have you picked names? When are you due? I need details, figlia mia. All of them.”
The men stay on the porch for over an hour.
I watch through the window, unable to help myself. They’re leaning toward each other now, engaged in what looks like intense but not hostile conversation. At one point Papà gestures sharply with his cane, and Max nods, accepting whatever point is being made.
“Still watching?” Mamma asks from the kitchen.
“I can’t help it. What do you think they’re saying?”
“Knowing your father? He’s making Massimo swear a blood oath to treat you right or face the consequences.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Your father lost his leg to the Morettis, Caterina. That’s not something a man forgets, even when peace is the smarter choice. Massimo will have to earn his respect.”
“And if he can’t?”
“Then your father will make his feelings very clear, with or without the cane.” She comes to stand beside me at the window. “But I think he will. Earn it, I mean. Your husband has a look about him, like he knows exactly how much he has to prove and he’s ready to do the work.”
“He’s been doing the work. For months now.”
“Good. Then your father will see that eventually.”
When the men finally come inside, Papà kisses my forehead, lingering longer than usual, and Max settles into the chair beside me.
“Everything okay?” I murmur.
“Everything’s fine.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Things that needed to be said.”
“You’re doing the vague thing.”
“It’s about something I want to ask you tonight.” He takes my hand under the table. “I’ll tell you later. Promise.”
Dinner is loud and chaotic in the best possible way.
“So you rebuilt this entire farm yourself?” Papà asks, gesturing with his fork. “All of it?”
“I had help,” Max admits. “Crews working around the clock for six weeks. But I directed the restoration personally.”
“He used photos from Nonna’s album,” I add. “Got the cabinet color exactly right. Even kept the pantry door crooked.”
“The crooked door?” Mamma laughs. “I remember that door. Drove your grandfather crazy.”
“Nonna said the crookedness was character. Cat told me that, so I made sure we kept it.”
“You remembered a detail like that?” Papà asks, his tone unreadable.
“I remember everything she’s told me about this place. Every story, every detail. This farm mattered to her, so it mattered to me.”
“Even when you couldn’t find her?”
“Especially then. Building it was the only way I could take care of her from a distance.”
Papà studies him for a long moment, then nods slowly. “That’s a good answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
After dinner, Max touches my arm.
“Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
“Now?”
“Right now, before I lose my nerve.”
I follow him through the kitchen, past Mamma, who raises an eyebrow but says nothing, and out the back door.
The backyard is full of flowers.
Ranunculus. Hundreds of them, covering the tables, the chairs, the old stone wall. They glow in the fading light, pale pinks, deep reds, soft whites, their layered petals catching the last rays of sun.
“Max.” My voice comes out strangled. “What is this?”
“Your wedding bouquet flower.”
“What?”
“Your bouquet at the cathedral. It was ranunculus. I noticed, Cat. I never said anything, but I noticed.”
“You remember what flowers were in my wedding bouquet? From our wedding?”
“I remember everything about that day. The way you looked coming down the aisle. The way your hands shook when you said your vows. The way you smiled at me like you were hoping I might turn out to be something more than a political arrangement.”
Fireflies are rising from the field, their lights flickering like sparks.
“I was hoping,” I admit. “That night, after the wedding, I thought maybe-”
“I know. And then I spent months proving you wrong.” He takes my hand. “I want to prove you right this time.”
He goes down on one knee.
My heart stops.
“Marry me again, Caterina.” His voice is rough. “This time on purpose.”
He reaches up and pulls the chain from around his neck, the chain that’s held my wedding ring since the day I left. He unclasps it, slides the ring free, holds it up to me.