Page 40 of My Wedding Mafia Style

My father laughs. My mother shakes her head, but she smiles too.

Nonna lifts her glass. “Good.”

Lucy blinks. “Good?”

“Yes. Problems require attention. People ignore simple things.”

I look at my grandmother. “And what do you suggest?”

Her eyes come to mine. There it is … the turn. The purpose beneath the game.

She has allowed the confession, the humor, the tension, the softening. Now she will move the piece she meant to move from the beginning.

“The Bahamas will give you both time,” she says.

Lucy’s brows lift. “Time for what?”

“To decide whether this is a performance or beginning.”

The words settle over us.

Beginning.

Lucy looks at me. I look at her. For a moment, no one else exists.

Then Isabella leans toward Bianca and whispers loudly, “This is better than television.”

Adriana sighs. “I am begging you to develop an inner monologue.”

“I have one. It’s just extroverted.”

Lucy laughs. So do I.

The tension breaks just enough for everyone to breathe again, but Nonna is not finished. She never is.

She sets down her glass and studies me. “Luca.”

“Yes?”

“You wanted more of the business.”

My jaw tightens. Lucy goes very still beside me.

My father shifts at thebar. “Mamma.”

Nonna does not look away from me. “No. He is old enough to want power. He is old enough to understand what comes with it.”

I lean back slightly. “I understand responsibility.”

“You understand control.”

The correction lands hard. I do not answer.

She glances briefly at Lucy, then back to me. “Control builds walls. Responsibility builds rooms where people can live.”

Silence.

My mother’s expression changes, and I know she has heard more in that sentence than business. So have I.