Page 196 of Ruthless Sin
Dante eats it. The table eats it.
Mila eats half her plate and then a small piece more. Under my hand her thigh is warm and still and I’m aware of her every second.
The way she holds the fork. The way she keeps her spine straight — that’s Dmitri, that’s a Pakhan’s daughter who still sits like one after five years of everything.
I’ve thought about what it costs her to hold herself like that. More than I should.
Sofia eats. Not much, but steadily. Isabella refills her water without being asked.
Mid-meal, Nonna stops at the sideboard with the second course in her hands. She is in the apron with the crest. She speaks loud enough to carry.
She is looking at Mila.
“Ma chère, eat. The whole house has been waiting for you.”
The table goes quiet.
Mila lifts her face from the plate. She smiles. Small and real. The first time she has smiled at this table in front of all of us at once. My chest pulls so hard I have to look at my plate.
“Thank you, Nonna.”
The first time she has said the name.
Nonna turns to the stove. Wipes her face on the sleeve. Turns back. Sets the second course down. Says nothing.
Nonna has just told the household how it is going to be. Nobody argues.
Marco stands halfway through the second course. Glass up. The Capo posture has settled into him this year. It fits now, the way it fits a man who earned it without knowing he was.
He looks at Mila. “To Mila. Who came down for the third Sunday.”
A small breath.
“And every Sunday after.”
The table’s half-laugh. Mila does not laugh. Her shoulders do the small adjustment they do when something costs her. I know that adjustment. She is glad and it is costing her. I want to put my hand on her face in front of all of them. I pour her water instead.
The table drinks.
Dante’s hand on Cassia’s belly. The baby kicks. Cassia laughs into her water glass, the one she’s been pretending is wine for months, and Dante’s mouth curves against the side of her head.
God, I want that.
I don’t look away from it fast enough and Giada catches me. She raises her eyebrow — just barely, just enough — and I look back at my plate and the corner of my mouth moves and I let it.
After dinner the household disperses the way it always does.
Cassia upstairs first, Dante a step behind. Her hand at her belly since the second course. He walks her up without making it look like he’s walking her up. He’s been practicing that for months.
Sofia goes back to the medical wing with Isabella, the two of them close the way they’ve been since the beginning.
Marco to the back room. A call from New York. Renzo and Izzy behind him for a beat. Giada to the kitchen with Nonna.
Mila to the back porch.
I watch her go. She wants to be alone on the porch tonight — when she needs the garden instead of a wall at her back, she goes to the garden. It’s not mine to change.
Dante finds me still at the dining table with the bourbon he set in front of me. He drinks his. He looks at the door to the back porch.
