Page 130 of Caterina
Caterina
No one is leaving today.
Maybe not tomorrow either, though no one says that part out loud. The decision is made over breakfast.
Everyone stays under one roof. For security, coordination. For the children, the family.
All reasonable. All practical. All deeply infuriating.
I am standing near the kitchen island with my second cup of coffee in my hand, because the first one did absolutely nothing. I love my family, and I love gathering with them. And I appreciate everything they've done for me…
I just want to be home, alone. Away from all the chaos, the noise.
At the moment, everyone is crowded into the kitchen, and there's a headache forming at my temples.
Vito is near the back windows with Cristiano in one arm and his phone in the other.
Nico stands with Erica beside him, one hand absently at Emma’s back while she rests against her mother’s leg, still sleepy and clutching some stuffed animal by one ear.
Antonio has his laptop open on the island, and looks like he has slept approximately eleven minutes.
Roberto sits close to Olivia at the table while they talk and eat.
Bianca is at the stove again, because apparently the world can be on fire and she will still find a way to put food in front of people.
Teresa leans against the counter with her arms crossed, watching everyone like she is taking mental notes.
Adrian is at the far side of the room.
Standing.
Of course. Because his twenty-four hours are over, and apparently that means a bullet wound is now a closed matter.
He is dressed in black, one hand resting near his side only when he thinks no one is looking. He has been pretending not to lean against the wall for twenty minutes. He is failing.
I am pretending not to notice.
I am also failing.
Papà’s gaze moves over the room, watching his family. I know it pleases him to have us all under one roof. Maybe the circumstances are not ideal, but it doesn't change that fact.
But under all of that, I see something I don't see in him often:
Fear.
It doesn't make it easier to accept, but I understand it. Especially where the children are concerned.
The children.
It always comes back to the children now.
I look at Isabella, sitting on the floor with Victoria and Emma near a pile of toys someone found in a closet. The twins, Miaand Elio, are trying to stack blocks into a tower. Alessandra and Stephano are in the next room with a movie playing low, old enough to understand something is wrong, not old enough to understand what.
We are all here.
All the branches gathered in one house while someone out there is trying to prune them.
I force myself to take a sip of coffee.
