Page 192 of Caterina
So now I am at the table.
Caterina is on my left. Lucia sits across from her, with Nick Dixon beside her. Vito is farther down with Teresa, Cristiano asleep in a portable seat near Teresa’s chair because, apparently, a six-month-old can sleep through anything.
Nico and Erica are on the other side, Emma in a high chair beside them, happily destroying a piece of bread with the focus of a tiny demolition expert.
Lucia’s daughters, Sofia and Charlotte, are seated together near their mother, and the first thing they noticed when they came in was the yellow roses.
That had done something to Caterina.
She tried to hide it, but I saw it. The slight softening around her mouth when Sofia gasped over them. Charlotte had gone right up to the dining room arrangement, careful not to touch, and asked Caterina if they were “the same kind from Nonno’s garden.”
Caterina smiled and said yes.
That smile stayed with me.
Lucia Dixon looks like the Conti she is. Dark hair. Dark eyes. The Conti stamp is there, even with the years away, even with the billionaire husband beside her and the life she built outside this world. She is beautiful in a composed, guarded way, the kind of woman who learned young that softness could be used against her and then had to relearn later how to let it exist.
I see it often in veterans. Those who have hardened themselves for war, then have to relearn how to enter society once it’s over.
She may not have gone to war in a conventional sense, but she has gone through it.
There is tension in her still.
Not with Caterina. Not exactly.
But in the way she holds herself. In the way her gaze sometimes moves to Vito, then away. In the way Vito answers her with more care than I’d have expected from him. There is history at this table. Old damage covered by new manners.
Nick Dixon is easier to read and harder to dismiss.
Casino magnate. Billionaire. Husband. Father. He is not mafia, but he is not soft. Wealth at his level creates its own kind of danger and its own kind of protection. His security peopleproved that. They are efficient, disciplined. Still too unknown for my liking, but not sloppy.
He watches his family often.
Lucia, the girls, and the baby.
Gabriel is seven months old, heavy-eyed, and calm in a way that makes me suspect all the energy was used up by his older sisters. He has Lucia’s dark hair and Nick’s blue eyes, and he is currently sitting on Nick’s lap, chewing on the edge of a soft toy while Nick keeps one steady hand around his middle.
Sofia is about six, old enough to ask direct questions without tact, not understanding that they might be considered rude. Charlotte is about four, still small enough to swing her feet under the chair and chatter mindlessly about anything and everything.
They both watch Caterina like she is something glamorous and magical.
I can tell it means a lot to her.
Vito is the second oldest after Lucia. That fact sits heavily in this room, even when no one says it. He is Lucia’s younger brother and the oldest son, who became even more than that when she left.
He is also Teresa’s husband now, Cristiano’s father, and a man who looks different with a baby in his arms than he does with a gun in his hand.
He is dressed simply tonight, but there is nothing simple about him. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders. I notice the same Conti stillness in him as Luca, but I suspect that can easily change. When I spoke with him that first night at his house, the anger practically vibrated off of him and warned me that this man could turn violent in the blink of an eye.
Nico comes third in the line-up and seems to be easier with people than Vito, but no less dangerous. He has his arm along the back of Erica’s chair while she wipes bread crumbs from Emma’s little red-cheeked face. I can tell that his vigilance hasn’t wavered where they’re concerned. Good.
Caterina is the youngest of the four. The one who arranged this whole thing because she wanted a night with her siblings and had spent the past week agonizing over every decision, including a spur-of-the-moment one to add on flowers for the girls.
Somehow, they all perfectly embody the positions they hold within the family.
Lucia, the oldest daughter, the type A who had to make the hard choices and the sacrifice that came with it.
Vito, the first son, the heir who had to step up and prove himself.
