Page 10 of My Wedding Mafia Style

Lucy actually gives a genuine smile at my mother’s words. Something about the sight of it hits me in the chest with surprising force.

At the table, Nonna has still not moved. She waits. She has always understood timing better than anyone I know.

My mother guides Lucy forward, and this time Lucy glances back at me. Not for permission, but more for reassurance. The difference is subtle, but I feel it.

I step with her instantly and Lucy’s shoulders ease.

My father stands as we approach. “Alessandro Moretti,” he says, offering his hand.

Lucy takes it. “Lucy Phillips.”

“Phillips,” he repeats. “Good handshake.”

She looks startled. “Thank you.”

Adriana glances at me and I ignore her. Bianca mouths, I love her. I ignore that too. Finally, there is no more delaying it.

My grandmother extends one hand. Lucy goes quiet. Smart again.

“Lucia,” Nonna says.

Lucy blinks. “It’s Lucy, actually.”

“In this family, it will become Lucia if I decide I like you.”

Lucy looks at me. I give her nothing.

She looks back at my grandmother. “That feels both generous and threatening.”

For one suspended second, no one breathes. Then Nonna laughs. Not loudly. Not sweetly. It is a low, delighted sound, the kind that has preceded ruined men, approved marriages, and at least one real estate acquisition I still consider morallyambiguous.

My family reacts as if a judge has delivered a favorable verdict. Bianca grips Lucy’s arm tighter. Isabella actually claps once before Adriana glares her into stillness.

Nonna pats the empty chair beside her. “Sit.”

Lucy sits — immediately. I almost smile. She may not know my grandmother, but she understands survival.

I take the chair on Lucy’s other side before anyone can claim it. Bianca’s eyes narrow with satisfaction. My mother notices. My father notices. Adriana notices. Nonna, of course, noticed before I moved.

Nonna zones in on Lucy. “You were in the wedding?”

Lucy turns back quickly. “Yes. My cousin Celia is the bride.”

“A good family?”

Lucy hesitates. Not because she doesn’t know the answer. Because she understands there are several ways to interpret the question.

“Yes,” she says carefully. “A loud one. Very loving. Sometimes emotionally overcaffeinated.”

My mother laughs into her wine.

Nonna’s eyes warm by a fraction. “Good. Quiet families hide too much.”

“That may be the most terrifying thing anyone has ever said to me at a reception,” Lucy says, then immediately closes her eyes. “I’m sorry. That came out loud.”

Isabella leans across the table. “Please let everything come out loud. We’re all dying.”

“Isabella,” Adriana warns.