Page 96 of The Cost of Silence

Letty gasps like they’re defusing a bomb. “We can’t let that happen!”

Matteo nods gravely. “Exactly.”

My mom looks at him like she’s reevaluating every judgment she’s ever made.

Meanwhile, Nico is chopping celery like the cutting board personally insulted him.

“Slow down,” I murmur as I pass, nudging his elbow gently. “This is cooking, not interrogation.”

He huffs. “I’m being careful.”

“You’re pulverizing the poor celery.”

“It deserved it.”

I kiss his cheek, flour and affection mixing. “You’re doing great. But slice, not slash.”

His mouth curves. “Bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

Adriano, across the island, is whisking eggs and herbs with methodical precision. “Actually,” he murmurs, “is this texture okay?”

Matteo looks smug. “Perfect. It’s just to bind the stuffing.”

My mom eyes him with something like wary admiration. “You really know what you’re doing.”

“I told you I could handle the kitchen,” Matteo says, sliding the rolled dough closer. “Everyone assumes I’m the chaos brother, but I’m actually a perfectionist.”

“That sounds about right,” Adriano mutters.

Matteo flicks flour at him. Adriano flicks some back.

Letty squeals with delighted outrage.

“No food fighting in this kitchen.” My mother decrees in her Italian matriarch voice.

And that’s the moment they all obey her. Three terrifying men, absolutely ruled by a three-year-old culinary dictator, and a woman they just met.

Mom’s shoulders drop. She’s not tense anymore; she’s genuinely relaxed as she looks at me and winks.

I show her where the pie crusts are resting and she tests them with practiced fingers. Nico passes behind her, careful not to crowd, and she gives a small nod, not approval exactly, but respect.

Soft, fragile, hopeful.

Then I clap my hands, finding my rhythm. “Okay, troops, pies in the oven, gravy base simmering, stuffing ready to assemble, and Matteo is in charge of cookies and turkey.”

Matteo salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Letty mirrors him, more serious than military training. “Chef Letty reporting for duty!”

Mom laughs, a real laugh, free of ache.

And Nico, from across the kitchen, meets my eyes with something deep and quiet that settles all the way into my bones.

Pride. Happiness. Possibility.