Page 60 of Fractured Empire

“You’ve already given me far too much to ever be considered a shitty husband,” she murmurs, fidgeting in her seat. “The piano, I-I haven’t had a moment to thank you for it. It’s beautiful. I was going to ask about bringing mine from home, but now I’ll have one in each of the places where the people I care about live.”

The baby grand came highly recommended by Bastian’s music tutor, a grumpy old Italian man who retired from performing nearly a decade ago. A man who just happens to be awash with Outfit ties. Never a made man himself, Ciro was surrounded by friends and family who were. And from those connections, I knew he was safe to have around my son. Not to mention, Bastian is the only person in the world who can make the man crack a smile.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Katya and I share a moment longer together before she gets up to go to her room. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch every moment of her walking away.

Making pizza together as our first dinner as a family may have been an ambitious start. The kitchen is a complete disaster zone covered in flour, cheese, toppings, and red sauce splatters. Although the mess is hard to care about while watching Bastian and Leo have the time of their lives.

“More cheese, pwease, Kat.”

Katya looks down at Leo’s pizza with hesitation, and then to his polite, innocently blinking eyes. The monstrosity on the countertop in front of my youngest son is more cheese than it is pizza, his small circular dough covered with shredded mozzarella and sprinkles of parmesan. He has no other toppings on it, but if he did, they would be buried under his mountain of cheese.

“I’m not sure it’ll bake properly if we put any more cheese on it, buddy,” Katya informs him, looking reluctant to disappoint him by saying no to his request.

“Mmmm,” he hums, considering her words. “What do you think, Daddy?”

Lifting my hand, I remove the basting brush from Bastian’s pizza crust and stick it back into our bowl of garlic butter. “I think if you put any more cheese on it, you’ll be eating cheese and bread soup for dinner instead of pizza.”

Leo twists his lips unhappily. “I do not want soup.”

“That’s great,” Katya encourages. “Then I think your pizza is perfect and ready to go in the oven. Why don’t you and Bastian go wash up, and in like twenty minutes it’ll be dinner time. Your daddy and I will make sure they cook just right.”

And we’ll clean up this mess. She doesn’t have to say it, but the way she winces as she takes in the scene around us makes her intention clear.

“Okay!” Leo agrees happily, climbing down off his high-top chair. I’m fairly certain he gets more cheese and flour on the floor in the process, but I can’t be bothered to mind. “Come on, Bastian, we can pick movie. Daddy said so, remember?”

Pizza and movie night is always a hit with them, even if we typically end up rewatching the same five movies every single time.

“You have sauce on your face,” Bastian replies, ignoring his question.

Leo promptly starts trying to find the sauce with his tongue, unsuccessful in licking it off given that it’s closer to his ear than his mouth. Bastian merely sighs at his brother, and I know that he’ll clean it off for him while they wash up.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Katya takes a handful of cheese off Leo’s pizza and quickly ushers it into the oven before he can discover what she’s done. She spins around after doing the deed, and looks almost sheepish as she meets my eyes.

“There’s no way all of that was going to melt.”

I chuckle, passing her Bastian’s neatly made pepperoni pizza to bake next to Leo’s. “Your secret is safe with me. He won’t notice. He thinks all pizza is piled with cheese when it tastes good.”

“Well then I hope it tastes good.” She exhales and dusts her hands off. “I don’t want to get on his bad side over some cheese.”

“Cheese is a very serious topic in this house,” I joke, huffing. “But he’ll love it. There’s rarely any food that Leo doesn’t go nuts over.”

“Not a picky eater then, that’s good.” Katya opens our second oven to slide our larger, simpler pizzas in to bake. Hers is sprinkled with chunks of chicken and vegetables while mine is layered with sausage, peppers, and spinach.

“Not a picky eater but a bit of a tornado in the kitchen,” I reply, gesturing to the chaos surrounding us.

Her lips twitch in amusement, but she grimaces quickly after. “I’m pretty sure there’s flour in my hair. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I needed a shower before eating dinner rather than after.”

“Welcome to parenthood,” I drawl, already beginning to pick up. “You’ll feel like you’re a mess more often than not. You should buy plenty of clothes that you won’t mind getting stained, and prepare to shower every night before bed in case there’s some rogue food stuck to you or sticky gunk that you’re unsure if it’s glue or melted candy.”

“Ew,” Katya comments, looking mildly horrified.

“Ew, indeed. Boys are gross, you’ll come to learn.”

She laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Gaia wouldn’t stand for it.”

“I imagine she wouldn’t,” I agree, chuckling in return.