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Artemus arrived an hour later. No one appeared to know who had invited him, including Artemus. He stood beside the kitchen doorway with a plate in one hand and his attention fixed on the laptop open across the counter. Every few minutes, someone ordered him to sit. He agreed each time without moving.
“You’re making the room nervous,” Izzy told him.
Artemus finally looked away from the screen.
His gaze travelled over the armed men seated around the table, pausing on the pistols visible beneath several jackets.
“I’m making the room nervous?”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m monitoring.”
“At dinner?”
“Criminal organizations don’t respect meal times.”
Marcello raised his glass.
“That explains their poor manners.”
Samira pushed a bowl of vegetables toward him.
“It may also explain yours.”
Adriana laughed beside me. The sound still caught me unprepared. Weeks had passed since I first heard it in the garden. It no longer emerged only in rare, startled bursts, as though joy had escaped her before she could stop it.
She laughed with Tone in the kitchen. With Izzy while they attempted recipes neither woman intended to follow. With Ayla when Zeno became too serious and with Marigold when the child informed her that adults required constant supervision.
Every time, something inside me stopped to listen.
The Coccicos had taken her father from her. Safety. Certainty. But they had not taken her capacity for joy. They had not taken her courage. They had not taken the part of her capable of building a life in the ruins of the one they had destroyed.
Her place beside me had appeared without discussion. No one had asked how long she intended to remain. No formal welcome had been offered. A chair had simply been set beside mine each evening, and gradually, the careful courtesies given to a guest disappeared.
She was interrupted. Argued with. Asked to pass food that sat closer to someone else. Tone made plans without warning. Izzy left Rose in her arms without warning. Marigold demanded opinions on drawings and became offended if Adriana failed to provide sufficient detail. That was how the Cavalhos accepted people. Not through ceremony, but through inconvenience.
Rose made a small, unhappy sound against Izzy’s chest. Raze stopped speaking halfway through a sentence. Izzy looked at him, somewhat irritated.
“She’s fine.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You stopped breathing, Raze.”
“I was listening.”
Izzy held Rose across the table.
“Investigate.”
Raze accepted his daughter with the concentration of a man handling an explosive device. Rose settled against his chest and quietened almost immediately. Satisfaction moved across his face.
“She just wanted me.”
Gianni stood and raised his glass. The room quietened reluctantly.
Mikayla looked up at him.
