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I blink up at them and try to smile. “I’m… glad I could help.”

Alfio shrugs. “Helped? You stopped us from being blown to pieces. That earns you at least two pints of ice cream.”

“Ice cream isn’t currency,” Omero mutters.

“You’re not currency,” Alfio snaps back.

They both pause, then snicker.

I blink. That was… kind of funny.

Enzo returns, sliding into the seat beside me. “I got you what you had last time.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Omero arches a brow. “Wait—you’ve been here before?”

Enzo shrugs. “She liked it. So I remembered.”

Alfio leans toward him. “Okay, but when I say I like strawberry fudge ripple, you all act like I’m some kind of deviant.”

“That’s because you are some kind of deviant,” Omero says.

They bicker, lightly. There’s no venom in it. Only the kind of familiarity that comes from a lifetime of being tangled together. I watch them laugh around their cones, and for the first time, I see something different in them.

Family.

A crooked one, but still. Something inside me warms.

I take a slow bite of my ice cream. It melts against my tongue, sweet and cold and strange after so much pain. I swallow, letting it settle in my chest.

My gaze drifts toward the window.

Nonna would love this place, I think.

Bea would laugh at the music, say it sounds like a wedding without a bride.

My chest aches.

Madre Benedetta, tienile al sicuro. Fai che non abbiano paura. Fai che non abbiano dimenticato me.

Blessed Mother, keep them safe. Let them not be afraid. Let them not have forgotten me.

I lower my gaze and take another bite. This sweetness feels like a blessing that I’m not sure I deserve.

Omero leans forward on his elbows, arms resting on the metal table that rocks slightly with the weight. His spoon scrapes the bottom of his sundae dish before he speaks.

“So… how’s your relationship with Vieri going?”

My fingers stop mid-stir in the half-melted scoop of cream. I feel Enzo turn his head toward me, and even Alfio pauses from picking at the corner of his cone.

I don’t know how to answer. Not without lying. And I’ve had enough lies today.

I glance down at my lap, at the soft fabric of my l cardigan.

“Strange,” I say after a breath. “Scary.”

Omero snickers. “Figures.”