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Julian calling interrupts our conversation.

“Crap, let me call you back,” I say, forcing a chipper tone. “Love ya!”

“Love youuuu,” she sings as I switch the call to Julian’s.

His is a regular call.

Not a FaceTime.

I can’t imagine him FaceTiming.

I can hear him now, already saying FaceTime is risky.

“Yeah?” I answer, imitating his standard answering greeting.

“Pack a bag,” he demands. “You’re having a sleepover.”

“A sleepover with who?”

“Gigi. Pippa. A girls’ night.”

“You arranged a sleepover for me? What am I, ten?”

“I arranged for you to do something that’ll keep your misbehaving ass out of trouble. Now, pack a bag. Emilio will take you.”

The jerk hangs up.

Emilio drivesme to Pippa’s dance studio, The Ballet Studio, where we’re meeting for girls’ night.

When we walk in, ballet students are huddled around Pippa, dressed in tutus and tights. She reminds them to practice theirroutine, and they hug her goodbye before dashing to their waiting parents. Emilio inches away from me, standing near the door, as I walk to Gigi.

“Hey, girl,” Gigi says, wearing a fluffy coat and diamond earrings. Her thick hair is halfway pulled back into a bun, the rest of the strands down in curls, and her plump lips are red.

She fits the look of what you’d imagine for a New York Mafia princess.

Even though I knew of Gigi, I didn’t officially meet her until she got involved with Antonio and started hanging out with Pippa. I was Pippa’s plus-one at Gigi’s wedding.

Her and Antonio’s love story gives off Romeo and Juliet vibes, minus the whole dying thing. Their families were at war while they were trying to fight their attraction to each other.

Cristian is a no-mercy man, and I thought Antonio would end up dead. But Monster Marchetti now plays nice for the sake of his daughter. It was funny; there were so many bets on whether Cristian would shoot Antonio at their wedding.

Pippa and Amara—Antonio’s daughter and Gigi’s stepdaughter—head in our direction. Pippa has a zip-up sweatshirt on with the studio’s name in glitter on the chest, and her dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun.

“Babe, I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.” Pippa wraps me in a hug. “I’ve told Damien I don’t know how many times to bring me to Julian’s to visit you. I even went on a”—she lowers her voice, so Amara doesn’t hear—“S-E-X strike.”

“Are you still on the strike?” Gigi asks.

Pippa rolls her eyes. “That’s irrelevant.”

Gigi tries to keep a straight face but fails.

Pippa flips her off, using her free hand to block Amara from seeing the gesture.

“Really sticking it to him, huh?” I raise a brow.

“He didn’t make it easy to say no.” Pippa’s cheeks burn red. “It was like my threat was a challenge for him. Every morning, he’d join me in the shower, S-T-R-O-K-E himself, and if I tried touching him, he’d remind me of the stupid S-E-X strike.”

Gigi laughs.