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“Mom, why are we still pressuring the Yakuza?”

Her expression falls. “Really? We have to do work talk here?”

“Please?”

“I don’t know. Old wounds run deep, dear. You know that. Your father is a very…proudman and after what happened to you, he wants to make them suffer.”

“But it was eleven years ago, surely they’ve paid enough.”

“You know I didn’t sleep for months after you were taken?” She clutches at her chest briefly. “Even to this day, I need my pills to keep everything calm.”

My mother’s drifting thoughts and terrible anxiety are difficult to deal with, I know. And knowing I’m part of the cause makes it even worse, but I wish there was a part of her that could give me a real conversation. A part of her that wasn’t drowned in decades of pill use and alcohol tocalm her nerves.

“But the real culprit was Santino, correct?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Then why?—”

“I don’t know!” she snaps shrilly, clutching at her chest once more. “Your father just does things without a care for anyone else, so why would I know? All I care about is keeping you safe, understand? Anything else doesn’t matter. I don’tcareabout anything else.” She reaches for me and cups my cheek, smiling a watery smile. “Nothing else matters.”

“Okay,” I murmur softly, taking her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You know better than to upset me,” she titters, shaking her head. She moves away to her bag discarded on the couch, and my stomach sinks at the rattle of pills. “We’re taking the black dress. Please go tell the seamstress.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Jasmine!”My best friend Catherine surges up from her seat and throws both arms around me while kissing my cheek. “I was beginning to think you couldn’t make it.”

“Sorry, sorry. I got caught up in dress shopping with my mom. You know what she’s like.”

Catherine, ever the diligent friend who’s waited hours for me thanks to sudden interrupting plans from my mother, gives a knowing nod and retakes her seat. “How is she?”

“Oh, the usual. Ignoring everything important, more concerned about the Mancini family party than anything else. Sometimes I wish I was more like her. She always seems so disconnected from everything important.” Sitting across from Catherine on the balcony, I briefly close my eyes to the cool rush of air from a nearby fan. “I wonder if that’s my future.”

“Don’t be silly,” Catherine scoffs, sliding a glass of white wine toward me. “You’re too headstrong to be floaty like your mother. You’d sink like a rock.”

We laugh and exchange pleasantries in front of the waiter who takes our lunch order, and as soon as he leaves, I lock eyes with her. “Were you invited?”

She lifts one brow. “You’re asking if I, the daughter of a grunt, was invited to the Mancini party? Girl, if only.”

My heart sinks faintly. “You never know, the Mancinis always surprise everyone by changing the guest list every year. I live in hope that one day they will recognize you.”

“I don’t.” She drinks deeply and relaxes back. “Anyone under the eye of a Mancini is under twenty-four-hour scrutiny, to which I say no thank you. There’s a certain freedom that comes with being a nobody.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh! But show me your dress! Did you get one?” She leans forward eagerly, and her eyes light up when I pass her my phone filled with countless pictures of my chosen dress. “Oh wow, you look so beautiful! The black is so stunning with the pink. Excellent choice.” She winks at me.

“Thank you,” I chuckle. “I have to look my best because myparentshave decided twenty-six years old is long enough.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m getting married.”

Catherine chokes on her sip of wine and spends a few minutes coughing frantically while hitting her chest. It gets to the point that I almost get up to help her until she waves me away. “Oh my God,” she croaks. “Sorry, that took me by surprise. You’re gettingmarried?”

“Mm-hmm.”