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That smirk used to drive me up the wall, but with Bertolli on the receiving end, I love it – the smirk, and maybe the boy too. He sold his nonna’s legacy – something Nina had forbidden – just to help us save the bar. To help my family hold on to its own legacy.

Bertolli’s own perma-smirk fades. ‘You sold it?’ His eyes bulge in his red face. ‘Well, don’t expect any leeway now. The deadline stands – midnight, full amount, or the bar is mine.’

Signora Pedretti snorts. ‘Leeway? From you? As if you were ever going to offer that.’

Bertolli’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he scowls as she steps up to the Bar-O-Meter like she’s one of the showgirls on the Italian game show Ma and Pa watch in the evenings.

‘Forza! Gather round.’ She gives her calf-length skirt a flirty shake then draws a thick black line marking Giulio’s contribution.

Sofia’s camera clicks away, capturing the moment.

Ren lifts Kenzi off her feet, both of them whooping and cheering while the crowd claps and whistles – I don’t know if it’s for the show Signora Pedretti’s putting on, or because, in one fell swoop, we’re already at the halfway mark.

I want to grab Giulio’s hand and squeeze it.

Yeah, right. And the rest . . .

OK, Inner Isla, this time you might be right, I admit, a stupid grin plastered to my face. But then it hits me – I’m standing exactly where Flaminia stood yesterday and he’s smiling at me now, just like he smiled at her.

Ugh. I have to know. I need to Be More Isla...in a roundabout kind of way.

I lean into him, my voice quiet amongst the crowd. ‘ Allora ...how come you’ve been gone all day?’ The question comes out sharper than I meant.

‘It’s taken me for ever to get back from the suburbs.’ He holds his arms out as if to say look at the state of me . ‘The Metro only started up again when I was already two stops away. I saw Sofia’s posts and left a comment, but there were so many, I don’t even know if she saw it.’

Another loud cheer erupts as Signora Pedretti draws a line at the ten thousand euros mark and does a celebratory shimmy – Sofia’s crowdfund has pulled in a whopping two and a half thousand euros. I notice Bertolli out of the corner of my eye, and the tiny twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth.

We might actually do this.

It’s the cash donations next and Ma shouts out every time she counts up another five hundred euros. But the line on the Bar-O-Meter is inching up slowly now, and the cash is disappearing fast.

Worry threads through me and I edge closer to Giulio. Somehow, the fate of the bar and whatever’s happening between me and him are tangled together – both uncertain, both on the edge of something.

‘So . . . you weren’t with . . . anyone?’ I aim for casual, but I probably sound as desperate as I feel.

Giulio’s brows knit together, then his face relaxes and a slow smile spreads across his lips. ‘Is that what you thought, Scotland? That I was with someone...a girl, maybe?’

Heat rushes to my cheeks and my toes curl inside my shoes.

He pauses just long enough to make my heart stutter, then says, ‘I was.’

My eyes snap to his.

‘I went to meet Flaminia. She’s—’

‘I know who she is,’ I interrupt, looking away. How could I not, when she’s all I’ve been thinking about? Her instant likeability. Her teeny, tiny little nose. The two of them together.

His fingers capture my chin, lifting it so that I’m looking straight at him.

‘But only to sell her the Vespa.’

He cups my face, showing me there’s more to his words – that subtext he’s oh-so-skilled at. It was maddening in the beginning. But now...

‘Oh . . .’ I mumble, feeling a bit foolish. ‘It’s just . . . you were with her the other day . . . laughing . . . and she had my . . . I mean, your spare helmet.’

Giulio smirks. ‘It’s actually Nina’s helmet. But tell me...Were you spying on me, Livia Nardelli?’

My heart skips a beat. The way he says my full name – low, teasing – hooks into something deep inside me.

His tone is playful, but there’s something else too, something that makes the buzzing street around us blur.

After all the wondering, all the tension, the relief of seeing him here, knowing he wasn’t with someone else – it’s almost too much.

‘Flaminia came to see the bike the other day, but she lives out in the suburbs. With the strike, she couldn’t make it back to pick it up. And we needed the money today. She would have given me a lift, but she was already late for her summer job.’

A collective groan goes up around us, pulling us back to reality.

Harsh reality.

Ma and Signora Pedretti have finished the count.

‘We’re still fifteen hundred euros short,’ Signora Pedretti announces, her voice cracking with disappointment.

A wave of crushing defeat rolls over me. It’s not enough. Giulio’s tan pales to ash. He sold his Vespa – his most prized possession – and it still wasn’t enough.

Bertolli runs a finger along the crisp fold of a thick brown envelope before handing it to Ma.

It’s real. This is it. The repossession order.

‘What a shame. This place has such...history. Now, as per the agreement, the bank will be taking possession of the bar. You can stay tonight and clear your things out tomorrow.’

Ren is standing in the doorway, his hands clenched into fists, and I see Kenzi and Sofia on the edge of the crowd, their faces taut with the same frustration and helplessness I’m feeling. It’s like we’re stuck in slow motion, watching everything slip away.

And then, just as Bertolli turns to leave, there’s yet another commotion at the end of the street. It’s almost absurd how people keep showing up tonight – first Bertolli, then Giulio.

But it’s only a taxi, the driver complaining that our fundraiser has blocked the road...only, a wheelchair is being lowered from the back of the vehicle.