Nico looked at her evenly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Well… you could."
"Really?"
He nodded in response.
The simplicity of the permission stopped her completely. It was a staggering level of access, stripping away the fearsome title of the Don to hand her the boy his mother had loved.
She picked up her wine glass, her heart doing a strange, fluttering rhythm against her ribs, and looked out at the harbour to hide her smile.
The food arrived without ceremony. Plates of steaming pasta, fresh herbs, and a whole grilled fish that Franco carried out himself with the open pride of a man who had pulled it from the water that very morning.
He said something rapid in dialect, gestured grandly at the fish, and waited with bated breath for Mara's reaction when she tasted it.
She gave him an honest one. It was extraordinary.
Franco beamed like she had just made his entire week and vanished back into the kitchen.
