I smile into my cup.
Finally.
Someone on my side.
“Mamma mia, questi americani sono impossibili,” Stefano mutters, taking his tiny cup from the counter.
Livy frowns up at him.
“Mama, why’s Uncle Steffy talking about taking quests?”
Stefano pauses with the cup halfway to his mouth.
Then he looks at me.
Then at Livy.
Then back at me again.
“Quests?” he repeats.
“That’s what you said.”
“No,piccola. I did not.”
“You said questy Americans.”
Sabrina giggles. “I heard it too. Even though I know he didn’t say that.”
Stefano closes his eyes for a second.
When he opens them, he looks personally wounded.
“That’s it,” he says. “I’m starting an Italian class.”
Livy perks up. “Do we get snacks?”
“You get knowledge.”
“So no snacks?”
“There will be snacks,” he says with a sigh. “But only because I can’t teach under these conditions.”
Livy looks at me. “Are we in trouble?”
“A little,” I say, hiding my smile behind my mug.
Stefano points at all three of us.
“You cannot be part of the Italian mafia if you don’t know our language.”
Livy sits up straighter.
“Hey, don’t point at me,” Sabrina says. “Papa teaches me every day.”
“We’re the mafia now?” Livy asks. “Don’t Mav and Mama have to marry first?”
I choke on my coffee.
