“Please, Mr. Moretti Number Two,” Livy says dramatically, “don’t feed me to the fish.”
Stefano stops walking and slowly turns his head toward Maverick. “Did she say… Number Two? I’ll have you know, I was born first.”
Maverick’s mouth twitches.
“Do not laugh,” Stefano warns.
“I would never.”
“You’re laughing in your soul.”
“Perhaps,” Maverick admits. “But admit it. You never wanted to be Number One anyway.”
Stefano narrows his eyes. “That is not the point.”
Livy pats Stefano’s back. “It’s okay. Number Two is still important.”
Stefano sets her carefully on her feet, then presses a hand to his chest like he’s been wounded. “Piccola, I’m devastated.”
Livy grins up at him. “Do you need a cookie?”
His expression softens instantly. “Yes. Very much.”
Maverick leans closer to me and murmurs, “She found his weakness.”
“Cookies?”
“Being adored.” His gaze stays on his brother. “He loves the attention.”
“I heard that,” Stefano says. “And you’re not wrong. Lead on,piccola spia. Take me to the cookies.”
“Pickle-a spee-ah?” Livy repeats, making Maverick chuckle. “Did I say it right, Mr. Moretti?”
She looks back at Maverick with so much hope that he smiles.
“Very close,piccola,” he says.
The man straight-up lies.
She butchered it.
Livy beams anyway. “Check me out, Mama. I can speak Italian.” She turns toward one of the guards and points with all the authority her tiny body can hold. “Pickle-a spee-ah, mister guard man. Best keep up the good work, because I might be your boss next year. Call meDonLivy.”
The guard’s mouth twitches.
Stefano coughs into his fist.
Maverick looks like he’s fighting for his life.
“Just for reference,” Stefano tells me, “she just called our guard alittle spy.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, completely mortified by the tiny package of audacity I call my daughter.
Everyone around her is smiling.
Either she hasn’t offended anyone, or they’re all too afraid ofDon Livyto say so.
“Can I call youDonlike everyone else does, Mr. Moretti?” Livy asks as Maverick leads us past a very grand staircase.
