Page 54 of The Art of Ruin

Then he adjusts Letty more securely against his chest and nods toward the front of the store. “Come on,” he says. “You can help us decide whether we need twelve more books.”

“We definitely do,” Letty informs him.

And before I can stop myself, I follow them.

7.Adriano

Sunday lunchat Nico and Isabella’s is loud before I even get through the front door. The smell of oregano, basil, and tomatoes makes my mouth water.

Letty is bouncing beside me in the elevator like she’s physically incapable of containing excitement for more than thirty consecutive seconds.

“Do not run the second those doors open,” I warn her as the elevator stops.

“I won’t.”

The immediate lie almost makes me smile. I know she wants to do what I ask. I also know when to pick my fights. One of the biggest parenting realizations was that not all fights are worth having. So I pick them carefully.

The elevator doors slide open and I can hear Matteo arguing with someone and Elena laughing over the top of him.

Letty disappears like a launched missile.

“Zio Matteo!”

“Princess menace!” Matteo booms back instantly.

By the time I catch up, she’s already attached herself to his leg while he pretends to stagger dramatically under the impact.I feel my lips twitch with a smile at the sight. The people in this room would die for my daughter, and I’d die for them.

“You’ve grown since yesterday. This is getting worrisome. What will I do if you overtake me?”

“That’s because I’m nearly five, and I won’t overtake you, silly. You’re old.”

“Jesus Christ,” Matteo mutters. “Way to hit a man where it hurts.”

“You still have a baby face,” Nico says dryly from the kitchen. “Relax.”

“I’m in my thirties, basically ancient, but I appreciate you saying I look young.”

“You said that at twenty-eight too.”

“Yeah, well, I feel ancient now.”

The apartment is warm enough inside that the cold Manhattan air still clinging to my coat immediately starts fading. Christmas music, my sister-in-law’s favorite, drifts softly somewhere in the background beneath the noise of overlapping conversations and Letty explaining something very seriously to Rossi involving dragons and snow.

I shrug out of my coat and finally glance around. Then stop.

Casey is sitting on the floor beside Isabella’s sofa, helping her build what appears to be an aggressively unstable gingerbread village.

For a second, the scene catches strangely somewhere behind my ribs.

Not because she’s here.

Because she looks different.

Not physically.

She’s wearing a cream sweater that slips slightly off one shoulder when she leans forward, dark jeans tucked into boots, her hair loose around her face instead of twisted into the careful styles she usually wears at home.

But that’s not it.