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There are moments when I look at my daughter and it’s like staring at my sixteen-year-old self.

Same dark curls. Same olive skin. Same temper. The green eyes are all him, though.

“What happened?”

“My idiot twin brother! I swear I should have suffocated him with his umbilical cord in the womb!”

A smile pulls at the corner of Jude’s mouth. He loves this. He’ll never admit it, but he absolutely loves that his daughter inherited my temper.

“Don’t smile,” I warn him.

“Wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

The front door opens again before I can say anything else. Damiano strolls into the kitchen looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Ciao, Ma.”

He bends down and kisses my cheek. My eldest son is a cuddler, that’s for sure.

At sixteen, he’s already taller than me by almost a head and well on his way to catching up to his father. He has Jude’s green eyes, but everything else is mine. Olive skin, black curls and a smile that is going to get him into more trouble than I care to think about.

Especially with girls.

Apparently, Jace Hawthorne’s influence was stronger than genetics.

I narrow my eyes.

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“You asshole!” Giulia points at him.

“He saw me talking to a boy at school, walked up to us, picked him up, and I mean literally picked the poor guy up, carried him outside and threw him in the dumpster!”

My mouth falls open. I slowly turn toward Jude.

He’s giving our son a thumbs-up.

The second he notices me staring at him, his hand drops and he becomes extremely interested in his coffee mug.

I narrow my eyes.

“Seriously?”

He takes a sip.

Damiano crosses his arms.

“He’s almost eighteen!”

“He just turned seventeen!” Giulia throws her arms up.

Damiano ignores her. “And he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at her…”

He points at his sister’s chest.