Chapter 33

CLEO

S ydney was a blur at first—a whirlwind of noise and lights that overwhelmed me, the city’s din blending into a clash of sensory overload, reminding me why I’d left in the first place.

When we landed on Lorenzo’s stunning mansion rooftop, his wife, Mia, greeted us with warmth, her warmth melted my trepidation.

I liked her at once and smiled as she let go of her embrace.

She then folded into her husband’s arms, their passion and love evident.

‘We’ll spend the night here,’ Alessio advised me, his confident stride leading the way, a reassuring presence in this new and unfamiliar place.

Stepping into this vast and luxurious home felt like crossing into a realm of grandeur and luxury so far removed from my reality that it left me in awe.

I peered in wonder as we meandered into the kitchen, where Mia had prepped an outstanding Italian meal.

Alessio’s youngest brother, Vitto, joined us.

At first, I stared, like a country hick because what in the actual good genes ?

Mia was out of this world stunning, and the Calibrese men were beautiful.

As was Mauri, in his silent, gruff consigliere manner.

Still, they received me, pulling me in for tight hugs that instantly made me feel one of them.

First, Mia welcomed us with an aperitivo, her smile as warm as the late afternoon sun that bathed the kitchen in a golden glow.

She had dishes of olives and nuts alongside prosecco, all ready and waiting for us on the rustic wooden table. It was a simple yet elegant start to a memorable evening.

‘Salute!’ Mia exclaimed, raising her glass. We echoed her toast, the bubbly sparkling wine tickling my nose as I sipped. The first savor was crisp and refreshing, promising the delights to come.

Soon, the antipasti were served.

Mia brought out platters of frito misto—crispy fried vegetables, calamari, and shrimp. Every bite was a burst of flavor, the crunch of the batter giving way to the tender sweetness of the seafood.

‘Eat! Eat! There’s more to come!’ Mia teased, noticing my hesitation as I reached for another piece. ‘This is just the beginning.’

The table became laden with dishes, each more enticing than the last. We eagerly dug in, starting with the gnocchi in a rich, savory scampi sauce. The dumplings were like little pillows of heaven, complemented by the deep, garlicky relish.

‘Oh, Mia, this is divine,’ I couldn’t help but murmur.

Next came a tender and flavorful osso buco dish, the meat melting off the bone. It was paired with steamed spinach, and its earthy bitterness was a perfect counterpoint to the meat’s richness. A simple salad of mixed greens followed, a refreshing pause between the more indulgent courses.

During the meal, the room was filled with laughter and conversation. The mix of Italian and English created a lively, warm atmosphere as everyone tried to translate for me, often speaking over each other.

‘Now, this is what I call a feast!’ Alessio exclaimed, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh.

Throughout the evening, the boisterous chatter and the sharing of food and stories were a revelation to me. Having lived alone for so long, I hadn’t realized how much I missed the energy and connection from a meal shared with others.

We ate surrounded by affection and conversation.

To everyone’s amusement, Lorenzo, Mia’s husband, recounted anecdotes from his childhood, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he mimicked his father’s stern voice.

I gained insight into Alessio’s family and witnessed their devotion to each other. Their banter and soft gibes told of a deep, familial bond.

‘Alessio is so in love with you,’ Mia stated as we prepped the decadent dessert dish in her beautiful kitchen.

‘He’s everything,’ I said. ‘I adore him just as much, if not more.’

She hugged me spontaneously. ‘I’m so happy you’re in his life, in our life. ’

I squeezed her back, sensing her genuine acceptance and soaking it up.

‘Grazie, for the welcome. I didn’t know how much I needed this.’

Mia smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. ‘From what Lorenzo shared, you’ve been through the wringer. Processing it all can be difficult, so call me anytime, honey, if you need to chat.’

She winked; I beamed back, knowing I’d gained an instant sister.

We reappeared at the table with the pudding: a refreshing sorbet and a lovely tiramisu. Its layers of coffee-soaked ladyfingers and creamy mascarpone were the perfect sweet end to the feast.

ALESSIO

Just after dinner, my brothers and I, Mauri, Mia, and Cleo, lingered around the expansive table.

Our faces lit with the warm glow of the chandelier above us.

The centerpiece of the evening was the bottle of grappa that sat in the middle of the surface. Its color caught the firelight, reflecting a thousand tiny flames in the tulip-shaped glasses that stood waiting .

Lorenzo reached for the carafe, his hand steady as he poured the spirit with practiced ease.

The liquid flowed, filling each glass to the curve, where the aroma would be most intense.

Lorenzo lifted his own when the glasses were filled, and we followed suit without hesitation.

The crystal chimed as the crystal pinged together, a sound that resonated with our shared history.

‘Famiglia,’ Lorenzo began, his voice rich and deep, carrying the echoes of our father. ‘Per tutto quello che abbiamo superato insieme. To the family. For everything we’ve overcome together.’

From losing our parents and our aunt in recent times to forging a new path, this was a night of remembrance.

We nodded, our eyes meeting over the rims of our glasses. Vitto, the youngest, grinned, his usual mischievousness tempered by the gravity of the night.

‘To life, which gave us hell but didn’t break us.’

There was a murmur of agreement, a ripple of laughter that eased some tension.

I raised my glass higher.

‘E a noi,’ I growled. ‘And to us, who never stopped fighting. Always together.’

The glasses clinked again, firmer this time as if sealing a vow. The grappa burned as it touched our lips, warming them from the inside out.

Lorenzo set his tumbler down, his gaze sweeping over us. ‘Non importa quello che viene dopo,’ he said with quiet reverence. ‘Sappiamo chi siamo e da dove veniamo. Nessuno può portarci via questo. No matter what comes next, we know who we are and where we come from. No one can take that from us.

Vitto grinned. ‘E ora,’ he said, picking up the bottle to pour another round, ‘Let’s drink! Because if we must fight again, we’ll do it with fire in our veins and grappa in our hearts!’

The laughter this time was full and rich, echoing off the kitchen walls.

This was our time, our night, and nothing—not even the trials of life—could take it from us.

‘Thank you for everything,’ I murmured to Lorenzo and Mia as the night began to wind down. Cleo and I stood at the dining room door, making our much-needed exit upstairs to rest after a tumultuous few days.

Later, in bed, Cleo turned to me, stroking my hair.

‘I loved all of you, honey,’ she murmured. ‘From your beautiful heart, ruggedness, and strength and support, which had given me an anchor in my storm-filled life. And now, your family. Every one of them is precious, baby. Thank you for letting me in.’

I buried my mouth in her nape, nuzzling her ear, searching for her skin under her cami. ‘Grazie mille for loving me, cara. After years of obsessing about you, Cleo, your love and holding you in my arms is beyond a dream; it’s heaven itself.’