The sun had climbed higher by the time we stood at the doorway, shoes on, bags in hand. I didn't realize how fast the morning passed until I saw my mom wiping her hands on her apron, trying—failing—not to look a little sad.
I hugged her first.
"Thank you for everything, mama," I mumbled into her shoulder. "The pancakes… the room… pretending you didn't hear anything last night…"
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Pretending was the hardest part, tesoro."
I flushed red, gripping her tighter while she chuckled and patted my back like I was still her little boy who used to sneak gelato before dinner.
"Eat well. Rest more. And for heaven's sake, don't let him starve you." She pinched my cheek like she always did, then looked past me to the man looming behind with a suitcase in one hand and his usual mafia aura still intact, even in broad daylight.
"Salvo," she said, stepping forward.
He straightened slightly, like he was preparing to be scolded.
