I’m grateful she’s cooking for Dario, but I’m also annoyed by her complicity.

Would they have her make more food for a man who just “signed his own death warrant?”

Maybe. I should ask her when the meals were requested and when they’re to be delivered.

I tip the roasting pan so the grease drips to the corner.

“Here.” Denise reaches into the fridge and clicks an unlabeled twenty-eight-ounce tin can in front of me. At the bottom sits an inch of translucent white fat flecked with meaty brown spots.

“Thanks.” I pour out the fat while Denise runs the sink water hot. I sigh, remembering the dishwasher in our safe house. What a luxury. On any other day, washing dishes on my feet for an hour wouldn’t be a bother, but right now, even standing still makes me want to jump out a window.

Marco shouts at the television.

“Someone’s gonna sleep good tonight.” Denise scoffs, putting away the leftovers.

“Do you want to come home with me?” I whisper. “You can come back early.”

“Why?” She seems truly baffled.

“Does he get… ‘that way’ when he’s… like this?”

“Not at all. The sweeter the sauce, the sweeter the boss. Now, tomorrow morning I have to get out before he wakes up with a headache.”

I’m about to ask about the lentils when Marco appears in the doorway—glass refilled—and grabs his wife’s bottom with his free hand.

“Ain’t she something?” He slaps open the freezer and grabs a handful of ice.

“She is.”

When the cubes drop into his glass, the amaretto splashes onto the floor. “Ayy, stupid ice.”

“Don’t worry,” Denise says. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Damn right. You’ll be on your hands and knees to do it too.” He kisses her head then turns to me. “You need a lift home?”

“No. Thanks. Timothy is waiting for me.” I snap a paper towel off the roll to wipe out the roasting pan.

“Massimo’s pulling out the stops, eh? Still thinks of you as a princess.” He takes a healthy swig of amaretto. “Like your shit don’t stink.”

“Depends what I eat.”

He laughs so hard he nearly spits his drink.

“Man. You’re something. Were you always a crackup?”

“She was.” Denise dumps a sippy cup of apple juice before sponging it out. “Just not in front of you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Daddy and my grandmother didn’t like when I joked,” I say, sensing danger in his question. “They thought I was drawing too much attention to myself.”

“Yeah, well, I get that. But Sergio likes funny. He’s a guy I can have a beer with, you know? You guys are gonna work out great.”