It’s a strange thing to learn about yourself.

I look around the table at my siblings. They all have blood on their hands, one way or another. You’d never guess it, looking at them. Well, maybe you’d guess it with Dante — his hands look like scarred baseball mitts. They were made for tearing people apart. If he were a gladiator, the Romans would have to pair him up against a lion to make it a fair fight.

But they all look happier than I’ve seen them in years. Aida’s eyes are bright and cheerful, and she’s got a flush from the wine. She hadn’t been able to drink the whole time she was nursing, so she’s thrilled to be able to get just a little bit tipsy again.

Dante has this look of contentment, like he’s already sitting at some outdoor cafe in Paris. Like he’s already starting the rest of his life.

Even Nero has changed. And he’s the one I never thought would find happiness.

He’s always been so vicious and full of rage. I honestly thought he was sociopathic when we were teenagers — he didn’t seem to care about anyone, not even our family. Not really.

Then he met Camille, and all of a sudden he’s completely different. I wouldn’t say he’s a nice guy — he’s still ruthless and rude as hell. But that sense of nihilism is gone. He’s more focused than ever, more deliberate. He has something to lose now.

Aida says to Dante, “Are you gonna learn French?”

“Yes,” he grunts.

“I can’t picture that,” Nero says.

“I can learn French,” Dante says, defensively. “I’m not an idiot.”

“It’s not your intelligence,” Aida says. “It’s your accent.”

“What do you mean?”

Her and Nero exchange an amused glance.

“Even your accent in Italian...isn’t great,” Aida says.

“What are you talking about?” Dante demands.

“Say something in Italian,” Aida goads him.

“Alright,” Dante says, stubbornly. “Voi due siete degli stronzi.” You two are assholes.

The sentence is accurate. The problem is that Dante keeps his same flat Chicago accent, so it sounds like: “Voy doo-way see-etay deg-lee strawn-zee.” He sounds like a midwest farmer trying to order off a menu in a fancy Italian restaurant.

Aida and Nero immediately start laughing, and I can’t help letting out a little snort myself. Dante scowls at us all, still not hearing it.

“What?” he demands. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You better let Simone do the talking,” Aida says, between giggles.

“Well it’s not like I actually lived in Italy!” Dante growls. “You know, I speak some Arabic too, which is more than you two chuckleheads.” When they won’t stop laughing he adds, “Fuck you guys! I’m cultured.”

“As cultured as yogurt,” Nero says, which only makes them laugh harder.

I think Dante would have knocked their heads together in the old days, but he’s above their nonsense now that he’s a husband and father. He just shakes his head at them and signals the bartender for one more drink.