“And don’t get me started on Christopher’s family,” she says, pointing again in the direction of the snoring. “Putting my family and his family in a room together for a holiday party sounds about as much fun as shoving a Christmas tree up my backside. It would be nothing but fighting.”

“Did they ever get along? Or did your family always disapprove of Dad?”

“From the moment your parents got together, it went downhill. Nonstop feuding before you were born.”

“But not any more since Dad’s parents died, right?”

“Good riddance.”

I choke on my hot cider. Sometimes I wonder if there is any line Aunt Jo won’t cross. “What made you choose Providence, of all places, when you left Italy?”

She smirks. “Please tell me you’re joking, Nova. How you break my heart. The statue of the Independent Man? The fact that Providence was founded by rebels and rabble-rousers? And, well, the Italian food is good.”

I open my mouth in fake shock.

“What? I said I didn’t like my family. But our food is perfection.”

I push my pasta around on my plate. I wish I could ask Aunt Jo about what’s going on here and about my parents in general, such as why they chose to live in the middle of small-town nowhere. From everything Ash and Layla have told me, that couldn’t have been accidental. And it makes me wonder what they were trying to get away from—their deadly Families in general, or was it more specific than that? I used to think Aunt Jo’s hatred for her relatives was mostly theatrics, but considering what I’ve seen here so far, blaming them for Mom’s death doesn’t seem entirely off the wall anymore. A Strategia Family could definitely make a death look like an accident.

Without meaning to, I look around for Matteo. If the Bears did have something to do with my mom’s death, if she broke some Strategia rule or something, it’s entirely possible that his relatives were involved in making that decision. Is that why he knew what my mom looked like? I drop my fork with a loud clang and Layla and Ash both look at me.

Matteo meets my gaze, and something in me just snaps. The injustice of everything that’s happened since I arrived here, the overwhelming horror of what I’ve seen, and the constant uncertainty and fear have finally caught up with me. All I want to do is scream at the top of my lungs.

I push back my chair, furious not only with Matteo but with the whole school. I bet my mom wanted out, too, wanted to get away from all of these Strategia and their deadly games. The question is whether or not they killed her for it.

“November?” Layla says.

“I just need some air,” I say, and walk away before either of them can ask me any questions. I’m sure Ash will figure out that I’ve remembered something, and the last thing I want to hear from him is a detailed analysis of my parents’ Families and my mother’s probable murder. No wonder Aunt Jo was always so angry when the topic of family came up.