That day, there’d been another arrest in the Mafia Capitale investigation, and my father was talking about it because after that scandal, he could finally reproach Luca for always frowning on his business activities from his so-called moral high ground of political speech-writing. To my father, it wasn’t so much that the PD was made up of thieves whose exploits were now being discovered, but of people like Luca, “too out of touch with reality to understand that Italy’s a country of small entrepreneurs, and the PD can’t lead if they don’t accept the existence of individual or family interests, that these are the driving forces behind growth.” He discussed my brother like his wife wasn’t right there. “But that’s not what’s important to Luca because he’s not truly passionate about the country. You can’t say this to him, though, because he’s a righteous man. And hiding behind righteous men, like Luca, are men who steal.”

Daniela kept quiet and cooked. She was warm and obviously fragile, but no one ever hugged her: I sensed this, but I didn’t hug her either, because I found her attractive, and I didn’t want us to wind up in one of those full-frontal hugs that, for me, is a prelude to sex—maybe it was all those hugs around the campfire with girls smelling of grilled meat, all those girls I loved at scout camp as a teenager.

My parents took their plates of pasta with a cold sauce, a polished meal, despite the fact that Daniela had just thrown it together. They ate their dinner on the couch, on two TV trays that had become permanent fixtures in the living room. The twins sat at their feet, on a green rug with a soccer-field design. Daniela ate at the table and, though I was leaving soon to go play soccer, I sat next to her, eating orange marmalade out of the jar with a coffee spoon.

Once in a while I also stole a little taste off her plate with my spoon, and she’d shake her head and sigh, eyes down, smiling.

Gionata had learned how to climb up to the inflatable slide, but he was still afraid of the older children running around in the artificial grass, careening into the little kids like him, knocking them over. When they were on a rampage, these delighted barbarians, Gionata kept his distance and would walk in a circle, with careful, measured steps. But now the slide was free, because I’d threatened two older children, telling them I’d climb on, too, and play just like them.