“You look like a movie star,” Bobby blurts out, then looks mortified. I expect Doc to make fun of him but he seems incapable of speech.

I move toward her and hold out a hand. When she takes it, sparks run up my arm. I lead her to the seat at my left.

“What a pretty dress, Tesorina,” Doc says slyly. “Did Morelli buy it for you?”

“Yes.”

Doc raises his glass to me. “Good choice.”

I bite back a smile as I fill January’s wine glass from the decanter.

She touches a hand to her blood-red lips. “I probably shouldn’t drink.”

“You shouldn’t be rude either, bella,” I say, passing her the wine. “I’m your host.”

She raises the glass with two hands and sips, a tiny shiver passing through her.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says with an unconvincing smile.

“My sisters were given a splash of wine in their lemonade as children,” I tell her. “Would you prefer that?”

She takes a much larger sip. “You don’t have any lemonade. Only orange soda.”

Bobby laughs and she looks gratified.

Gretzky and Schnee serve the food. They’re not happy to be treated like waitstaff, but they know better than to complain. I dip my spoon into the broth and taste home. Oil and salt, cheese and pasta. I eat a few mouthfuls and look up to see January staring at me. She hasn’t touched her food. She looks even more uncomfortable than when Adriano fucked her mouth with a gun. I smile at her. “It’s good, bella.”

Bobby nods and even Doc grins. “You’ll never be allowed to leave now, Tits.”

January flushes and picks up her spoon.

We could keep her. It would be risky, letting her stay where Parker could so easily find her, but what is risk to men like us? And it might take time to make her trust us, but time isn’t an object. While we wait for her more prudish tendencies to be broken, we could eat together like this. The table laid out with good food and wine. We could laugh and relax, reclaim something that’s been lost to us for far too long.

Doc asks Bobby about the Czech ceramics he’s just sourced for a private collector in Hudson.

January perks up when he mentions blown glass. “I think I saw something like that at The Met last year.” She says it in a nervous rush, as though expecting us to punish her.

Doc smirks. “The only time I’ve been to the Met is to sell weed.”

January’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah, he was some doctor’s kid who wanted to meet in the European sculpture and decorative arts section…”

January listens with rapt attention as Doc tells the story. Bobby intervenes, correcting Doc’s errors and deflating his egotistic proclamations. I watch all three of them with a smile. My brothers are happy. Even Rossi doesn’t look so fucking miserable. It reminds me of being back in my Nonno’s house, surrounded by his friends and cousins and their wives, all of them drinking wine, and telling stories.