46

Francesca

WHEN I WENT DOWN FOR BREAKFAST , I found Zia in the kitchen. Fausto had retired to his office an hour ago, and Giulio was probably still sleeping.

“Buongiorno, la nipote,” she said, giving me a mischievous halftime smile.

What did that word mean? Pregnant lover? Stupid woman who forgot her birth control and let a mob king get her pregnant?

With Zia, it was hard to tell. The cunning old woman.

I went and kissed her cheek. — Buongiorno, Zia.

When I tried to make a cup of espresso, she slapped my hand away. — La caffeina does male al bambino.

— There, Zia. I need coffee. — I pointed to the espresso machine. - Please? — I put my hands together as if I was praying and squeezed them, begging. I could die if she didn't let me have coffee.

— No. Faust's baby. — She pointed to my belly, as if I needed a reminder.

Pouting, I fell onto a stool. - How did you know? — When she frowned, I thought about the Italian I learned. — Come... sapere... bambino? — Sapere, — was the verb, — to know