Cal lets Nonna hold onto his arm again before he smiles and leans down to place a gentle kiss against my temple, whispering, "All is good."

We make our way into the dining room, and I grimace, because I know that the worst is yet to come.

Mama is yelling at everyone to wash their hands, Nonna is accusing Luca of trying to "steal" an extra meatball, and Dad is just standing off to the side, drinking his wine and letting the chaos unfold. The dogs weave between everyone's legs, barking at the slightest movement, and I swear I see Dad slip them both bits of cheese under the table.

Nico slides into place next to Cal, immediately flexing his arm. "So, you think you're strong, huh?"

Cal raises an eyebrow. "I'm alright."

"Arm wrestle. Now."

I close my eyes briefly. "Nico, not at the table."

"What, scared he'll lose?"

Cal shrugs. "I'm game."

Before I can protest, they've cleared a space, elbows planted firmly on the table. Dad edges closer, suddenly interested. Even Matteo looks up from helping his wife settle the baby.

"Hundred bucks says Cal takes him down in ten seconds," Matteo murmurs to Luca.

Luca snorts. "Hundred says Nico wins."

Mama slams a serving dish onto the table. "Not near my good dishes!"

They ignore her completely.

"Three, two, one—GO!"

Muscles strain. Veins pop. Cal's teeth clench with concentration as Nico grins, pushing hard.

The whole table is cheering, shouting, making bets. Even Mama has stopped complaining and is watching with barely concealed interest.

For a moment, it looks like Nico might actually win—Cal's arm tilts slightly backward—but then Cal applies pressure, and Nico's arm slams onto the table with enough force to rattle the water glasses.

And tip over a bottle of red wine.

The bottle topples in slow motion, splashing across the pristine white tablecloth before anyone can react.

"NICOLO ANTONIO RUSSO!" Mama shrieks, hands flying to her cheeks in horror.

Luca bursts out laughing. Matteo is already sopping up wine with his napkin. Nonna crosses herself, muttering about the Virgin Mary and stains.

"That tablecloth is from Capri!" Mama wails. "A family heirloom!"

Nonna nods solemnly, saying it belonged to a Roman emperor and is very sacred.

I lock eyes with Cal, who looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh.

"Um," I whisper, "it's from Pottery Barn, circa 2015."

He bites his lip to keep from smiling.

Dad, ever the peacemaker, calmly refills his glass from what remains in the bottle. "It needed to be replaced anyway, Maria."

"Lorenzo!"

"What?" He shrugs. "The dogs chewed a hole in the corner last month."

"They did WHAT?"

As if on cue, Tony Soprano and Lady Gaga dart under the table, barking furiously at the commotion. Dad whistles softly, and they immediately settle at his feet, where I'm sure more forbidden food will find its way into their mouths.

Cal? Cal looks like he's enjoying the show.

Which is insane, because this? This is a nightmare. He's about to undergo a full-blown hazing ritual, and I have no doubt in my mind that my brothers have already plotted their attack. Why, why, why did I think it was a good idea to invite my super hot, super protective, amazing...man....because I'm seriously not sure what we are yet, to meet my family? I need to not text while drunk anymore. In fact, there should be a feature on phones that if you misspell more than three words in a sentence, your phone locks you out for 12 hours to sleep it off.

We all pitch in to clean up the spill and before my brothers can sink their claws in further, Mama claps her hands, calling for silence. "Okay, let's say grace."

We all bow our heads. Mama starts, her voice soft and reverent. "Dear Lord, we thank You for this meal, for this family, and for the blessings You have given us."

I peek up slightly, just in time to see Nonna making the sign of the cross.

Mama continues. "We are grateful for the food before us, for the love around this table, and for the health of our children."

A pause. Mama doesn't stop there. Oh no. Because she hasn't prayed for her three single children yet.

"And Lord," she continues, voice dripping with dramatic sincerity, "we continue to pray for the three single ones to find someone who can put up with them."

I peek up through my lashes. Matteo's head is bowed, but his lips are twitching. Luca is grinning like an asshole. Nico is already looking at me like he knows exactly what's coming next.

Mama keeps going.

"But, Lord, we also thank You, because perhaps—perhaps—there is hope for one of them."

I internally groan.

Cal’s hand slides beneath the tablecloth, fingers brushing up my thigh. It starts slow, a stroke, then a heated touch, before he finally curls two fingers into a monkey bite—that brutal tickle attack right behind the knee that instantly short-circuits your entire nervous system.

I jolt in my seat, choking back a laugh and a scream all at once. My knee jerks. The table rattles. My whole body tenses in mortified restraint.

He doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps his face perfectly neutral, like he’s deep in reverent reflection.

"And if it is truly Your will," Mama says, voice rising with spiritual conviction, "let it be known that I see the signs."

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my lips together so hard they tremble.

"Let it be known," she continues, hand dramatically lifted toward the ceiling, "that I will remain vigilant for further confirmation. That I will not waver, nor turn my eyes from the truth. That I will⁠—"

Cal’s fingers dig in just behind my knee, pinching mercilessly. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to hold it together, but it’s no use. The pressure builds until I can’t take it anymore. My leg jerks forward, slamming into the underside of the table with a loud thud. Plates rattle. Silverware jumps.

Mom gasps, eyes flying open. “A SIGN!” she cries, clutching her chest and crossing herself like we’ve just witnessed a full-blown miracle. “Did you see? The Lord has spoken!”

“Mama!”

Everyone bursts into laughter. Dad is chuckling into his wine glass. Luca and Nico are full-on losing it. Matteo at least has the decency to look apologetic—but that's probably just for show.

And Cal? Cal is just watching me squirm, like he's enjoying every goddamn second of this.

Mama simply folds her hands together, looking pleased.

"And let us all say⁠—"

"Amen!" Matteo interjects quickly, clearly trying to save me.

"Amen," everyone echoes.

I am going to die. Right here. Right now. Of pure, unfiltered embarrassment.

And Cal? Cal just leans over, a whisper meant only for me—"Your mom is relentless."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, groaning. "You have no idea."

The first ten minutes of dinner are almost normal, which makes me extremely uncomfortable, because I know all hell is going to break loose.

Plates are being passed around, wine glasses are clinking, Nonna is sneaking an extra serving of pasta onto Cal's plate while muttering something about him being a "strong man" who needs "more food." Cal thanks her in perfect Italian, and I swear to God, I see her swoon.

Then my brothers get their opening.

"So, Callahan," Luca starts, twirling his fork between his fingers, his expression pure menace. "What are your intentions with our sister?"