Maria DeLuca walked in, carrying a small silver tray with a steaming bowl of broth and two freshly baked bread rolls. She looked rested, her eyes bright despite the trauma of the night before.
“Ah, she’s awake,” Maria said, smiling warmly. “Marco, get out of the way. You look like a gargoyle sitting there frightening the poor girl.”
Marco chuckled—a genuine, deep sound Lily had never heard from him before. He stood up, allowing his mother to sit on the edge of the mattress.
“Drink this, Lily,” Maria said, placing the tray gently across Lily’s lap. “It’s Antonio’s chicken broth. The recipe from page twelve. It cures everything except stupidity, which is why Dominic never drank it.”
Lily laughed softly, wincing slightly as her shoulder pulled, but the warmth spreading through her chest had nothing to do with pain.
As she took the spoon from Maria’s hand, she looked up and caught Marco watching her.
The look in his eyes wasn’t gratitude.
It was devotion.
***
