POV: EVE
Nonna arrived at eleven in the morning with a canvas bag full of groceries, a string of rapid Italian directed at the nearest housekeeper, and absolutely zero warning.
Eve was in the kitchen nursing her second coffee when the elevator opened and Sophia Marchetti swept in like she owned the place....which, Eve was beginning to suspect, she essentially did. The older woman moved through the penthouse with the ease of someone who had walked these floors a thousand times, pausing only to press a firm kiss to Eve's cheek before depositing her grocery bag on the marble counter.
"You look tired," Nonna announced, studying Eve's face with the clinical precision of a woman who had raised one of the most dangerous men alive and had learned to read people the way others read weather. "Did you sleep?"
"A little."
"Hmm." Nonna's dark eyes swept over her, missing nothing. "Sit. I'm making lunch."
"You don't have to...."
"Sit, cara."
Eve sat.
