Chapter 232 At Dinner

Chapter 232 At Dinner
That evening, everyone gathered for dinner at the Romano's mansion. It was a rare sight to have all the family members present, but in the past few weeks, there have been changes. Good changes.

The table was full of chatters and warm with giggles and laughter. Eli was talking, telling some story with his hands, imitating the way his private tutor talked, filling the room without even trying. 

Since he hadn't returned to school yet, Calla made Rico get him a tutor. That way, he doesn't fall behind in schoolwork.

Donna Marta cut in somewhere to correct someone about something and nobody was surprised. Calla laughed, her face seeming bright and easy, leaning back in her chair.

And Sophia smiled. She smiled the way she always did at dinner. Although she wasn't her usual chatty self, she was still warm and comfortable in the noise of her family around her.

Rico was quiet for most of it. He ate with little appetite and spoke only when necessary. He watched his family quietly, waiting for the right time to speak.

He knew there was no right time for something this serious, so he put his fork down. It was a small, quiet thing, but the sound of it against the plate was enough.

The table softened and their voices eased. Eyes moved toward him without being asked to.

Rico looked at everyone, staring at Sophia the longest. “The date has been fixed," he said, his voice thick as he tried to hide emotions.

They stared at him with confusion plastered across their faces. "What date?" Calla asked.

Rico paused, he drank a few gulps of water, and faced them again. "For Sophia and Don Lombardi's son's wedding."

Silence fell over the table completely now. Sophia looked at him, her smile dropping as she tried to hold onto it, the way you hold onto something while the ground shifts under you. 

But something happened behind her eyes. Something that passed through them quickly, like a light being switched off entirely.

"When is it?" She asked, her voice coming out small and slightly cracked.

"In less than a month," Rico told her. "But you have to meet with the groom before the wedding."

She took it in and processed it somewhere behind that same steady face. Then she smiled again, smaller this time, quieter, a smile that was doing a little more work than a smile should have to do. “Okay.”

Then she looked back down at her plate and picked up her fork.

Nobody said anything. The conversation did not immediately rush back in to fill the gap. 

But Calla noticed the way Sophia’s shoulders had settled differently. The way her smile had changed shape. The way she was chewing without tasting.

And suddenly, even though nothing on the table had changed, even though the food was exactly what it had been five minutes ago, it didn’t taste as good anymore.

As though she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer, Sophia quickly stood up, and every head turned towards her, except Rico.

“I’m done eating. Excuse me," she muttered lightly and left immediately. Her chair slid back, and then she was gone, moving out of the room before anyone could read her face properly.

The room went quiet as her footsteps faded down the hallway.

Rico didn’t lift his head. He simply continued cutting into his food, his movements slow and measured, his face giving nothing away.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Calla and Donna Marta both looked at each other.

Eli looked between the empty doorway and the people still sitting at the table, his expression caught somewhere between confused and concerned, like he had clearly missed something but couldn’t figure out what.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked. His sweet innocent voice filled the quietness.

Donna Marta’s voice softened immediately.“No, tesoro.”

Eli’s frown deepened. "Then why did she leave?”

"Maybe because she is done eating," Donna could only say. Even though Eli wasn't fully convinced, he didn't press anymore.

Calla slowly lowered her fork. She wasn’t looking at the doorway anymore. Her eyes had moved to Rico as he sat at the head of the table, still focused on his plate, still cutting, still chewing, still breathing like the last two minutes hadn’t happened at all.

His expression was calm, like it was a coat covering his real emotion.

Calla studied him for a moment longer. Seeing that he didn't react, she called him. “Rico.”

He finally looked up. She held his gaze, searching it deeply, but there was nothing obvious there to find. Not annoyance or guilt or grief.

She frowned slightly, a small glare directed toward him. Then she pushed her chair back. “I’ll go check on her.”

“No.” Rico’s voice came before she was fully standing. It wasn't loud or harsh, but the single word landed in the room with enough weight to stop her where she was.

Calla paused, peering at him again.

Rico placed his fork down and reached for his glass, turning it once before he brought it to his lips. His eyes stayed on the table.

“Give her space," he said, very casually. “She needs time.”

Calla looked at him for a moment longer, like she wanted to argue. Like she had something sitting right at the edge of her tongue that she was deciding whether to let out.

She didn’t and slowly sat back down.

And dinner continued—or at least, everyone made the effort to behave as though it did. Eli started talking again after a while, picking up some thread of conversation and pulling on it until the silence thinned. Donna Marta responded when something required it. Calla smiled at the right moments.

But the warmth from before didn’t fully come back. It sat just out of reach for the rest of the evening. Nobody mentioned Sophia again. And Rico never once looked toward the hallway.



By around ten that evening, Rico was in his office, attending to some documents he had brought home with him. 

Calla had retired back to the room. And he had promised to join her soon.

The only sounds in the room were the soft turning of paper and the occasional scratch of his pen moving across a page. There were small and steady sounds that had kept him company more nights than he could count. 

His desk was covered in the usual weight of his life that included files, reports, security updates, business agreements, and documents that seemed to multiply overnight no matter how many he got through.

He had loosened the first few buttons of his shirt hours ago. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. The jacket had been left somewhere behind him.

He signed one document and reached for another. Then a knock came on the door.

His eyes didn’t lift from the page. “I’m not to be disturbed," he said. His deep voice and hard tone alone were enough to send whoever it was behind that door to cower away.

But the person didn't. “Rico, dear.”

His pen paused. Something shifted almost unnoticeably at the corner of his eyes. His lips twitched and the little glint in his eyes dimmed.

It was his mother.

Why was she here? Did she make a mistake? They haven't spoken directly in a long time, so what does she want now?

For a brief moment, he considered the desk in front of him and the quiet around him, and thought about pretending he hadn’t heard. It would have been easy enough.

But he exhaled instead. “Come in.”

The door opened and Donna Marta stepped inside. She stopped a few feet in and came no further, as though she were a guest in a house she hadn’t been fully invited into yet. 

Even after things between them had begun to change slightly, she still moved through spaces he occupied like she was asking permission from the air itself.

Rico noticed. He always noticed things like that, but he said nothing.

She closed the door softly behind her, her fingers tightly on her shawl.

Rico's jaw flexed as he caught that habit of hers. He returned his eyes to the paperwork. “What is it?”

Donna Marta looked at the top of his head, as it bent over his desk, the set of his shoulders, and at the son she had lost years ago and was only now, slowly, being allowed near again.

She pushed in just a little further and sat on the vacant couch by the corner. "It's about Sophia.”