*Olivia*

I tapped my fingers against the dining table and stared at Elio, gumming on a piece of plain toast in his high chair. The dinner was tonight, and I knew Sal wouldn’t answer a call before nine, but I itched to call him anyway. Maria—and the rest of the kitchen—hadn’t been able to get me a start time until this morning.

Dahlia swept into the dining room with a backpack on. I shot up in a panic—I needed her today—before remembering she had an ...