Luc’s sister leaned over to snag a piece of Luc’s toast before pointing the toast triangle at their father. “It’s true. Luc was quite clear with his word choice. And I’m a lawyer so I should know.”
Tony Moretti scowled and propped a piece of bacon on top of a piece of biscuit. Then he dragged the whole thing through a puddle of gravy under the exasperated glare of Luc’s mother. He took a bite and chewed as he glared at Luc and Elena. “Don’t you two get smart with me. What I want to know is why are they doing a story now? You’re old news.”
Anthony leaned over and grabbed the remaining piece of Luc’s toast. “It’s nice when he builds us up like this, isn’t it, bro?”
“So nice,” Luc muttered, taking another sip of his coffee.
His mother caught his eye. “I think what your father is trying to ask, Luca, is why you’re agreeing to a story when you’ve been unhappy with all the media coverage.”
Luc set his coffee aside and reached for a piece of toast, only to realize that his family had pillaged everything.
“It’s not like I have a choice.” He immediately regretted the words. They felt…whiney. Small. And his father pounced.
“You always have a choice,” Tony boomed. “How many times have I told you kids that we’re in control—”
“Wait, wait,” Vincent interrupted, leaning forward and snapping his fingers rapidly. “I’ve got this. We’ve heard it before, I think…”
“Like maybe once, or a million times?” Elena mused, tapping her lip.
“We are in control of our own destiny,” Anthony said in a dramatic voice, or as dramatic as it could get around a piece of bacon. “Did I get that right?”
Tony Moretti turned to exchange a glance with his wife. “How is it I raised four smart asses?”
“Five, actually,” Elena said. “Marco’s missing all the fun.”
“Probably on the beach somewhere,” Luc’s father said, his tone turning irritable the way it always did when he spoke of his West Coast offspring.
None of them had been thrilled when Marc moved to Los Angeles. Not only because it splintered the tight-knit Morettis into different time zones, but because the reason for his move was Mandy Breslin.
Mandy and Marc had been dating since high school, which should have made her like part of the family, but the truth was…the family couldn’t stand her. She was manipulative, melodramatic, and seemed to think that an exceptionally pretty face made up for lack of other qualities. Say, like, being a decent person.
Still, what Mandy lacked in likability, she made up for in ambition. She’d gotten it in her head that she was destined for a Hollywood career. And Marc, being the epitome of loyal, had dutifully followed her.
They’d been in LA for over a year now, and as best as the rest of the Morettis could tell, the closest Mandy had come to her dream was watching TV all day while Marc worked his ass off in the LAPD.
The Morettis did their best to support Marco’s decision, even as they secretly hated it…and missed him like crazy. But that didn’t mean they didn’t gripe about Marc’s absence behind his back.
Because that’s how the Morettis did things. They interfered with each other’s business constantly, and unabashedly.
Take, like, now, for example.
Sundays meant two things to the Morettis.
Mass at St. Ignatius Loyola Church on the Upper East Side, and the follow-up brunch at the Darby Diner.
But it meant other things too. Like latching on to one person’s personal life and taking it apart piece by piece.