POV Lola
Five years later.
Lorenzo spills orange juice all over the table. Again. Leonardo yells that he’s a “clumsy baby.” Loretta laughs so hard she nearly falls off her chair.
“Lorenzo, careful,” I say without raising my voice, handing him a napkin. “Leonardo, apologize. Loretta, sit properly before you fall.”
Three commands at once. Three immediate reactions.
Lorenzo wipes up the juice with exaggerated focus, sticking his tongue out the way he does when he wants to prove he’s responsible. Leonardo mutters a reluctant “sorry,” arms crossed. Loretta adjusts herself in her chair but keeps smiling, those mischievous eyes that remind me so much of myself as a child.
Five years.
Five years since I arrived in Sicily running away. Five years since I was Lucía Navas, a desperate secre
