You could cut the tension with a knife.
Martina, Gianluca, and Evelina look at me with evident disdain. No matter how much I try not to pay attention to their looks, it's impossible for me to eat properly; I feel as if the steak has glass in it.
"I saw the press conference this afternoon," Martina comments from her place, shooting me a mocking smile before shifting it to Salvatore, but it fades when her brother's eyes land on her. "I say it was interesting."
"Please, Martina," her mother intervenes, "that was a joke, something classless and not in line with our family's standards."
"What do you expect from Mauricio," it's Gianluca's turn to spew venom "he's always had grotesque taste."
"I didn't realize my family was so important to the Di Sante, important enough to be the topic of co
