Sabrina watched Mother take her first sip of soup.
The spoon rose. Paused at Mother's lips. Disappeared into her mouth with the kind of grace that could only come from decades of practice or complete indifference to human warmth.
Mother set the spoon down without a sound. Crystal against porcelain, perfectly silent.
Across the table, Isaiah had frozen mid-reach for his own spoon. Smart boy. He'd already figured out the most important rule of Valentine family dinners: never be the first to move.
Sabrina picked up her spoon. The soup was French onion, which meant Chef Laurent had prepared something safe and universally acceptable. Mother approved of safe choices during first impressions.
"Your family, Mr. Angelo," Mother repeated. Her voice carried the temperature of absolute zero. "I'm waiting."
