“Luca!”
Luca groaned and put his magazine over his face. Tav, sprawled out on the sofa playing Grand Theft Auto—whatever version, the one with the mouthiest hookers—with Tomas, sniggered.
“Busted,” he said.
“Shut up,” Luca grumbled.
“Busted!” Tomas echoed cheerfully, not taking his eyes off the TV.
“Luca!”
“Coming, Mamma!” Luca called, heaving himself off the sofa. It was a Monday evening. Tav had been—as was usual in December—hiding out at theirs for the last week or so, but he wasn’t being such a moody s**t as normal, and it was kind of nice just hanging out with Tomas or Paolo sometimes. Luca dropped the magazine into Tomas’ lap, ruffled Tav’s gingery-blond hair obnoxiously as he passed them, and meandered into the kitchen.
“Lightbulb,” Mamma trilled, pointing a long finger up at
