“What’s the matter?” I ask, stepping forward to her, reading the concern and confusion written on her face. “Did you get some news from back home?”

“I...I don’t know,” she says, glancing up at me. “It’s a message from my mom. But it’s just an X.” She shakes her head, forcing a smile. “Never mind. It was probably just an accident. I’m jumping at shadows. It’s just kind of weird to hear from her. Feels like we’re in a whole different world all the way out here, and the past few weeks have been so crazy that it feels a lot longer than it has been.”

I’m not entirely convinced that’s all that bothers Serena, but I don’t want to push her, so with a raised eyebrow I nod, then soften my expression into a smile and come to give her a hug as she puts her phone away.

“That’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot. Give it some time, and everything will settle down in your mind—a clear head is important in times like this.”

She nods, taking those words to reassure herself as much as I try to reassure her. “Right.” Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she flutters her eyes up at me. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Besides the massive breakfast that’s about to start smelling heavenly inside?” I say, nodding back to the house, where I can see the silhouettes of my parents through the reflective glass moving around in the kitchen.

“Right, assuming I survive another feast,” she says with a laugh, and I help her up to her feet, even though she doesn’t need it.

“I convinced them to hold back from cooking dinner for us again so we could get out for a little time to ourselves,” I say, holding her around the waist and beaming down at her. “I found out that an old friend of mine opened a restaurant in town, so we need to get down there and see whether it’s bad enough that I can give him a hard time.”

“Don’t!” she laughs, slapping me on the chest before I scoop her into a hug, chuckling and peppering her cheek with kisses. “Seriously, be nice! Let’s not accidentally make any rivals while we’re here.”

“I’m kidding—he was this big musclebound oaf back in the day, so it’s funny to see him running a little restaurant now. But he’s a good man,” I say, giving her a light squeeze.

“Sounds like you,” she says with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow.

“Exactly, which is why I’m sure it will be the best pasta you’ve ever had. But that doesn’t mean I won’t make fun of him while I have the chance.”

* * *

Later that day, my old friend doesn’t prove me wrong.

The little restaurant he inherited from his father is on a plaza in one of the villages nearby, and it’s a cozy hole in the wall that tourists usually wouldn’t notice unless they knew what to look for. There are about ten tables in the place—not too shabby for this area. The floors are old, dark wood, and there are pictures from local history and important people all around the walls, along with a fireplace toward the back.

“This place is cozy,” Serena remarks as we sit at one of the little tables, watching a few more people trickle in for dinnertime. It’s a mix of younger people like us on romantic dates and older couples who are probably regulars or friends of the family—that’s how places like this stay open.

“The family always did have an eye for interior design, as much as you can call it that around here,” I say, beaming around the place.

She casts a look toward the kitchen, then whispers to me, “You don’t think we’re crowding the place, do you?” She tears off a piece of the tough bread that’s been laid in front of us. “We ordered our food more than half an hour ago.”

“That’s normal, I promise,” I say after taking a drink of the soda in front of me. If Serena isn’t drinking, I’d rather not either, despite my friend’s insistence that he give us a bottle of some of his oldest wine. “Service times in Italy are nothing like they are back in the USA. It’s something you just...get used to. Kind of like how lunch and dinner can be all-day events, you usually go to a restaurant expecting to just sit around and talk for a long time before anything else happens.”

She looks thoughtful for a few moments, then nods slowly. “Okay, I get it. I don’t know if I like it yet, but I get it,” she adds with a playful smile, and I grin, crossing my legs with hers under the table.

“I think it’s more relaxed,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “I always felt rushed in places in America, but you know, the country’s changing. Who knows what it’ll be like a few years from now.”

“Maybe more than that, down here,” she points out.

I nod, looking around at the old building. “A great deal more than that, true.”

Before much longer, though, our food arrives, and we start eating—and I’m proud to see that my friend hasn’t made a liar of me. Serena eats the food ravenously, giving me a thumbs-up between mouthfuls of pasta.

She’s having orecchiette alle cime di rapa, to be precise. It’s a traditional southern dish made with pan-fried broccoli, anchovies, chili, and garlic. A little unusual for the American tastes, but Serena seems to be appreciating it without hesitation.

It makes me happy to see her taken care of like this. I worry sometimes that all the stress of running around so much will wear on her, but she seems to have more energy than ever. And as my old friend cleans the bar up at the counter, he gives me a knowing grin with a glance to Serena when she’s not looking.

I smirk and wave him off, and Serena looks up at me, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say with a chuckle, “just old friends teasing me.” I give her a once-over and add, “You make a good impression around here.”

That makes her blush, and she shoves more food into her mouth to avoid acknowledging the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman in the whole village.

But as the dinner goes on and we get closer to the end of our plates, Serena takes her phone out and sets it on the side of the table, periodically checking it.

I ignore it at first, but once it’s out and on the table, I notice that Serena’s demeanor seems to have taken an anxious turn. In fact, she’s seemed a little tense all day—the easy going, loving energy between us so far has seemed muted ever since she got that message in the morning.

“You’re looking at the message again, aren’t you?” I say as I finish my dinner, setting my fork down and crossing my arms to rest on the table.

“Sorry, I know it’s rude, I-”

I wave it off, shaking my head. “Oh come on, I don’t care about that, Serena—I can tell something’s bothering you. Did your mother have bad news to give you? Is she okay?”

She looks up at me with a little relief, as though she’s glad to know that I’m only worried about her wellbeing first and foremost. Done with her food, she pushes it aside while I scoot my chair to sit beside her and look at the message she shows me.

“Here, look at this.” She holds out her phone to me, and I take the little thing in my hand. She has an app pulled up—a secure, encrypted messaging app that makes it difficult to trace without the kind of resources only a government agency might have.

The little glowing screen displays a message that looks like it’s from Serena’s mother Luisa. But it’s nothing. It’s just one, simple little letter. An X. Probably accidentally hit it while she was getting dressed or something.

“Am I missing something?” I ask, handing the phone back to her. “I don’t understand, it looks like an accidental text from Luisa.”

Serena looks at me with increasingly worried eyes. “Mom outright refuses to use texting, she always has. She’s like, you know, old-fashioned. She’s always just called me and kept me talking for an hour or even hand-written a letter. The few times I’ve ever gotten a text from her, it’s just been something quick like ‘call me.’ I’ve been trying to get her to get better at texting for years, but she never budges.”

I furrow my brow. Any other time, I wouldn’t worry about something like this, but now of all times, I have to admit that just about anything could make me suspicious.

“Then why just an X? Why not send you just a normal greeting?” I ask, crossing my arms.

Serena shakes her head, still looking at the screen. “No... It’s that... When I was younger, and I first got a cellphone, she hated the idea. She thought I was going to spend all my days on it and get bad self-esteem. The only reason she let me get it, is in case of emergencies. I guess because of dad’s job. So when we agreed to get a family package, she made me promise to text her with one letter if I was in trouble.” She trails off, looking to me with worried eyes.

I frown, rubbing my chin with a hand for a moment before I reply.

“An X,” I guess, and Serena nods.

“But that was for you texting her, and that was a long time ago. Do you really think it’s not just coincidence?”

Serena frowns, looking at the phone again.

“I want to think it’s a coincidence, but she hasn’t gotten back to me since. Do you think this is her secret SOS?”

“Luisa isn’t totally in the dark. Through some of my friends back home, I had her updated on some very basic details about what’s going on—she knows she can’t reach you by letter-mail right now or make international calls.” I smile warmly and add, “We have eyes on her, too, remember. She’s probably safe and sound, and like you said, probably got frustrated trying to type up a text.”

“True, that’s possible,” she admits, not looking totally convinced. “But that still doesn’t explain why she hasn’t gotten back to me. Gosh, that sounds overly paranoid, doesn’t it?” She leans an elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand and rubbing her forehead.

“Not at all,” I assure her, giving her shoulder a squeeze and massaging her neck with one hand a little. “You have every right to be worried for your mother. This is why we take precautions. Tomorrow, I’ll get in touch with my men and have someone check up on her to make sure everything is okay.”

She smiles at me, looking appreciative. “I’d like that. Thanks, Bruno.” She looks back down to the phone, pursing her lips a little. “I’ll just try texting her again, and let her know that I am going to die in pasta heaven.

“Bene,” I say and wave down the server to beckon them over to us. “In the meantime, though, don’t think you’re getting out of here without dessert,” I say, a smile on my face, but when I look back to Serena, I see her looking at her phone with worry.

I listen to my lover when I see that kind of worry on her face.

And whatever the real situation is with that message from her mother, I don’t have a good feeling about it.