ALESSANDRO

“How was the game?” Papà asked, his hands holding mine firmly. We were on our way to the car park after a baseball game.

“It was spectacular,” I said smiling. People breezed past us to get to their cars.

Mamma and Luisa had gone for a spa date. We were going to meet them at our favorite restaurant to celebrate our team winning.

“Number 10 is a fucking good player,” I continued.

“Words. Sandro,” Papá cautioned but he was smiling.

“Mamma isn’t here, and you’re not going to tell on me, would you?” I kicked a stone to the side, my hands tightening around his.

“I won’t. Only because...