“ ‘I was a child and she was a child,’ ” Lorenzo said, “ ‘in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.’ ”

Silence fell over the table. Lark stared at Lorenzo, stunned.

“Edgar Allan Poe,” Lorenzo said. “Everyone knows that one.”

“Not everyone,” Dante said. “Not me.”

“Big surprise,” Lorenzo said.

“Our brother memorized her favorite poem,” Sofia mock whispered to Izzy. “Somebody, get him to a doctor.”

“He’s smart, my boy,” hissed Noni, making Lark jump. “He know everything.”

“We call him God,” Dante said. “Everyone needs a nickname.”

“He goes by Dr.Satan at the hospital,” Lark said, and everyone laughed (except Lorenzo and Noni). “What does your tattoo say, Dante?” She had seen it flirting with the edge of his sleeve.

He pulled the sleeve up so she could see, but she was momentarily blinded by the perfection of his upper arm. Tan, chiseled, muscled, a badass tat showing words against a fireman’s cross, flames behind that.

“ ‘Be not afraid, for the Lord thy God goes with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee,’ ” Anita recited. “I actually made him get that when he became a firefighter. It made me feel better, with my little boy running into burning buildings.”

Dante lifted an eyebrow at Lark, then kissed his mother’s temple. “Still works,” he said, rapping the table with his knuckles, which caused his grandmother to stir. “Noni, do you want a burger?” he asked. “Cheddar? Provolone?”

“Too much fat,” Lorenzo said.

Dante sighed.

Lorenzo put a piece of grilled fish on her plate with some wilted greens and bread. Noni groped in her sweater pocket, pulled out some dentures and popped them in, then scarfed down the food. But Lark wasn’t thinking about Noni’s teeth (not much, anyway).

We loved with a love that was more than love— / I and my Annabel Lee.

Lark took a long pull of her wine. Dr.Satan knew her favorite poem by heart. That he had any poem memorized was shocking, let alone one so romantic and haunting. It didn’t match up with any other information she’d gotten so far.

Dinner progressed, and Lark ate and talked, charmed by and charming the Santinis (most of them). Lorenzo pretty much ignored her, but that was maybe because his mother was doing all the talking, asking about her parents and siblings. It was impossible not to like Sofia, who seemed a little shy but so sweet—she was a kindergarten teacher, Henry an accountant. They’d met online, as people usually did these days, and fell for each other right away.

“Love at first smile,” Henry said, gazing softly at his fiancée.

Isabella was spicier, funny and irreverent, sharing stories from her career, laughing easily with Lark, asking questions about medicine, where she went to school.

Silvio and Anita were sort of like Lark’s own parents—devoted to each other, but maybe a little more…normal than hers. Not quite as in your face with their love.

She insisted on helping clear the table, almost having to wrestle Anita to pitch in. Lorenzo remained seated at the table, talking quietly with his grandmother. Silvio asked if he could take Connery down to the beach, and of course Lark said yes. Women doing the work, Lark noted, though Dante helped by taking out the trash and recycling (without being asked, unlike her own brother, who needed a poke or a smack to motivate him).

Anita and her daughters got dessert ready—a platter of homemade Italian cookies, soft and frosted, sprinkled with red, white and blue jimmies. Lorenzo came in to make espresso from a very complicated-looking machine, and made a cappuccino for his grandmother. He did not ask anyone else if they wanted one.

Lark was learning quite a bit today.

“Lorenzo, what was it about Lark that made you ask her out?” Izzy said as they were nibbing on cookies, once again around the table. “Since you hate most humans, I mean.”

“Yes, Lorenzo,” Lark said, setting her wineglass on the table. “What was it exactly?”

He looked at her a minute, not answering; probably hadn’t expected that he’d have to say something nice about her. “I don’t hate humans,” he said.

“Maybe ninety-five percent of humans,” Sofia said, smiling at him.

“Ninety-eight,” Izzy said.

Lorenzo was not amused. “To answer your question, Lark is pretty. As you can see.”