It was their second night in Sicily, and it was already becoming clear that Jude and Zero had unknowingly walked into some kind of twisted social experiment.

After the cabana incident — which Zero maintained was a tactical win and Jude insisted was going to get them both stabbed — they decided to cool off with a proper Italian dinner. Jude had found the restaurant while scrolling TripAdvisor from their absurdly oversized bed. It was a traditional Italian grill in Taormina — small, rustic, dimly lit, and decorated with just enough overpriced hand-painted ceramics to let you know you were paying more than you should for pasta.

Zero had barely hesitated. "Italian food? Charred meats? Expensive wine? Babe, you're speaking my language."

So they showered, dressed, and made their way down the cobblestone streets to the restaurant, hand-in-hand like they weren't being mentally stalked by the Sullivans.

They were seated at a small table near the open terrace, where the breeze from the ocean mixed with the scent of garlic, olive oil, and the distinct scent of charred rosemary from the grill. The vibe was perfect — warm lighting, the soft chatter of other diners, the clink of wine glasses — and for a moment, it seemed like maybe, maybe, things were turning around.

"Alright," Jude said, picking up the menu. "What's the move here?"

Zero leaned back in his chair, lazily scanning the menu. "We go controversial."

Jude raised an eyebrow. "Controversial?"

Zero nodded. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna piss off some Italians."

"How?" Jude asked, already dreading the answer.

"By ordering the wrong shit," Zero replied.

Jude squinted at him. "Explain."

"Okay," Zero said, sitting up. "Number one: you don't order spaghetti with meatballs in Italy. That's an American thing."

Jude snorted. "Okay, but—"

"Number two: you don't ask for Alfredo sauce."

"Wait — Alfredo isn't Italian?"

"Nope."

Jude stared at the menu. "So you're saying we… order those things?"

"Exactly," Zero smirked. "We're gonna Americanize the hell out of this meal."

Jude shook his head, laughing. "You're insane."

Zero grinned. "Insanity is sexy."

The waiter, a wiry Italian man in his 50s with slicked-back hair and an actual red scarf tied around his neck (because of course), approached the table.

"Buonasera," the waiter said, smiling. "Have you decided?"

Zero sat up straight. "Yes. We'll have spaghetti with meatballs — heavy on the sauce. And a side of Alfredo pasta. And garlic bread."

Jude widened his eyes. "Oh my god."

The waiter's smile stiffened. "Spaghetti with… meatballs?"

"Yeah," Zero said, completely deadpan.

The waiter hesitated. "Meatballs are not—"

"I know," Zero interrupted. "But it's our honeymoon. Indulge us."

The waiter blinked twice, sighed, and nodded. "Of course."

"And garlic bread," Zero added.

Jude covered his face with his hand. "Jesus Christ."

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked.

"A bottle of your best red," Zero replied casually.

The waiter nodded, clearly doing mental calculations about how much to hate them. He left the table without another word.

"You're a menace," Jude said.

"Thank you," Zero grinned.

But as they settled into their seats, sipping their water and looking out over the terrace, Jude noticed something. A familiar, unsettling laugh from across the room.

Zero's face shifted immediately. "No."

Jude glanced toward the sound and, sure enough — sitting at a table just across the room, dressed like they were attending a casual yacht party, were the Sullivans. Daphne and Cameron were seated across from Ethan and Harper, their table already covered with wine and breadsticks.

Daphne saw them first. Her eyes widened, and her expression shifted from surprise to satisfaction in 0.2 seconds. She leaned toward Cameron, whispering something in his ear. Cameron's face twisted into a grin.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jude muttered.

"They're not gonna…" Zero began.

But then Daphne raised her hand to the waiter.

Jude and Zero watched — horrified — as the waiter approached their table.

"Excuse me," Daphne said, her voice sugary sweet. "We'll have exactly what they're having."

Jude's mouth dropped open.

Zero's eyes narrowed. "They wouldn't."

"Oh, they would," Jude said.

"And garlic bread," Daphne added with a smile.

Jude turned toward Zero. "Zero."

"They're trying to steal our meal," Zero growled.

"Is this psychological warfare?" Jude whispered.

"It's something," Zero said.

Cameron turned toward them, holding up his wine glass. "Cheers!"

Zero's jaw flexed. "Oh, they wanna play?"

"I think they do," Jude replied.

"I'm gonna wreck them," Zero muttered.

"How?"

Zero's eyes sharpened. "We're going to make this dinner impossible for them."

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with the bottle of red. Zero tasted it, then swirled it in the glass like he was a Michelin judge. "It's fine," he said dismissively.

Jude kicked him under the table. "You're being ridiculous."

"It's working," Zero replied.

The spaghetti arrived next — a towering pile of noodles and meatballs drowning in sauce. The Alfredo was equally dramatic, with garlic bread arranged artfully on the side.

Zero picked up his fork, twirled it into the spaghetti, and took a dramatic bite. He let out an exaggerated moan of satisfaction.

"Oh my god," Zero groaned, loud enough for Daphne and Cameron to hear. "This is the best spaghetti I've ever had."

Jude's eyes widened. "Stop."

Zero leaned back. "Mmm. Just so rich. And heavy."

Daphne's table was dead silent.

The waiter approached their table with Daphne and Cameron's identical order. Cameron lifted his fork, twirled it into his spaghetti, and took a bite.

He immediately made a face.

Daphne's smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

Cameron coughed. "Too much sauce."

"Really?" Daphne said. "Ours is different?"

Zero smiled triumphantly. "Told you."

Jude leaned toward Zero. "What exactly did you do?"

"Before I ordered," Zero whispered, "I told the waiter to make ours with extra imported olive oil. Theirs is getting the budget treatment."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Absolutely not."

Cameron coughed again, setting his fork down. "Jesus. This is salty."

Harper frowned. "Mine is kind of… sour?"

Jude turned toward Zero. "Did you also—"

"Little extra lemon zest for theirs," Zero said smugly.

Daphne glared at them from across the room. "You…"

Zero smiled, lifting his wine glass. "Buon appetito."

Daphne's eyes darkened. "This isn't over."

Jude shook his head. "Oh my god. You're turning this into a cold war."

Zero smiled. "No, babe. This is just the beginning."

Daphne turned toward Cameron. "We need to escalate."

Jude's face paled. "I think we've started something."

"Oh, we've started something," Zero agreed, swirling his wine. "Now let's see if they can finish it."