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“Catherine, just one more thing,” he said and nervously touched his curly black hair. “Would you tell me where can I find your father?”

“Oh, Frank, why would you need to see my father?” she asked and put her hand on his.

“I’m Italian, on both sides. I believe in family, its power, togetherness. I have to ask his permission.”

“Permission for?” she whispered in anticipation and shifted closer to him.

“Permission to marry you. You will be Mrs. Columbo, Catherine.”

Her eyes shone in the dim light of a cosy, slightly worn-out restaurant.

“It will suit you. Mrs. Columbo.”