Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He goes through a list of preliminary readings and protocol that bore me to tears. I want answers.
“The abbreviated version, please,” I finally interrupt. “You need to understand, we’re all dying of eagerness to find out Ms. DeSanto’s place in all this.” In other words, tell us before this gets ugly.
I glare at her. The bitch will answer to me for setting me up. I won’t let a crime like hers go unpunished.
“As am I,” she says, meeting my glare with one of her own. “I came from New York in answer to a letter. I have never heard of any of you before.”
Mario lets out a low whistle and winces. “Now you don’t have to hurt our feelings.” I give him a look that shuts him up.
The lawyer clears his throat. “This is the last will and testament,” he begins. My mother wipes away a tear but my Nonna looks forward stoically as he reads the fine print. He goes through assets and property, and none of us are surprised he’s bequeathed much to his daughter and little to his wife. Long ago, she came from a line of Castellanos. She has money of her own that she spends lavishly on her grandchildren.
Everyone sits up straighter when he continues. “The remains of my estate will go to the following: fifty percent to my grandchildren and daughter, and fifty percent to Vittoria DeSanto, with conditions.”
A vein pulses in my father’s temple. My own cheeks heat in indignation. This isn’t about the money. My family members are millionaires several times over. This is about loyalty and justice.
The room grows silent. “Ms. DeSanto will inherit one half of the estate under one condition. She must remain in the Montavio family home, herewith known as The Castle, for the entirety of thirty days, during which time it is expected she will marry one of the Rossi men.”
Silence reigns in the room for long minutes.
Other families would rage at this. Some might cry or scream or throw things. My family, however, grows deathly quiet. A muscle ticks in my father’s jaw. My mother’s eyes go wide, and she gently lays her hand atop my father’s. He flicks it off angrily.
Vittoria’s still. “Excuse me?” she whispers. “Can you… repeat that?” She’s either a good actress or this is all news to her.
My fingers itch for a smoke. My lungs ache for relief.
I exhale and stare at her. “This isn’t just an eccentric old man’s parting wishes. My grandfather insisted on archaic laws, to which the Rossi family’s agreed,” I tell her. “All of us must be married to maintain our ranks and position.”
Her brows furrow. “Ranks? Position?” She shakes her head and tips it to the side. “I don’t understand.”
Tavi and I share another look. He gently shakes his head from side to side. Maybe she didn’t come here with questionable intentions after all. Maybe she truly doesn’t know who the fuck we are. I doubt it.
“And if we don’t marry, our ranks are forfeit to those who are.” I look to the lawyer, who’s nervously shuffling papers. My patience is gone. “We will explain this more later, Ms. DeSanto. You’ll eat dinner with our family this evening.”
“Actually,” she begins. “I think it’s best if I—”
“Eat dinner with the family,” I say more insistently. “Since you’ll be living under our roof, you’ll obey our rules.” She frowns at me but doesn’t respond.
“And what if she doesn’t stay here the thirty days?” my father asks, a vein pulsing in his forehead. He should see a cardiologist. The man’s laced with pulsing veins. I’m sure his blood pressure’s off the charts. “What then?”
The lawyer speaks up, shifting uncomfortably. “She forfeits all the money, and her portion goes to charity.” He looks through the paperwork. “Though if she stays the full thirty and doesn’t marry, she earns a smaller portion of the inheritance.”
“How small?” she asks.
“Ten percent.”
So if we drive her away from here, she gets nothing, but we don’t benefit either. If she stays the full thirty, she gets a good sum of money. If she stays and marries one of us, she’s set for fucking life.
Who is she?
My father’s eyes narrow to slits. This isn’t about the money for him. My father has more money than he knows what to do with.
“What charity?” he asks.
The lawyer flips through papers. “Looks like Santa Albertina’s Home for the Blind.”
With a roar, my father knocks over a jar of pens. The glass cracks on the floor, sending pens and pencils scattering. No one flinches. We’re used to this by now. Mr. Rocco looks at him in surprise, but none of us offers an explanation.
He doesn’t know why my father hates the charity, why it’s a personal insult to him from my late grandfather. Santa Albertina’s was founded by my father’s nemesis, a biker family my grandfather attempted an alliance with that fell instead into neutrality, thanks to my mother’s marrying my father. I couldn’t care less, but this is a personal insult to my father. An act of indulgence for my mother’s ex-boyfriend, the only man my father wanted dead whose heart still beats.