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Red fills my vision. I have to consciously keep my grasp gentle at her waist, my grip on her hand loose as we continue about the dance floor.

“Your grandmother is a bitch.”

Alessandra’s laugh is relieved, as if she can breathe now that she’s shared the ugliest parts of her childhood. “That’s one way to put it. I heard a crack. My mom slapped her across the face. She told my grandmother that the evidence of her worst mistake was the best thing that had ever happened to her.”

I’ve known for my investigation that Alessandra’s mother was a woman to be admired. But now, after hearing that, I want to nominate the woman for a damn sainthood. There’s regret, too, that our son won’t know her.

“She sounds like an incredible person.”

“She was. We left my grandparents’ four-bedroom, three-bathroom town house and went home. A six-floor walkup with a shower that worked half the time and an oven we used to heat the apartment in the winter because the furnace barely worked.” She shakes her head. “Not that I wanted to live with my grandparents. But they knew how hard my mom was working, and they still set standards designed to hurt rather than help.”

I know all too well what it’s like to go to a place that should be home but is just a reminder of everything you don’t have. It’s not the lack of material possessions that make it hell. It’s the lack of support coupled with the judgment of people who tell you all the things you could do to be better even as they hold the very resources you need with clenched fists.

“When we got back to our apartment, my mom locked the door behind us. She sat me down and told me that it was just her and me against the world. That we couldn’t trust anyone besides ourselves.” Her voice grows thick as I whirl her around the floor, beneath the dazzling lights among a sea of tuxedos and gowns. “She told me that night the only person we could trust was each other.”

More pieces of the puzzle click into place. Alessandra’s fierce independence, her unwillingness to entertain the possibility of a relationship. Her only experience with fathers has been an absent one, similar to my own, and what I’m guessing was a judgmental grandfather. She hasn’t mentioned him. But the fact that he didn’t intervene, didn’t stop his wife’s cruelty, says enough about his character. The very people she should have been able to trust, to rely on, had deemed her as nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance.

“I fought tooth and nail to get where I am today.” She raises her eyes to meet mine. “Alone. I could always depend on myself.”

The music draws to a close. We come to a stop. But before I can say anything, a voice cuts through.

“Mr. Sullivan.”

Lykios, I think irritably, has impeccable timing.

“Apologies for my sudden departure.”

“No apology necessary.” Alessandra smiles at Lykios even as she shoots me a warning glance.

“Thank you for your understanding. Now, as per the will, I needed to not only review the official documentation certifying your marriage but actually lay eyes on you as a couple.” He smiles, amusement in his eyes. “After that dance, I can safely say that I acknowledge your marriage and fully authorize you to collect the paintings of your mother.”

I mask my relief as I give him a simple nod. “Thank you.”

“The paintings were moved into storage at Lucifer’s penthouse on the main island.” Lykios hands me a card with an address written on the back. “You’ll have to make your own arrangements for sending the paintings wherever you want them to go.”

“Thank you.”

Lykios glances at Alessandra. She tenses, as do I. If the man even attempts to suggest anything seedy, I’ll escort him over to the railing and toss him into the sea.

“I admired your handling of the O’Roarke case in New York.”

Her lips part. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Masterfully handled.” He shakes his head. “I lost quite a handsome bet on it not going to trial.”

Alessandra’s smile is amused. “I would apologize, but given that I kept the family out of court and resolved it to everyone’s satisfaction, I’ll simply say better luck next time.”

Lykios chuckles and offers his hand. “I’m sorry for the extra step in this whole process. Best wishes to you both.”

Alessandra sighs with relief as he walks away. “Well, at least that’s over.”

“Yes.” I glance down at the card, my heart thudding against my ribs. It’s only a few minutes past eight o’clock. If I remember correctly, the penthouse is less than five minutes from here. There are five paintings total. The limo can easily accommodate them.

“I’ll have the driver take you back to the villa.”

Alessandra tenses. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll have him take you back to the villa and then have him meet me at the penthouse. I want the paintings taken to the airport tonight and flown out as soon as possible. I’ll feel better when they’re back on American soil.”