I curl into a ball on the couch, crying silently. At some point, a box of tissues materializes next to me. The only one who could have left them there is Tomas—he’s on door duty again today.
When all my tears have dried up, I start waiting for Raffaele, hoping he’ll return soon. While I wait, I can’t keep the thoughts from eating away at me.
I hear the car before I see it.
Gravel crunching. An engine cutting out. Two doors slamming. I’ve been at the window for I don’t know how long—long enough that the ocean’s gone from gold to gray to almost black, and the cup of tea on the arm of the chair beside me has cooled to room temperature without my drinking any of it.
He’s back.
I stay where I am for one stubborn breath. The car’s in the drive, the doors have slammed, he’s coming up the steps—he can find me where I sit.
I last four seconds.
I’m on my feet by the time he comes through the front door, and I hate that, but I’m also halfway across the room before I’ve decided to move. So much for that, I guess.
He’s different.
He’s been gone all day and most of the night, and he should look like a man who hasn’t slept in two days. He doesn’t. Instead, it’s as though he’s been lit up from inside. There’s a hum coming off him I haven’t seen since—actually, I haven’t seen this before. Not on him. Not ever.
He crosses the room in three steps and pulls me up against him and kisses me hard.
“Bea.”
“You took long enough.”
“I have it.”
“Have what?”
He pulls back and holds something up between us—a folded piece of paper, slightly worn, the edges soft from being inside his jacket for the drive home.
“Vincenzo’s will. The real one. I got there before they did. It’s in my hand.”
I take a breath.
“That’s—okay. Okay. That’s good.”
“Good?” He laughs, short, almost giddy. “It’s everything, Bea. It names me. Raffaele D’Amico. As heir. Officially.Legally.Notarized, witnessed, the whole fucking thing. Nico has nothing. He’s got a forgery and a hole in the ground where his father used to be, and now I havethis.”
He waves the page.
“The families have to recognize me. They have to. The minute this is read out loud at the next sit-down, Nico is finished. He’s done.”
“That’s…”
He’s looking at me, waiting.
“That’s good, Raffaele.”
It comes out like the voice of a woman sayingthat’s goodat a dinner party about someone else’s promotion.
He doesn’t notice. Just like he doesn’t notice how swollen and red my face is.
“It took me all fucking day. I had to drive back through Newark to a meeting I wasn’t sure was clean. I had two of Lorenzo’s guys on Nico’s people up north. I had— Anyway, I had to make about thirty calls in about ninety minutes. I know it’s been a long day. I know you were waiting. But this—this changes everything. You get that, right?”
I look at the paper in his hand.
“How long this time?”
