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“Call everyone?” Santo asks me curiously.

I nod. “Please.”

I take Emma by the elbow, firm enough that she knows to stay by my side.

When we enter The Castle, I hear voices in the reception room, rising and falling, laughing and teasing. I look curiously at Santo.

“It was Rosa’s birthday tonight,” he says. “It’s why Natalia was up so late.”

“Ah. I’m sorry I missed it.”

He smiles at me. “You know how she is. Thought she was gonna beat my head in just for bringing out a cake with candles.” Rosa hates any attention being paid to her.

A part of me wishes this was a regular visit, because I want to take Emma in to introduce her to the others, to even… show her off. She’d love my youngest sister Marialena, or Nonna who’s always plying us with food and Italian idioms, and she’d probably like the women of the Family, too. Romeo’s Vittoria, Orlando’s Angelina, Tavi’s Elise. They’re a tight-knit group. Marialena says it’s necessary to survive the likes of us. I think she’s dramatic.

But tonight isn’t the time for socializing. Tonight, we have business we need to handle, and soon.

“You come with me, doll,” I say, not releasing my grip on her arm.

“Aw,” she says with a mock smile. “No tour of The Castle?”

Santo watches us both soberly. He doesn’t miss a thing, only narrows his eyes at her. “You bringing her to the war room? Or…”

His voice trails off, as he discreetly asks me if I’m bringing her to be interrogated or imprisoned.

“Wine cellar.” I don’t want to risk fucking anything coming between me, Emma, and our need for truth. Romeo will need to have firsthand knowledge of our exchange as well.

Shadows darken the door between the dining room and the hallway that leads to the back of The Castle. My brothers. They haven’t seen us yet, but will soon enough. They’re intimidating as hell, though, large and muscular and dangerous. When they move as one, I imagine it gets a little menacing.

Emma looks at me and moves closer. Does she trust me? I could use that to my advantage.

The Castle really is, as Emma said, imposing. The main entrance, decked in marble and chandeliers, feels as if we’ve stepped back in time. To the right there’s a circular stairway that leads to the several floors where the private bedrooms lie. We’ll go there later. To the left of the main entryway, there’s a reception room and lobby, and beyond the reception room a coat room where we used to hide when we were kids. It still functions as a place to store coats during large parties or gatherings.

Beyond the coat room is the Great Hall, the place where the majority of our meetings and important events take place. It’s majestic and well furnished, modernized with my mother’s eye for interior decorating and style, while still nodding to an earlier, simpler time.

Beyond the Great Hall, its entrance at our back, there’s a sun room, a small, quaint room with a huge skylight and large, arched windows that let in light during the day. Rocking chairs with hand-sewn quilts make the room look cozy and welcoming. The girls like to gather here more than the men do—we like the war room or wine room.

There’s an air of going back in time at The Castle, and a part of me thinks it’s intentional. It’s easier to hold ourselves and others to old-fashioned standards and principles in a place like this.

There are two ways to exit beyond the sun room. Straight ahead of us is the entrance to the courtyard, enclosing a large, fenced-in pool the girls especially like to use, and there’s an exit from the courtyard that brings us to the dining room. Or we can skip the courtyard altogether and go straight to the dining room.

Behind the sun room sits a large pantry that flanks the formal dining room, which we don’t use as often as the Great Hall. The formality of the dining room can be off-putting, unless we’re having a large event or party, but even then, if the weather’s nice, we prefer the outside pavilion. One wall of the dining room boasts nothing but wine—a full wall of glass with nothing but bottles of wine in reds and whites and pinks, adorned with golden labels, all from my family’s vineyard in Tuscany. The chandelier itself is made of wine glasses.

A doorway from the dining room opens to a circular room. The library hosts wall upon wall of leather-bound books, plush armchairs, and a fireplace.

“This place is huge,” Emma marvels. “Seriously enormous.”

“You could imagine how we felt living here as kids.”

“You must’ve felt like you were kings and queens of this place.”

I don’t tell her that we really were, though.

“Here,” I say, bringing her to the furthest recesses of The Castle. “We don’t come here as often, but when we have private business to conduct, it’s the best way.”

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