Those last two weeks in the house were strangely more bitter than sweet. Lucia would go to Florida, where her sister had already gone with Effie, while Luke took care of the selling of their house. I hadn’t yet decided what I would do. I couldn’t think about it for some reason. And I still had one more person to see before I could close this long chapter of my life.

“Can we take the Bugatti?” Lucia asked, a glint in her eye when we got to the garage.

“No.” That was my baby, and she was insisting on driving ‘considering my injuries.’ “We can take the BMW.”

She pouted but picked up the keys.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you driving it,” I started, “although I don’t. But the less bumpy the ride, the better.”

“My driving is just fine.”

“We’ll see.”

“You nervous?” she asked.

“About your driving?” I joked, but I knew what she meant.

She only glanced at me as she pulled out of the garage.

“Not nervous, just want it over. I know he’s my father, and maybe it’s wrong, but I don’t feel anything close to love for him.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

I thought about it. “For being a complete and utter failure where it counted?”

She shrugged a shoulder, but her gaze was serious. “Regret sucks, Salvatore.”

I knew she still had some of that.

“I actually have, I think. The way he’s chosen to live his life—well, look at him. He’s alone. He’ll die alone. Roman will be there for him, but not us. I don’t feel any anger toward him anymore. It’s like it’s sated or something. Not because I’m happy he’s alone. I’m not. But he made his bed, and I’m making my peace. It’s all I can do.”

“You’re good, Salvatore.”

Once we reached my father’s house, I climbed out of the car. I held the envelope containing the new contract. It was symbolic, nothing else, but it was necessary for closure.

“Ready?”

Lucia wound her arm through mine. We’d gotten used to each other’s company, but when she did things like this, touching me like this, it still felt strange, special. It made my heartbeat quicken.

“You don’t have to go in there.” I watched her; she watched the house.

“I want to be there with you, Salvatore,” she said, turning to me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

We both took a deep breath and walked up the stairs and to the large, foreboding double doors. I rang the bell, and Roman opened the door, expecting us.

“Morning,” he said, quickly hiding his surprise at seeing Lucia.

“Morning.”

“Come in. He’s waiting for you in the study.” I nodded and took a step. Roman put his hand on my shoulder.

“Should I keep Lucia company—”