“Just because we lost one war, doesn’t mean we can’t start another.”

“Izzy.” Even in the heat of the day, a shudder ran through me. “You can’t. We lost once, and we had an army to back us.”

“We don’t need an army. We’ve got access now.”

“What?”

Izzy suddenly laughed out loud as if I’d told a joke. It was then that I saw Salvatore standing in the window of his study, watching us. “By access, you mean me.”

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes.” It was all I’d thought of for the last five years and for good reason. “I want my freedom. And I want Franco Benedetti to pay for what he did to us. For what he made Papa do.” I remembered the last time I’d seen my father. It was in that horrible room when I’d signed the contract. Why had I refused to talk to him all these years? He’d tried. He’d come to the college once every month. He’d call once a week. But I blamed him for my fate. And he was to blame, but I also understood he had no choice.

I should have been more understanding of the strain he was under.

“And what about him?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of Salvatore, who’d turned away from the window.

“I want my freedom.”

“Well, that’s a start. Let’s go inside, before he gets suspicious.”

“Cookies are ready!” Effie called out as soon as we got into the house.

“They smell amazing,” I said.

She watched proudly as Rainey carried a plateful of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies into the living room.

“I’m packing up the house,” Izzy said. “Effie and I are moving in.”

“You are?” I was surprised. Papa had still lived in the house we’d grown up in. I didn’t think she’d want the house but was glad she wasn’t talking about selling it. I wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought—it was just too final. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to it, ending that chapter of my life so permanently.

Izzy nodded. “I should have come back sooner than this. I should have forgiven him.”

“I didn’t.”

“It should have been me here in your place,” she said, her eyes downcast.

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“If it weren’t for me getting pregnant…”

“Do you keep in touch with the father?” I wanted to know who he was. It didn’t matter anymore, not now that Papa was gone, and even if he had found out, it couldn’t have mattered then either.

Salvatore chose that moment to walk into the living room. “I could smell the cookies from the study.” His eyes met mine first, his expression guarded, almost cautious.

“I baked them. Rainey helped,” Effie proudly said.