Bastian’s disdainful gaze sweeps over him. “Been a few years, Russo.”

Lucien’s eyes narrow. He’s shorter than us by several inches. Older. Softer. “You never did know when to keep your mouth shut,” Lucien says. I guess he’s still the biggest asshole in the room.

Vittoria wraps a hand around the fist Bastian makes. “Lucien,” she says calmly.

Lucien’s eyes move to her hands, first the one curled around Bastian’s, then the one with the wedding band, then to me.

“I’m confused. Who the fuck is who?”

Brady clears his throat. He’s the oldest of the attorneys present, and I guess he’s not used to that type of language.

“This is my husband, Amadeo, and his brother, Bastian.”

Lucien rolls his eyes. “It was rhetorical, sis.”

She studies him in that way she has that can set anyone on edge, and Lucien is not immune.

Bruno introduces himself to the other lawyers.

“Why don’t we get on with the reading of the will?” I suggest. “We have more appointments while we’re in town.”

Brady clears his throat. “I’m afraid your brother-in-law will not be able to enter with us. Family only. And of course, your attorney,” he says to Vittoria.

“I give him permission,” she says.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, sis,” Lucien says.

She opens her mouth to protest, but Brady clears his throat. “However, I’m told we’ll have some other business after the reading of your father’s will,” he says, glancing at Bruno and then at Bastian. “If you could please remain close.”

Bastian gives him an irritated nod and makes a show of sitting on the couch in the waiting area.

Lucien grins. A small victory for him. We enter the room and take our seats around the large oval table with Lucien and his lawyers on one side, and Vittoria, Bruno, and I on the other.

While Brady gets on with the reading of Geno Russo’s will, I study Lucien Russo. I look at the ring with the family’s insignia on his finger. I remember it from that day in our kitchen. Remember the toe of his shiny, expensive shoes when he stepped on the money his father had scattered on that shitty linoleum floor. I think of his hands on Hannah. Sweet, young, innocent Hannah. Helpless Hannah.

My hands fist. I sit up and lean my forearms on the table. Brady passes a sealed letter to Vittoria and another to Lucien. Vittoria traces her name on hers. It’s handwritten. Lucien jams his into his pocket, leaving me to wonder if he’ll bother to read it at all.

Brady finally gets down to it.

Lucien, already owning thirty shares of the company, will inherit nineteen more of his father’s shares, putting him at forty-nine percent. Lucien opens his mouth, clearly surprised.

“When did he change it?” he demands, cutting Brady off.