What a mess. And J.D. wasn’t going to make it any better. He rifled through his duffel bag until he found a crisp manila envelope. Inside the packet was the deed, bill of sale and proof that this house—Tiffany’s home since the accident that had taken Philip’s life—belonged to the Santini family. Well, at least most of it. A portion—one fourth, to be exact—was still hers; the rest had been signed away to pay off Philip’s gambling debts.

“Great,” J.D. said, tossing the envelope onto the foot of the bed and wishing he hadn’t agreed to step into Philip’s shoes in the first place. He’d never wanted to work for his father, had avoided anything to do with Santini Brothers Enterprises for years, but then, after Philip’s death, he’d felt obligated. His parents had been devastated by the loss of their eldest, and his father had hoped to “step down,” or so he’d claimed. At the same time J.D. had become jaded with the law, tired of the constant courtroom battles and legal arguments he’d once thrived upon, sickened that settlements and awards were always more important than justice.

His motorcycle accident had been his own personal epiphany. When a colleague had suggested he sue the manufacturer of the bike, or the highway department, or the parents of the kid he’d swerved to avoid, he’d decided to chuck it. J.D. had been pushing the speed limit, the accident had been his fault; he’d nearly lost his life and he wasn’t going to blame anyone or anything but himself.

But the accident had made him take a good long look at himself and what he did for a living.

When his father had offered him the job, he’d accepted, as long as they both understood it was temporary. He wasn’t going to be sucked permanently into the fold.

For the time being he took the job that Philip, in dying, had vacated. Carlo kept talking about retiring and had tried to lure J.D. into becoming more involved—about someday running the multifaceted company—but deep in his heart, J.D. didn’t believe his old man would ever voluntarily give up the reins of an operation he’d started nearly fifty years earlier with his own brother, who had retired five years ago. Not so Carlo; the day Carlo Santini quit work was the day he gave up on life.

One of the first duties of J.D.’s employment was to deal with Tiffany. The family wanted to be certain that she and the children were dealt with fairly, but Carlo had never liked his second daughter-in-law, nor had he forgiven his son for divorcing his first wife. Whether he admitted it or not, Carlo blamed Tiffany for the marriage breakup, though she hadn’t even met Philip until after his divorce was final.