In an absent-minded haze, I stare as the credits roll across the screen. We’ve been watching a movie for the better part of two hours, and now, it’s suddenly over. I have no idea what it was.
“You pick the next one,” Aunt Grace says, tossing the remote in my lap. Wads of tissue are everywhere, along with the empty container of whipped cream. At any second, I feel as though another rush of tears might overtake me. How did a day that began so wonderfully end up like this?
“What’s this in the fridge?” Aunt Grace hollers from the kitchen.
I bolt to my feet, rushing over. “Nothing.” I try to sound normal and calm. Please don’t open it. “Just ignore it—”
“Ewww!” She pinches the corner of the ziplock and lifts it out of the fridge. Inside is a small glass vial. Across her face is a look of morbid curiosity. “Is this…blood?”
I wrinkle my nose and nod. “Uh-huh.”
“Honey, you aren’t trying to sell it for money, are you?”
I giggle sadly. “No. Who would pay for two teaspoons of blood?”
She shakes her head. “Fetish freaks. I know the type.”
“You do?” She’s lifting my spirits, and I giggle some more. “T. M. I., Aunt Grace. T. M. I.”
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “If you need cash, I’ve got a few hundred dollars saved up for a rainy day. It’s all yours.”
Before me stands a woman who can’t even buy her own medicine, and she offers me every penny to her name. You know what? Fuck them. Her love is worth ten times what the D’Angelos have, and I wouldn’t trade it for all the world.
Playfully, I give her a suspicious sneer. “And how exactly did you earn that money?”
She wiggles her hips. “Pole dancing. And there’s more where that came from.” She dangles the bag in front of my face. “Are you sure this should be in our fridge?”
“It definitely shouldn’t.” I take the ziplock from her hands and fling it into the trash. “That’s where it belongs,” I say and wrap myself around her as tight as a vine—forever her Ivy Vine.
She hugs me back, then snatches a container of raw cookie dough from the fridge. “Come on. We can talk while we Netflix and chill.”
My eyes fly wide, and I snort with laughter. “That doesn’t mean what you think it does.”
She blinks adorably. “Then what does it mean?”
Several knocks sound at the door. Aunt Grace and I shoot each other telepathic thoughts. She fixes my hair as I wipe my face. On the offhand chance it’s Leo, he needs to see me at my best when I tell him to go fuck himself.
By the second string of knocks, we’re both at the door, opening it. But it isn’t Leo. “Trinity?” I notice her gown, realizing she didn’t change. She just rushed right over. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”
“Nothing is all right. Can we come in?”
“We?” I look around. Forcefully, Trinity yanks a man’s arm. He’d been standing out of sight and to the side. Shocked, my mouth drops.
The man is every bit as tall as the day I met him, with a sheepishness I would’ve never imagined. I blink several times, flabbergasted.
He extends a hand in introduction. “Bryce Jacob Sinclair,” he says to my aunt.
“Sin,” I state flatly, introducing him to my aunt as he introduced himself to me. She shakes his hand as I elaborate. “Sin is the mysterious stranger who slipped me the photo, then vanished.”
“Oh,” she says with a surprised grin. “Come in. Come in!” She opens the door wide and scuttles them into the room. “Got any pictures of Ivy as a baby? I don’t have any of those.”
While Aunt Grace prepares tea, I offer our guests her latest batch of cookies. “White-chocolate-rum-raisin-macadamia-nut,” she says. “Or rum nutters as I call them.”
Her eyes nudge mine as Trini fixes her tea. Cream. No sugar. Just like me. The Everlys always wondered how it was that I never took sugar in my tea. Now, we know.
“You’re expected in court tomorrow. Ten o’clock sharp,” Sin informs me with misguided authority.
I point my cookie at him in protest. “I did not file a lawsuit. And there’s no way I’m taking the D’Angelos to court.” I whisper to Trini. “He’s crazy.”
He leans across the table. “I heard that.” He snatches the cookie from my hand licks it and tries to hand it back.
I stare at him, stunned. “See?” I point a fresh cookie at him. “Batshit crazy.”
This Sin isn’t nearly as shadowy and mysterious as the first time we met. He relaxes back in the chair, chomping with narrowed eyes and sadistic delight.
Trini’s hand squeezes mine. “Sin is the good kind of crazy. Brilliant in court. We know you didn’t file the paperwork. It was filed on your behalf.”
Blankly, I stare. “That doesn’t make any sense. Who would file a lawsuit on my behalf?”
We’re all staring at Sin. After a moment of silence, Trini elbows him. “I was chewing,” he says and continues. “Uncle Andre filed it.”
Sin opens a handsome briefcase, removes a folder, and hands it to me. I skim the legal jargon, barely able to make sense of anything other than the date and my name.
“Tell me honestly. Do you have a relationship with Uncle Andre?” Trinity asks delicately.
“Hmm.” I pretend to ponder the question. “The son of a bitch had me thrown in jail, and I despise him. Does that constitute a relationship?” I finish thumbing through the documents and give up on getting the gist through osmosis. “What’s this about? And why would he file a lawsuit on my behalf?”
The table bumps. By the pained look on Sin’s face, I can only imagine Trini just kicked him. Hard. “Fine,” he confesses. “Andre was the one who gave me the photo in the first place. We wanted to be sure he hadn’t swayed you to help him. Offered you money in exchange for the lawsuit.”
“He didn’t,” I say, perturbed.
“Who’s Uncle Andre?” Aunt Grace asks.
“Andre D’Angelo,” Sin begins. “Antonio’s brother. Trini’s father. Suspected spawn of Satan.”
I shake my head, confused. “Why would Andre give you the picture?”
Sin clasps his hands. “Because every D’Angelo child is entitled to their share of the family wealth at age twenty-four with one stipulation: they have to actively petition for it.”
“Well that sounds stupid,” Aunt Grace says.
“Right?” Trinity agrees.
Sin settles the women down by knocking a cookie on his plate like it’s a gavel. “The reason for this is because it establishes the legitimacy of heritage.” His steepled fingers point at me. “The problem for you, my dear, is legitimacy becomes a double-edged sword.”
“I don’t understand.”
He moves the cookies around the table like a family tree. “Here’s Antonio and here’s Andre. Antonio’s heirs amount to half a football team. Andre has none. Their father, Vito D’Angelo, was of the old country and very set in his ways. A devout Catholic, he believed the sanctity of marriage was absolute. And his will stipulated as such. Because Antonio was married and the oldest, the lion’s share of the D’Angelo fortune was passed to him. But there was a caveat. An infidelity clause.”
“A what?” I ask.
Aunt Grace jumps in, laying it out in good old-fashioned English. “I get it. If Antonio was a cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater, the brother gets it all.” She elbows Sin. “How am I doin’ keeping up?”
He smiles respectfully. “Quite well, actually.” They exchange a glance. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man was charmed.
“And the photo?” I ask.
He and Aunt Grace break their connection. “Andre demanded I submit the photo and file the lawsuit straight away.” He sips his tea and continues. “Unfortunately for him, the last person I work for is Andre D’Angelo.”
“Who do you work for?” I ask. “Smoke and Trini?”
“None of the above. I represent the interests of the estate. An impartial third party who oversees the execution of the will of Vito D’Angelo, emphasis on the word impartial. Rather than get in the midst of the whole D’Angelo vs. D’Angelo drama, I gave the photograph to the rightful owner. You. Unfortunately, that put Andre into a tailspin.”
“What do you mean?” I question, worried for him. “Did he threaten you?”
“He always does. Andre throws one tantrum after another.” Sin pulls out his phone to show us. “Twenty texts and voicemails a day. It got to the point that I blocked him. Repeatedly.” The screen of his phone displays an endless list of numbers.
Recognition sparks. “Can I see that?”
Sin hands over his cell.
“Are you sure all of these are Andre?”
Warily, he nods and takes it back. “The bastard has more burner phones than the witness protection program.”
I pull out my phone and compare it to the numbers I blocked. They all match. “He’s been trying to contact me.”
“Did you answer?” Trini asks, worry in her tone.
“No. I thought they were telemarketers. Like the one I showed you. After you blocked that one, I blocked the rest.”
I pound my fist on the table, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Andre can’t get away with this. I won’t let him. I could leave town. Then they’d dismiss the case.”
“No,” Trini says with strength of conviction. “You have to be in court. If anyone has a right to be there, you do. And if you aren’t there, Uncle Andre will use your absence to twist the facts. Make it look as if we’ve intimidated or threatened you. Plus, with Smoke’s blood, we could prove who you are.”
I shake my head. “I’m not submitting it. I already threw it away.”
Sin furrows his brow. “And you call me the crazy one.”
“Trini, I never wanted the money. I just wanted to find my family. And I have. If I go through with this, you and your brothers stand to lose everything.”
“Not everything,” she assures me, patting my hand. “We still have you.” Her big blue eyes are teary, and her words come out genuine and heartfelt. “I love my father with all my heart, but we’re not hiding who you are.”
“And who am I?” I try to reason with her. “All I have is a photo, a silver curl, and a hunch. No matter how this turns out, I’ll still have nothing. Exactly what I came in with. But Trini, you and your brothers would be giving up millions.”
“Billions,” Sin says, correcting me. The table jumps higher than before. He winces from Trinity’s second kick. “But none of that matters now. From a practical standpoint, Trinity is right. There’s no hiding you now. Andre is already on the move. He’s gearing up for battle, and we need to do the same. As for the DNA, he could compel the court for a DNA test.”
“He can do that?”
“Well…” Sin shrugs. “He can do the petition. Only the court can compel you to do so.”
A strange thought crosses my mind. Why hasn’t Andre done that already?
Aunt Grace takes both my hands in hers. “If you’re going to court, you can’t just wing it on the fly. We need a plan.”
“Not we,” I insist. “Me.” I don’t want anything aggravating Aunt Grace’s heart condition. But a plan? I stare at them all. “I don’t have a plan. I don’t even have an attorney.”
Sin straightens his tie. “You do now.”