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Lucia fixes me with an intense look once everyone's been served. "So, Josie." She pauses for effect. "Florence tells us you teach neurology?"

"At the medical school, yes." I twirl spaghetti onto my fork. "Yes, ma'am."

"What's your specialty?" Joe asks.

"Neuroplasticity and traumatic brain injury. If and how the brain rewires itself after a head injury." I start to explain further, then catch myself. "Sorry. I can get kind of carried away."

"Keep going!" Lena says next to me. "I want to learn about brains!"

"Save the technical stuff for later,tesoro."Florence chuckles.

"You sound like mom when she gets excited about work," Paola says.

Lucia beams proudly. "It's good to be passionate about your work. That's why Auntie Florence is so successful. She puts her heart and soul into everything she does."

I glance at Florence, catching a faint blush on her cheeks. "Yes, she does," I agree softly, squeezing her knee under the table.

Conversation flows easily after that, switching between English and Italian. Besides a little ribbing from Hettie directed at Florence, everyone is more than welcoming. I could see myself becoming part of this family.

My throat tightens.

Where in the world did that thought come from?

I excuse myself to the bathroom, my face flush from shock.

Across from the bathroom door, right next to Nonna's open bedroom door, is an old photograph on the wall. A young Nonna between two men in military uniforms. One is undoubtedly her husband. Florence said she married young because he was going off to war.

It's what's hanging on the wall in the background that makes my heart stop.

It's the picture in the penthouse—the one covering the safe.

The hall suddenly feels too warm.

I lean against the wall, trying to process what this means.

"Josie?" Florence is at my side. "What's wrong?"

I look at her, this woman I'm developing real feelings for. I have to tell her. Not now though—not with her whole family watching us.

"Just a little warm," I manage. "Can we get some fresh air?"

She leads me to the back deck, her hand steady on my back. The cool evening air helps clear my head.

But it doesn't erase what I just found.

I turn to her, taking in her concerned expression. How can I tell her that the man whose fortune I'm inheriting looted her family's treasures during the war? That when her Nonna was a teenager, young and hopeful for a better future for her unborn child, that my grandfather was the one who stole that hope?

"Your family is wonderful," I say, my throat tight. "They're just a lot."

She laughs. "They are, aren't they? It's the Italian in us." She tangles her fingers with mine. "Let me know if you need to leave and we'll go."

"I'm okay," I say, shaking my head. "I just needed a minute." I let her lead me back into the house, where Lena is already setting up the chess board and chatting excitedly about learning chess from her Auntie Florence.

I watch Florence with her family—the way she patiently explains chess moves to Lena, how she teases her brother, how gentle she is with her nonna. How Nonna unconsciously fiddles with her phantom wedding ring, lost all those years ago.

My heart aches.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of coffee, dessert, and family stories. I try to stay present, to appreciate this glimpse into Florence's private world, but my mind keeps returning to that painting.