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J ulia was shown to Massimiliano Lombardi’s office, and the lawyer turned out to be in his sixties, with smooth gray hair slicked back from a lean, lined face.

He had milky-brown eyes behind rimless glasses and a gray mustache that coordinated with a well-tailored gray suit and patterned tie. He was trim and compact.

“Please, sit down.” Lombardi gestured to a black leather swivel chair opposite a glass desk. His manner was businesslike, if less than warm.

“Thank you.” Julia took a seat, deploying her second coping mechanism: Ground yourself in your surroundings.

The office was large, square, and modern.

Lawbooks and black binders lined glass shelves, and a floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the Milan cityscape.

The only thing missing was the family investigator.

Julia asked, “Is the investigator coming?”

“I’m sorry, no.” Lombardi sat down behind his desk.

“Unfortunately, he has Covid. But I have already contacted another investigator I know, in Florence. His name is Gustavo Caputo, and he will be more familiar with Tuscany. I made an appointment for you on Wednesday. It was his first available. I’ll email you his contact information. ”

“Thank you.” Julia masked her disappointment. She was dying to know who Rossi was and why the woman would leave her such a large inheritance. “Before we get started, can I ask you about Emilia Rossi? I researched her online, but I didn’t find anything, not even social media.”

Lombardi blinked. “Of course, ask me any questions you have.”

“Do you have any idea how she’s related to me, if at all?”

“No.”

“Did she say why she was leaving me so much money?”

“No.”

“What about how she knew me?”

“No.”

“Did you ask her?”

“No, and I don’t typically.” Lombardi paused.

“In my practice, it is not uncommon for certain surprises , shall we say, to arise when beneficiaries are named. Children and lovers, relationships previously unknown, come to light. All of the secrets come out. For that reason, I make it a point not to interrogate my clients about the particulars. To do so would be to burden their disclosures to me, and I want them to have their final wishes fulfilled in every respect.”

Okay. “How old was Rossi when she passed?”

“Seventy-seven. She died of breast cancer. I will email you the mortuary certificate when I obtain it.”

Seventy-seven. Julia realized Rossi would be about the age of her biological grandmother. “Is Rossi her married name?”

“No, it is her name. In Italy, women keep their last names when they marry. Children take the father’s last name.”

Oh. “Was Rossi married?”

“No.”

“Divorced?”

“No, she never married.”

Julia blinked. “But she had children?”

“No, none.”

Julia tried to understand how Rossi could be her biological grandmother, then. “She must have.”

“None.”

“How do you know she didn’t have any children?”

“She told me.” Lombardi hesitated. “However, I do not verify information supplied me by clients.”

Oh. “So you don’t know if it’s true, but it’s what she told you.”

“Precisely.”

“Did you meet Rossi?”

“No. I offered, but she declined. This is not atypical, as most of my clients are older or infirm. She contacted me via phone, and I drafted the documents and sent them to her.”

“No email?”

“No.”

“Was she referred to you by another client or a lawyer?”

“No, not that I know of. She called the office, as I remember.”

“Do you know why she didn’t tell me about the inheritance, when she had you draft the will?”

“No.” Lombardi shrugged his padded shoulders. “Perhaps she tried to reach you, but couldn’t, as with me.”

“No, I checked.” Julia had searched her email and spam folder. “She had my name and address, right? Isn’t that how you got it?”

“Yes, she gave me your contact information. I don’t know how she got it.”

“Maybe she found it online?” Julia’s name and address were in the online White Pages. Her email was on her website under Contact Me. “But how did she even know who I was?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who notified you of her death?”

“The hospital. She had already made the necessary arrangements.”

“Do you know who was at her funeral?”

“No.”

“Were you there?” Julia asked, double-checking.

“No, I rarely attend the funerals of my clients.”

“Do you know where her funeral was held?”

“In Croce, I assume. It’s the town nearest the villa.” Lombardi pursed his lips. “You may explore the family connection with Mr. Caputo, when you meet. I administer only the legalities of the estate.”

Julia sensed he was over it. “One last question. Does my inheritance include the contents of the villa?”

“Certainly.”

“Great.” Julia was thinking about Rossi’s DNA. She’d researched online and learned that DNA could be found on almost every conceivable surface for years, if it wasn’t contaminated.

“Now, I should mention there is a caretaker couple on the property, Anna Mattia Vesta and Piero Fano. They are the only other beneficiaries under the will.” Lombardi’s spectacled gaze fell on the papers on his desk.

“They receive a bequest of ten thousand euros and they are paid through the month. They intend to retire after that and move south to be near their grandchildren.”

“Do they live in the villa, too?”

“No, in a carriage house on the property.” Lombardi raised an index finger.

“One piece of legal advice. I urge you to obtain an Italian will and I would be happy to draft one for you. You are inheriting a significant estate and you have no immediate family to inherit automatically. Here, if you die without a will, your estate would enter probate. It would lose value to the authorities, and probate would be delayed for a long time.”

“Okay, but I don’t know who I would leave the money to. My best friend, I guess?”

“You should give it some thought. Likewise, consider whether you want to sell the property. I will follow up with the realtor in Chianti. I know the best one.”

“Thanks.”

“Now, perhaps I can take you through the documents I mentioned at the outset?”

“Yes, of course,” Julia answered, and Lombardi returned to his packet, which turned out to be printed versions of Rossi’s will and various other documents. She signed where he asked her to, then he packed up the papers and slid a set of brass keys across the desk.

“Here are your keys.”

“Wow.” Julia picked them up, turning them in her hand. She realized she might be holding the keys to her biological family, literally.

“One final matter. I should mention that I spoke with Emilia Rossi on the phone, on one occasion. She told me she was related to Caterina Sforza, a daughter of Galeazzo Sforza and Lucrezia Landriani.”

“Great!” Julia’s heart leaped. She didn’t know why he hadn’t said so before. “Who are they? Can I meet them?”

“No, they’re long gone.” Lombardi smiled tightly. “They were very important historical figures who lived during the Renaissance.”

“Wait, what?”

“Galeazzo Maria Sforza was the Duke of Milan, the most powerful nobleman in northern Italy. He had many lovers, and the best-known was Lucrezia Landriani. She bore him several children, among them a daughter named Caterina, who would become Countess Caterina Sforza of Forlì and Imola.” Lombardi’s tone turned professorial.

“The Duke treated his illegitimate children the same as his children born within marriage. Caterina grew into a remarkable noblewoman, legendary in the history of Italian royalty.”

Julia’s head was spinning. It sounded like the History Channel. “Are you saying that Rossi was related to royalty ?”

“No.” Lombardi held up a cautionary finger.

“I’m saying she claimed to be related to royalty.

I do not know if the claim was true. I have many aging clients who develop dementia and harbor common delusions, some as regards their past. Often they suspect that children or the help are stealing from them. ”

Julia tried to understand the implications. “Could she still make a will? She was of sound mind, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, but she did have a peculiar, strongly held belief that she was related to Caterina Sforza.” Lombardi lifted a graying eyebrow.

“In fairness to her, it is a matter of historical fact that Caterina Sforza bore illegitimate children, and it is possible they went unrecorded by history. One such child could have been the beginning of a line that gave rise to Emilia Rossi.” Lombardi met Julia’s eye.

“If so, then you could be related to the bravest Italian noblewoman who ever lived.”

“Me?” Julia laughed. She wasn’t even brave enough to leave her apartment. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I like to be respectful of my clients. Yet I also felt you should know.”

Julia read between the lines. “Do you think Rossi was… crazy?”

“I’m a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.” Lombardi rose, tacitly ending the meeting.

“You may want to educate yourself about Caterina Sforza. There is no better place to do so than Milan. You should visit the Castello Sforzesco where Caterina grew up, only a few blocks away. You should also visit the Cathedral of Milan, built by the Duke, among others.”

Julia couldn’t imagine sightseeing in this crowded, bustling city. She wondered if she could drive past the castle and the Cathedral in her Mercedes cocoon. She was still trying to metabolize the possibility that her biological family could be Italian royalty.

Either that, or insane.