Anna had risen to her feet.
“Then you also know,” she’d said coolly, “that you’re asking the wrong person for a favor.”
Her father had shaken his head.
“I am asking the right person. The only person. You are my daughter. You are more like me than you would care to admit.”
“I am nothing like you! I believe in the law. In justice. In doing what is right, no matter what it takes!”
“As do I,” Cesare had said. “It is only that we approach such things differently.”
Anna had laughed.
“Goodbye, Father. Don’t think this hasn’t been interesting.”
“Anna. Listen to me, per favore.”
The per favore did it. Anna sat back and folded her arms.
“I need to see justice done, mia figlia. Done your way. The law’s way. Not mine. And you are a lawyer, mia figlia, are you not? A lawyer, one who carries my blood in her veins.”
“I can’t do anything about being your daughter,” Anna said coldly. “And if you need an attorney, you probably have half a dozen on your payroll.”
“This is a personal matter. It is about family. Our family,” her father said. “Your mother, your brothers, your sister and you.”
Not interested, Anna wanted to say, but the truth was Cesare had piqued her curiosity.
What her father was now calling “our family” had never seemed as important to him as his crime family. How could that have changed?
“You have five minutes,” she said after a glance at her watch. “Then I’m out of here.”
Cesare pulled a folder of documents from a drawer and dumped them on the shiny surface of his desk. Most were yellowed with age.
Anna’s curiosity rose another notch.
“Letters, writs, deeds,” he said. “They go back years. Centuries. They belong to your mother. To her family.”
“Wait a minute. My mother? This is about her?”
“Sì. It is about her, and what by right belongs to her.”
“I’m listening,” Anna said, folding her arms.
Her father told her a story of kings and cowards, invaders and peasants. He spoke of centuries-old intrigue, of lies on top of lies, of land that had belonged to her mother’s people until a prince of the House of Valenti stole it from them.
“When?”
Cesare shrugged. “Who knows? I told you, these things go back centuries.”
“When did you get involved?”
“As soon as I learned what had happened.”
“Which was what, exactly?
“The current prince intends to build on your mother’s land.”
“And you learned this how?”
Cesare shrugged again. “I have many contacts in Sicily, Anna.”
Yes. Anna was quite sure he did.
“So what did you do?”
“I contacted him. I told him he has no legal right to do such a thing. He claims that he does.”
“It’s difficult to prove something that happened so long ago.”
“It is difficult to prove something when a prince refuses to admit to it.”
Anna nodded.
“I’m sure you’re right. And it’s an interesting story, Father, but I don’t see how it involves me. You need to contact an Italian law firm. A Sicilian firm. And—”
Her father smiled grimly.
“They are all afraid of the prince. Draco Valenti has enormous wealth and power.”
“And you’re just a poor peasant,” Anna said with a cool smile.
Her father’s gaze was unflinching.
“You joke, Anna, but it is the truth. No matter what worldly goods I have accumulated, no matter my power, that is exactly what I am, what I shall always be, when measured against a man like the prince.”
Anna shrugged. “Then that’s that. Game, set, match.”
“No. Not yet. You see, I have one thing the prince does not have.”
“Blood on your hands?” Anna said with an even cooler smile than before.
“No more than on his, I promise you that.” Cesare leaned forward. “What I have is you.”
Anna laughed. Her father raised his eyebrows.
“You think I am joking? I am not. His attorneys are shrewd, clever men. They are paid well. But you, mia figlia … You are a believer.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You graduated first in your class. You edited the Law Review. You turned down offers from the best legal firms in Manhattan to join one that takes on cases others turn away. Why? Because you believe,” Cesare said, answering his own question. “You believe in justice. In the rights of all men, not only those born as kings and princes.”
His words moved her. He was right—she did believe in those things.
And though it shamed her to admit it, even to herself, it warmed her heart to hear of his paternal pride in her.
Maybe that was why she brought her hands together in slow, insulting applause.
“Quite a performance, Father,” she said as she rose and started for the door. “You want to give up crime, you might consider a career on—”
“Anna.”
“Dear Lord,” she said wearily, “what is it now?”
“I have not been the father you wanted or the one you deserved, but I have always loved you. Is there not some part of you that still loves me?”
Such simple words, but they had changed everything. The shameful truth was that he was right. Somewhere deep in her heart she was still a sweet, innocent fourteen-year-old who loved the father she had once believed him to be.
So she’d gone back to his desk. Sat across from him. Listened while he told her that he had been fighting to claim the land. He had sent Prince Valenti letters that the prince had ignored. He had contacted lawyers, in Sicily where the disputed land
