Page 26 of The Fall Affair

When we were done, my mom stood to clear the table. “It’s getting dark out. Matteo, why don’t you walk Isabella home?”

I blinked a few times, filled with panic. “Me?”

“Si, you.” My mom’s eyes narrowed. “Is dere a reason you can’t?”

Other than possibly making a fool of myself, I didn’t have any excuse. I cleared my throat. “No, it’s fine.” I looked over at Isabella. “You ready, Izzy?”

My sister scoffed. “Izzy? What are you? Besties?”

I wasn’t even sure where that had come from, yet when Isabella gave me one of those smiles meant just for me, I knew she’d forever be my Izzy.

Chapter 9

Allegra

ANTONIO FANELLI’S OFFICE was…something.

I sat in the lobby, which looked more like an art studio for someone who was a little deranged. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, and every inch of them was covered in mismatched frames—some big, some small, some holding vintage black-and-white photos and others holding crayon drawings that seemed made by a seven-year-old. A giant crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, and there were dozens of plants in colorful pots all over the floor.

I kept stealing glances at the receptionist, who looked to be in her seventies. She had on a red dress with white polka dots and wore thick black cat-eye glasses. Two additional pairs of spectacles hung from long pearl chains around her neck. A typewriter sat in the middle of her giant desk, surrounded by at least a dozen stacks of files, each nearly a foot high. I’d thought the typewriter was part of the decoration when I first walked in, at least until I heard it clacking.

A door opened behind her, and a man wearing a well-tailored suit walked out. He looked terribly normal for the space he stepped into. “Ms. Bianchi?”

I stood. “Yes. Mr. Fanelli?”

“Antonio, please.” Instead of extending a hand, he kissed both my cheeks. “Come on back.”

I blinked a few times as I stepped into his office. This room was the polar opposite of the one I’d walked in from. Painted stark white, it was sleek and minimalist. The desk had a glass top perched on matte-black metal legs, and only a shiny iMac and one file sat in the middle. Two angular guest chairs, upholstered in charcoal-colored leather sat on one side, and the only other furniture in the room was a coordinating matte-black file cabinet with glass pulls.

Antonio must’ve noticed my face. He smiled. “I’ve been told more than once that it feels like walking into a C.S. Lewis novel.”

I laughed. “It does. I watched The Chronicles of Narnia a dozen times when I was a kid.”

“Eliza has been with me for eighteen years. She’s the best paralegal in Italy, even if she does refuse to use a computer. As you might’ve guessed, she decorated her area, and the attorneys each decorated our own.” He shrugged. “Whatever it takes to keep her happy.”

“All men should be so wise.”

He smiled and extended a hand. “Please, have a seat.”

After we sat, Antonio opened the lone folder on his desk and set some papers and an envelope on top. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Ms. Bianchi was my favorite client. I looked forward to her appointments, and not just because the spinach-and-ricotta pies she brought were out of this world, but because I enjoyed her company so much. She once got a parking ticket while in Florence and asked me to represent her to fight it. While we were in court, she called the judge a bambino and still managed to get the ticket dismissed.” He chuckled. “She didn’t need me to accompany her. She was a hurricane of a woman.”

“That she was.”

“It probably won’t come as a shock that she left me a series of letters to give to you at certain points.” He lifted the envelope on his desk and extended it to me. “This one was to be passed along if you decided to come to Tuscany.”

My smile widened. “No, not surprising at all. But very good news. I loved the last letter.”

Antonio nodded and got down to business after that. He went over what he’d already told me on the phone, then talked about the process of probating a will in Italy.

“First, I’ll need the death certificate.” He slid a paper across the desk. “You can request one online through the Commune of Montepulciano portal. The web address is there. If you’d like, you can have it sent directly to my office to avoid another trip.”

“Great, thank you.”

“Once I receive the certificate, I will file it with the notary, who then makes the formal publication of the will—la pubblicazione del testamento. After you’ve met the condition to receive your inheritance, we’ll accept it with the court, and you’ll need to file a declaration of succession. This document includes a detailed listing of all the deceased’s property—addresses, bank account numbers, et cetera. Your grandmother said to tell you you’ll find what you need in a file cabinet in the attic.” He smiled. “She also told me to let you know it’s in a box labeled DO NOT OPEN. She figured the reverse psychology would make sure at least one nosy person got inside.”

I laughed, but the breath that came after felt heavy. I really missed her.

“Other than that,” he said, “there’s an inheritance tax, which I can calculate for you once you’ve compiled a list of all the assets. In Italy we use a fiscal value for property, which is a number assigned by the government, not what a home would sell for. So you don’t need any appraisals, though you might want to get one if you’re planning to sell the property.”