“Well,” Enzo said, straightening, his voice turning lawyerly, as hard and cold as a winter morning. “You’ve inherited a legacy that is worth a great deal, and you will need to travel to Italy to meet with the estate lawyers to claim it.”
Luca said, “What does that mean—worth a great deal?”
“It means,” Enzo said, looking over the living room, his gaze settling on the small, sad-looking Christmas tree, “life-changing.”
I kept my expression neutral, hoping to mask how curious I was about what he could tell me. But in truth, I was dying to know everything about the Montebianco family. I wanted to understand my parents’ silence, my grandfather’s suicide, Nonna’s strange warnings. I wanted to know if my family history might explain the void that had formed at the center of my life.
“That said,” Enzo continued. “There are a few circumstances you should be aware of.” His voice became soft, as if he were telling us a secret. “This isn’t just about money. The Montebianco family is more than just another wealthy family. They are a rather special family. Were special, I should say.”
“Special?” I said, suspicious. “Special how?”
Enzo took a sip of his drink, swirled the ice, and took another. “What I’m trying to say is that your inheritance is not simply a matter of cash. It is comprised of quite a few other . . . elements.”
“The letter mentioned a list of assets,” I said. “A property in Nevenero.”
“Yes, there is that, of course. But I’m not referring to Montebianco Castle,” he said, finishing off his drink and putting it on the coffee table. “The Montebianco family is an old one. There are very few families like it in the world. Your first noble ancestor was born in the thirteenth century. You are the twenty-ninth generation to inherit the family title.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to imagine it. “I guess everyone has to come from somewhere.”
Enzo laughed. “Yes,” he said. “They do. That is certain. And you come from a very particular somewhere. The estate would like to speak with you to discuss your position. To offer guidance. The sooner the better.”
“It can’t hurt to get more information,” Luca said, and, if I hadn’t known him better, I’d have said he was warming to the idea of the Montebianco fortune.
“Okay,” I said. Maybe he was right. Nothing wrong with more information. “I’d like to speak with them.”
“Perfect,” Enzo said, looking relieved.
“What’s the time difference in Italy?” I asked. “Is it too late to call now? Or we could do it tomorrow?”
“It is too late, as a matter of fact. And besides,” he added, giving me a serious look, “the estate will need to speak with you in person. Everything has been arranged. The estate is waiting for us in Turin. Transportation has been scheduled. We can go whenever you’re ready.”
“What? Now?” I said, startled. “As in right this minute? There’s no way I can go now.”
“Why not?” Enzo asked. “Luca, you are more than welcome to join us, of course. Clearly, this inheritance affects you both. The two of you can spend Christmas in Turin. There is a lovely hotel in the old part of the city. The estate will arrange everything.”
“I don’t even have a passport,” I said. Luca and I had been meaning to travel abroad for years, but the time had never seemed right. “Neither of us do.”
“Not a problem,” Enzo said. “We anticipated that and found a solution.”
I glanced at my husband. For the first time in our marriage, Luca was at a loss. Once, a surprise trip to Italy for Christmas might have thrilled him. Now, as we were navigating our separation, it was a minefield.
“I’d love to,” Luca said at last. “But New Year’s Eve is our busiest night of the year. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go, Bert. Actually, it might be good for you to get away from here for a week or two. It will help get your mind off things.”
“You don’t think this is totally crazy?” I asked. It was all happening so fast. I relied upon Luca to be reasonable, but he didn’t seem to think it was such a bad idea.
“Sure, it’s a little out there,” Luca said, giving me a smile. “But it hasn’t been the easiest year for you. Maybe this is what you need to get back on track.”
I turned to Enzo Roberts, perched at the edge of the couch, watching us with a cool, sharp gaze. I wanted to trust him, but couldn’t quite yet.
“Lawyers are used to dealing with false claims,” I said, eyeing the briefcase. “I can’t imagine you came all this way without some kind of evidence.”
Enzo bit his lip, considering my request. Then he pulled out his briefcase, slid it onto the coffee table, and flipped it open. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I do have something.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it across the table. “Do you know what this is?”
It took me a full minute before I understood the charts and numbers on the paper in my hands. But once I got it, things began to fall into place. There was a genetic profile of my ancestry, the kind of basic breakdown Mrs. Thomas had shown me. On a separate page, I found columns of numbers and symbols, a bunch of terms I didn’t understand. The words “DNA Test Report” were written across the top of the page. The Montebianco family estate had used my DNA to find me.
Just then, as my eyes jumped down the ladder of data, a memory opened in my mind. I was a child, not even five years old. It was winter, and I was walking with my grandfather on the snow-covered land behind his house. I tried to keep up with him, but he moved at a pace that seemed impossible to me. At last, he stopped at a pond, frozen over and dusted with snow. He took off his boots, first one, then the other, until his large, wide feet were bare. He nodded to my boots and told me to take them off. It’s too cold, I said. Where I come from, this is not cold, he replied. I didn’t want to take off my boots, but I did anyway, one at a time, then my socks, until my bare feet stung in the snow. We walked on the pond, slipping over the ice until my feet burned with a white-hot fire, then went numb.
In my living room over two decades later, reading the document that changed my life, I felt the same white-hot fire in my body. I was frozen but burning up.
“How in the world did you get this report?”
“Apparently, it was quite easy,” Enzo said. “When you sent in your saliva sample, you checked a box allowing your information to be released to the company’s DNA specialists, so that they might include you in their so-called DNA Family Tree. This allowed your DNA to be analyzed and recorded in a database. A private genetic research company pays to access this database. To be fair, the research team we hired acquires genetic information from multiple online sources. There are a few major databases, but online ancestry companies are the most efficient. And streamlined.”
“Is that even legal?” I asked, trying to remember the release I had signed. It was just some form online, endless legalese with a box to check at the bottom. I hadn’t even read it, just clicked through. At the time, it had seemed innocuous enough.
“Very much so,” Enzo said.
“And so according to these results, my DNA matches . . .”