Page 166 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

“Not every problem can be solved with a gun, you know,” he mutters, giving us a reproachful glance.

Fuck him.

The papers go on the desk, and he clears his throat. “You, Dino Drakos, and Iason Drakos, are willing to witness this will?”

I nod.

He sighs. “I, Benicio Souza, of sound mind and health, and of my own free will, do give the following assets upon my death…” he starts to read.

The words coming out of this guy’s mouth are impossible.

Im-fucking-possible.

I don’t know how long we listen for, but by the time he’s done, my jaw is on the floor and I’m not sure that anything is real anymore.

Rodriguez looks up. “Do you have any questions?”

Beside me, Marisol takes a deep, deep breath.

“Let me make sure I understand. My father was not broke at all. I thought that he needed to marry me off in order to make sure that he could pay people off. But you’re saying that wasn’t true?”

Rodriguez chuckles. “Well, while your father may have had certain cash flow constrictions, he certainly had assets that made up for it. I would say that his overall business had been in a more… reduced capacity, but his plan to train an heir is one that wasn’t poorly constructed at all.”

“And that plan to train an heir… it wasn’t about giving the organization to my potential husband?” Marisol says softly.

Rodriguez shakes his head. “I can’t see how that would make sense, given that he left the entire…business, as it were, to you.”

That’s the part that I can’t fuckin’ wrap my mind around.

If what the lawyer said is right, there was never any reason for him to find someone to take over for him. Benicio Souza wasn’t looking for a son.

He was doing something else.

But Marisol was his heir.

The whole time.

“When did he write this?” Marisol demands.

“Ten years ago. We revised it recently, as is pertinent, of course, but I assure you he chose you, and only you, as his heir,” Rodriguez looks at Marisol, a smile on his lips. “You, Ms. Souza, are the only inheritor of his estate.”

“Drakos,” she murmurs. “Marisol Drakos.”

“Ah. Well. It should be noted that the business in its entirety has been given to you, Mrs. Drakos. Your husband may provide input, and you may, of course, choose to make business decisions for the two of you that may be pertinent to the business, but the organization… it’s yours.”

Marisol blinks.

The lawyer leans down to pick up his papers, then stops. “Oh. Before I forget, your father did leave you with this,” he hands Marisol an envelope.

She takes it, tucking it in her hands.

Rodriguez bows. “Well. I’ll be off then. You’ll be contacted by all the necessary accountants as we go.”

With that, he leaves.

Stunned, I look at Marisol. “So. Um. What the fuck?”

She glances down at the letter. “I think I need a minute, love,” she whispers.

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