Page 230 of Salvatore

“My apologies.” Raffa inclines his head as handshakes are shared between my brothers and the men. “We have urgentbusiness in New York and still have issues to deal with from our father’s will.”

“Just to make it clear, none of you were mentioned,” Eliseo sneers.

If it didn’t hurt to laugh, I’d chuckle at this guy’s zest for life. “He was our uncle, not our father. The lack of inheritance was assumed.”

He grunts in response.

“That might be true, but he spoke of you often,” Michelo offers. “He said you were a born leader.”

“With suicidal tendencies.” Eliseo scowls into the distance.

“Both descriptions are valid.” Matthew shrugs.

I ignore them. “I appreciate the information, and I mean no disrespect when I say this, but Lorenzo never spoke of you at all.”

“I mean no disrespect?” Bishop snorts. “Who are you and what have you done with the train wreck who previously inhabited your body?”

I glare at him. “I’m currently stuck in a wheelchair. If I were you, I’d be prepared for the day I’m not.”

“Are you two done?” Eliseo crosses his arms over his chest. “We’ve got places to be.”

Michelo sighs and reaches inside his jacket. “Although you weren’t mentioned in the will, Lorenzo did leave something for you.” He retrieves a folded piece of paper. “There was an online folder of information that was unlocked on his death. This document was inside it, with instructions to give it to you.”

Remy takes the page and unfolds it, leaving us waiting as he scans the paper.

“Use your words, Rem.” I reach up and snatch it from him, Matthew eagle-eying the details over my shoulder.

All that stares back at me are my parents’ names above a few lines of numbers.

“What’s this?” I narrow my gaze on Michelo.

“Account name and number, routing, SWIFT code, password, and PIN.” Raffa inclines his head toward the offering. “You don’t want to misplace that information. There’s a healthy sum of cash in that account.”

“From Lorenzo?” Matthew frowns. “Didn’t you just say?—”

“No, not from him. Apparently this has something to do with money your parents owed you.”

Abri perks up from her conversation with Layla a few feet away, her heels sinking into the cemetery lawn as she makes her way to us. “What’s going on?”

“Lorenzo found our parents’ money before he died.” I hand her the paper.

She glances at the information, skeptical. “He found it? Or did he have it all along?”

“This was a recent development.” Raffa readjusts the lapels of his suit jacket. “One of my contacts has been working to locate the account for over a year. The discovery only came last month.”

“Then I assume it’s pocket change.” Abri shoves the page at my chest. “Adena would’ve made sure there was nothing left behind for us.”

Michelo raises his brows. “Seven hundred and ninety-eight million is a lot of pocket change.”

Abri snaps her gaze to him, dumbfounded. Matthew curses under his breath. Remy stands stunned, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. And I stare, my pulse increasing, the future I had planned for my soon-to-be wife looking a whole lot brighter with the protection that money will bring.

“How the hell is there that much?” Abri whispers.

“You come from mafia royalty.” Eliseo scrunches his nose in disapproval. “What did you expect?”

“What did I expect?” She bristles. “You’d want to watch your tone. This is Baltimore, not New York.”

His smile is slight and slow to form. “Is that right?”

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