Page 48

“The circumstances around all of this are complicated,” he says.

My shoulders tighten.

“Complicated how?”

He looks down at his feet as if recalling his next line. “The estate is tied up in multiple businesses. A bar, rentals, some international properties.”

“Casa Sirena?”

His eyes sharpen.

I nod toward the memorial table. “Some lady said it.”

“Yes. Casa Sirena.”

The name sounds different in his mouth, like naming a wound.

“Renny left behind assets,” Paul says. “He also left debt, declining businesses, and obligations to people who live in those buildings or depend on those jobs.”

I stare at him. He’s sincere, but also performing. Attempting to manage me through guilt like he knows me.

“You’re telling me not to expect anything.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re telling me there’s money, but taking it makes me the asshole.”

The music swells behind us, some woman singing about dancing through heartbreak while a dead man’s friends throw back top shelf like it’s tap water.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

A flash of irritation cuts through his face before he hides it.

“I meant,” he says, “that the choices we make have consequences for more people than either of us would like.”

“Either of us.”

“Yes.”

“You and me. Same boat.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, because that would be ridiculous, right?” I gesture around us. “Your boat is a yacht—with dancing boys and a pool—and mine is, what, a rowboat?”

His eyes flick toward the pool.

“Meanwhile, I just found out my father was a millionaire who knew my birthday and still never sent a present. Not even a fuckin’ card. So forgive me if I’m not that worried about your rental empire. Or if you have to give up one of your houses.”

For a second, I think I’ve gone too far.

Fuck that. I’m allowed.

Paul looks down at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is quieter. “You’re allowed.”

That lands wrong.