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. ”
“All right.”
“I think that’s all for now. Oh, I almost forgot…” He opened the folder and took out a second envelope. Anna was written across the front. “Your grandmother would like you to take this to her sister.”
“Oh. Okay. Did she leave an address? I haven’t been to her sister’s house since I was a little girl.”
“I’m sorry, she didn’t. But I’m sure you can ask around. Montepulciano is a small town, and most people know more than they should about the locals.”
“That does sound right. I’ll figure it out.”
Antonio stood. “If you need any help, I’m only a phone call away.” He winked. “Eliza finally let me get one of those when her tin can and string broke.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“My pleasure.”
Outside, I sat in the car, looking down at the envelope with a second letter from my nonna, and debated whether I should open it now or when I got home.
I wasn’t that great at driving on the winding roads here, so just in case the letter made me upset, I should probably wait.
Then again, my grandmother was a hoot, so it was more likely that any tears would be from laughter, not sadness.
Talking about my grandmother’s estate had left a heavy feeling in my heart, so I decided I could use a good chat with my nonna and opened the letter.
My Dearest Allegra,
Atta girl! I knew you’d come.
Soon you’ll be the proud owner of Casa di Nonna. Inheriting the place I’ve lived for eighty-odd years is a blessing, but it also comes with responsibility. And by that, I mean some secrets you need to bury for me.
Number 1: The attic
At the bottom of the stacked boxes of Christmas decorations, you’ll find one labeled Tax Records—1977–1982.
Open it and dig under the old tax returns.
You’ll find a letter addressed to Massimo.
Put a stamp on it and drop it in the mail, please.
I didn’t want to leave that one for Antonio in case he snooped. It’s too racy.; )
Number 2: The cat
If she hasn’t already, a woman named Carlina might come around asking if anyone has found a cat since my passing, a sacro di Birmania breed.
You’ve never seen a blue-eyed cat, and your loving grandmother would never steal.
But please drop off a few years’ worth of Purina One Tender Selects Real Chicken at my cousin Rocky’s.
Number 3: The Vespa
There’s a sexy purple Vespa under a tarp in the garage. Ask Matteo next door to give you a lesson if you’ve never driven one before. Then start that baby up and ride around town wearing my oversized Gucci sunglasses and yell Ciao! at all the strangers. There’s nothing better.
Number 4: The tea set
In the storage closet nearest the powder room in the antique shop, there’s a tea set I’ve been collecting for a couple of years.
The pieces are numbered, and at this writing, I have five left to go.
You’ll figure out why I got so invested in the damn thing when you look at it.
It even made an old bat like me swoon. Good luck with the search!
If you need any help with the shop, ask Francesca.
She owns Il Baule di Nonna—Grandma’s Trunk in English.
I personally think she’d have gotten more action if she called it Grandpa’s Trunk, but getting a new sign is expensive.
Her shop is about 15 km down the road. Just go down the driveway and turn left.
Eventually you’ll run into it. Even if you don’t need help, maybe stop in with a bottle of Sambuca and let her tell you about the time we went skinny-dipping in the pastor’s pool when he was supposed to be away.
Lastly, enjoy your time in Montepulciano! Accept the dinner invitation, drink too much wine, and steal something from Carlina, if you get the chance. She stole my first love when I was fourteen, and I like to think you’ll be up for the challenge of carrying my grudge for a while.
With all my love,
Nonna
P.S. Don’t eat too many of the cookies in the freezer at once. They’ve got more weed in them than Carlina’s ugly garden.
***
I pulled into the driveway just as a young man walked out of Nonna’s front door. I’d totally forgotten that Matteo had said he might work on the tub while I was gone until I recognized the guy as one of the pickers from the vineyard yesterday.
“Hello.” I got out of the car and smiled. “You must be helping Matteo?”
He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss. That would probably get a stranger a kick in the balls back in New York, but here it was somehow charming.
“Ciao, bellissima.”
He was adorable with his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, albeit way too young for me. “Ciao.”
“I am Tomasso.” He patted his chest and spoke with a thick accent. “And you are a vision of beauty.”
The screen door creaked behind me, calling my attention to it. Matteo walked out, took one look at his worker, who still had my hand near his mouth, and frowned.
“Allontànati da lei o sei licenziato!” he barked.
The young guy grinned and shrugged. “He called dibs.”