“They represent forty years of theft,” I said.

“To liquidate them into these specific accounts… it is unprecedented,” he said.

“I am not asking for your permission, Signor Bianchi,” I said. “I am instructing you.”

He looked at Matteo, who sat beside me, sipping his espresso.

“The Don’s will gave Emily full control of the financial assets,” Matteo said. “You will do as she says.”

Bianchi sighed, taking a heavy silver pen from his pocket.

“Where is the money going?” he asked.

“Thirty percent to the Roman Children’s Hospital,” I said, sliding a list across the table. “Forty percent to an international fund for victims of human trafficking.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest will fund legal aid clinics in southern Italy and South America,” I said.

Bianchi stared at the list, his fingers trembling slightly as he signed the first authorization form.

“You are destroying the family,” he whispered.

“No,” I said. “I am saving what is left of us.”

He signed the remaining papers, stamped them with his notary seal, and packed them into his leather briefcase.