More sympathetic murmurs, from both of them.

“Thank you, please let me finish. As you also know, the de Grazia family has maintained its holdings and its place in the life of our beloved Italy for over six hundred years, from the days of the Dukes of Piedmont.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Emma said.

“Good.” He patted her hand, but quickly drew his own back as if he’d touched a flame. That had been another bad idea. “I am sure you will both agree that there must always be a de Grazia to continue the heritage of our family, and to-and so forth.” He was already losing them. Emma looked confused and Franco was alternating between smirking at what he no doubt considered empty platitudes, and watching a bicycle race on the muted television set in a far corner. The set had been Domenico’s second-anniversary present to them a year earlier.

He decided to skip the middle paragraphs of his prepared speech. “I must have an heir,” he blurted. “In that regard I come to you-”

“But you have an heir, Uncle,” Emma said. “Your daughter. Francesca.”

Emma had many fine traits, but a piercing intelligence was not among them. “Francesca is the dearest of children, the darling of my heart,” Domenico explained kindly, “but I must have a male heir; someone to take my place someday, someone to carry on the name.”

“Oh. But you could adopt someone, couldn’t you?”

“I could, yes, and I’ve given the idea a great deal of thought.”

At this, Franco’s head swiveled from the television. Bored and noncommittal till now, his face suddenly shone with… anticipation? Hope? Did this parasite think Domenico was going to make him his heir? What, adopt him? The mere thought was enough to make Domenico shudder.

Franco Ungaretti had been an Olympic silver medalist, a famous skier of breathtaking speed and daring, and as handsome as a movie star to boot.