Free Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) by Ginger Voight Page B

you serious?”
    Donald shrugs. “Granted it’s not enough to live on. What is, these days? But it’ll help keep you afloat.”
    I stare at him. I barely blink. What he called ‘not enough to live on,’ was more than my salary at Cynzia’s easy. I could take time off if I wanted. I could pursue music–
    No , I think suddenly. No, I can’t.
    “And of course if you ever need additional income, you can always sell the brownstone. In today’s market, it could pull in a tidy little profit, especially now that the entire area is being renovated. You could sell it like that,” he says as he snaps his fingers.
    “No,” I say at once. “I’m not selling the brownstone.”
    That house has been in my family since the day it was built. I’ll never sell it. No matter what.
    “Fine,” Donald says with a raised hand. “Just know there are options. Should I call the church and schedule a pickup for all the belongings bequeathed to them in her will?”
    “As soon as possible,” I find myself saying. I feel guilty how relieved I am that most of her things will be given away. Sure, it’s charitable for the church, but deep down I hope that, with her things gone, I won’t feel as haunted every single night by every single shadow looming near her now dark, quiet room. “Tomorrow works for me. Noon, maybe?”
    He nods as he makes a note of it on the folder. “I’ll let them know. I guess that’s it, then. Unless you have any questions.”
    Since he has already blown my mind, I honestly can’t think of a single one. I shake my head as I rise from the chair.
    Donald rises also, taking a long, slender envelope from the file folder. I know it holds a check. My knees nearly buckle under me when I see the number $38,492 under the Pay the Amount Of section.
    “That’s her $50,000 life insurance policy less the cost of her final expenses. Again, I know it’s a modest amount. For the record I always advised her to get more.”
    More? I’m stunned there is even this.
    I remain stunned all the way back out to the street, where we head back on foot towards the house.
    My house .
    Lori threads her arm through mine. There’s a skip in her step that wasn’t there before. “Can you believe it?” she finally says. “We should go somewhere to celebrate.”
    “We’re not going out to eat,” I decide at once, annoyed she’d even suggest such a thing. “We wouldn’t even have this money if she were alive.” My voice softens. I’m still so, so angry, but it’s useless to yell at anybody. “I’d rather have her here.”
    “Vanni,” Lori admonishes. “Your great-aunt was a seventy-one-year-old woman. What did you think? That she’d live forever?”
    I narrow my eyes as I glare at her. “Yes,” I say. She can judge me all she wants but my aunt was not old. She was not feeble. She had complete control of her senses and relative mobility. She also had more life in the tip of her pinky than most have in their entire bodies. The world has lost its color with her passing. Why can’t Lori see that?
    She broaches the next topic very carefully. “I suppose now you have the freedom to pursue your music.”
    My throat tightens. Yes, I suppose I could , but there is no way. Not now. I shrug. “Like Donald said, it isn’t a whole lot of money. I’d rather have it in the bank than gamble it on some kind of what if.”
    She nods as her features relax on her face. I can tell she’s relieved that I won’t be pursuing a career in music, but I really can’t understand why. Like being a waitress in a New York City bar was any more secure.
    It’s a moot point, so I decide to let the subject drop.
    We compromise on dinner out by stopping in Cynzia’s, where I pick up my check and schedule. “You can take more time if you need it, Giovanni.”
    I know Santino must be concerned. He actually got my name right.
    “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Everything is done anyway, and sitting around that quiet house is driving me crazy. I