The important documents were secured. Gio had taken what he needed from their father's study—contracts, property deeds, legal records that would require review—and packed them carefully into the car. Franz had finished checking the last of Ysabella's studio, sealing the journals in a box that he handled with more care than any of the other items. They were heavy. Not in weight, but in what they carried.
Fourteen years of a woman's private thoughts, and the woman who should read them wasn't ready to open a single page.
Arianne hadn't returned to the studio.
