Family Divided Grandma’s Rentals Without Me – They Didn’t Know She Deeded Everything To Me Years Ago

The Romano Family Legacy

The Romano family operated on a simple principle: the louder you were, the more you mattered. And I, Giana Romano, had never been loud.

My grandmother, Rosa Romano, was a force of nature. She’d immigrated from Sicily in 1965 with her husband, Carlo, settling in Providence, Rhode Island.

They’d started with nothing. Carlo worked construction, while Grandma Rosa cleaned houses.

By the time I was born, they’d built something remarkable: a portfolio of 12 rental properties scattered across Federal Hill and the surrounding neighborhoods. They were modest triple-deckers, mostly working-class buildings with good bones.

They were nothing fancy but solid investments that generated steady income. By 2015, the portfolio was worth approximately $3.2 million and bringing in $22,000 a month in rent.

Grandpa Carlo passed away when I was eight. After that, Grandma Rosa ran everything herself.

She collected rent, handled maintenance, and dealt with difficult tenants. At 75 years old, she was sharper and tougher than people half her age.

The family assumed the properties would be divided equally among her three children: my father Vincent, my uncle Marco, and my aunt Francesca. Through them, eventually, they assumed it would go to us grandchildren.,

My sister Daniela certainly assumed that she was the golden child of the family. Beautiful, outgoing, and married to a successful contractor, she had two kids, a house in Cranston, and the kind of life that made Italian grandmothers beam with pride.

Then there was my cousin Tony, Uncle Marco’s son. He worked in finance, drove a BMW, and talked constantly about investment opportunities and leveraging assets.

My cousin Maria, Aunt Francesca’s daughter, had married a doctor. She lived in a sprawling colonial in Barrington and posted constantly on Facebook about her blessed life.

And then there was me: 28 years old, unmarried, working as a high school English teacher making $51,000 a year. I was living in a small apartment in Providence and driving a nine-year-old Honda Fit.

I was the quiet, unremarkable granddaughter who never caused trouble and never stood out at family gatherings. I’d sit at the far end of the table while Daniela, Tony, and Maria held court.,

They’d talk about their renovations, their vacations, and their achievements. The adults would nod proudly, asking questions and celebrating their successes.

When someone remembered to ask me about work, it was always with a slightly pitying tone. They would say, “Still teaching? That’s nice. Doesn’t pay much, though, does it?”

I learned early to be invisible. It was easier than constantly being compared to my more successful cousins and found wanting.

But Grandma Rosa saw me differently. While everyone else orbited around the louder, flashier grandchildren, Grandma noticed the quiet one who actually showed up.

I’d visit her every Sunday after church, not because I wanted something, but because I loved her. We’d sit in her kitchen drinking espresso so strong it could wake the dead.

She’d tell me stories about Sicily, about building a life in America, and about surviving and thriving through sheer determination. When I was in college struggling with tuition and working two part-time jobs, Grandma quietly helped.

They were not loans, but gifts. She’d say in her thick accent, pressing cash into my hand, “Education is the one thing nobody can take from you.”

When I graduated and got my teaching job, she was the one who helped me with the security deposit on my first apartment. She’d say, “Don’t tell the others. They don’t need to know everything.”

As Grandma got older, I was the one who started helping her with the rental properties. First, I was just accompanying her to collect rent, then handling minor repairs, and then managing tenant communications.

By 2016, I was essentially co-managing the entire portfolio while working full-time as a teacher. Daniela visited maybe once a month.

Tony and Maria came by on holidays and birthdays. They’d make a show of it, bringing expensive gifts, taking photos for social media, and posting about family time with Nana.

But they weren’t there for the water heater that burst at 2 a.m. They weren’t there for the difficult tenant eviction.

They weren’t there for the property tax appeals, the insurance claims, or the hundred small crises that came with managing 12 rental properties. I was there every time.,

The Secret Trust of 2018

In early 2018, Grandma asked me to meet her at her attorney’s office. I thought maybe she needed help understanding some legal paperwork about the properties.

Instead, I walked into a meeting that would change everything. Grandma said, holding my hand across the conference table, “Giana, I’m not getting any younger. I need to make sure these properties go to the right person.”

I said immediately, “They should be divided among Dad, Uncle Marco, and Aunt Francesca. That’s only fair.”

Grandma interrupted, her dark eyes sharp, “Fair? Let me tell you about fair. Your father thinks these buildings are a retirement plan he can cash out.”

She continued, “Your uncle wants to sell them all and invest in some scheme his idiot son keeps talking about. Your aunt thinks they’re beneath her now that she’s moved to Barrington.”

She squeezed my hand harder. “You’re the only one who understands what these buildings really are. They’re not just investments; they’re homes for working families.”,

She told me they were the legacy that my grandfather and she built with their own hands. Her attorney, a serious man named Robert Duca, who’d worked with Grandma for 20 years, slid documents across the table.

Grandma said, “I’m transferring all 12 properties to you through an irrevocable trust. It executes immediately, not when I die. Now. You’ll own them, you’ll manage them, you’ll protect them.”

I stared at the papers, my heart racing. I said, “Grandma, the family will never forgive this.”

She said with a slight smile, “The family doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

She explained that the trust transfers ownership privately and county records would show the properties belong to the Romano Family Trust with me as trustee and beneficiary. “Let them keep assuming,” She said. “Let them keep making their plans. When the time comes, they’ll learn the truth.”

I started to object, but she said firmly, “But no buts. I’ve watched you for years, To Zoro. You show up, you work hard, you care about these buildings and the people who live in them.”

She told me my sister sees them as dollar signs and my cousins see them as assets to flip. She said I see them as what they are: a responsibility and a gift.,

Robert explained the legal structure. An irrevocable trust meant exactly that: once executed, it couldn’t be undone, contested, or modified.

The properties would transfer immediately, with Grandma attaining a life estate in her own home, but everything else moving completely into my control. We signed the papers in March 2018.

Twelve property deeds were transferred, and the Romano Family Trust was established with me as sole trustee and beneficiary. Everything was filed with the Providence County Recorder Office, completely legal and public if anyone bothered to check.