The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  "There's no point trying to take it back." He continued his lazy stroke, and his voice was clear and calm. "You won't get away with it."

  "People say all kinds of things in the heat of passion." She scooted away, and nearly made it off the bed.

  "Heat of passion? You start using clichés like that, I know you're fumbling." In one easy move, he flipped her back on the bed. "Say it again. It's not as hard the second time. Believe me."

  "I want you to listen to me." She pushed herself up, dragged at the bedcovers. For the first time she could remember, her own nudity left her feeling uneasy and exposed. "Whatever I might be feeling at the moment doesn't mean… God! I hate when you look at me like that. Amused patience. It's infuriating. It's insulting."

  "And you're trying to change the subject. I'm not going to fight with you, Sophia. Not about this. Just tell me again."

  "Don't you understand?" She bunched her hands into fists. "I know what I'm capable of. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I'll just screw this up."

  "No, you won't. I won't let you."

  She raked a hand through her hair. "You underestimate me, MacMillan."

  "No. You underestimate yourself."

  It was that, she realized as she slowly lowered her hand again. That simple and quiet faith in her, more than she had in herself, that left her helpless. "No one else would ever say that to me. You're the only one who'd say that to me. Maybe that's why I'm…"

  His nerves were starting to stretch, but he gave her ankle an easy pat. "Keep going. Almost there."

  "That's something else. You push. Nobody else ever pushed."

  "None of the others loved you. You're stalling, Sophie. Chicken."

  She narrowed her eyes. His were that calm lake blue, she thought. Just a little amused, just a little… No, she realized with a hard jolt. Not smug and amused. There was strain behind them, and nerves. And still he waited for her to give him what he needed.

  "You're not the first man I've been with," she burst out.

  "Stop the presses." He leaned forward, caught her chin in his hand. The patience on his face was beginning to shift toward temper. It delighted her. "But here's a flash for you. I'm damn well going to be the last."

  And that, she decided, was exactly right. "Okay, Ty, here it is. I've never said it to another man. Never had to be careful not to because it was never an issue. I'm probably not doing you any favors by saying it to you, but you'll have to deal with it now. I love you."

  "There, that wasn't so hard." He ran his hands over her shoulders as relief pumped into him. "But you didn't say it in Italian. It sounds really great in Italian."

  "You idiot. Ti amo." She laughed, launching herself at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

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  Lieutenant DeMarco smoothed a fingertip along his moustache. "I appreciate your coming in, signorina. The information you and Signore MacMillan bring me is interesting. It will be looked into."

  "What exactly does that mean? Looked into. I'm telling you my cousin used the castello for assignations with his mistress, for clandestine meetings with a competitor and with an employee I personally terminated."

  "None of which is illegal." DeMarco spread his hands. "Interesting, even suspicious, which is why I will look into it. However, the meetings were hardly clandestine, as many employees at the castello and at the vineyards were aware of them."

  "They weren't aware of Jeremy DeMorney's identity, or his connection with La Coeur." Tyler put a hand over Sophia's as he spoke. If he wasn't mistaken she was about to shoot off her chair and directly through the roof. "What this implies is that DeMorney was involved in the sabotage that's resulted in several deaths. Possibly others at La Coeur are involved, or at least aware."

  Since she couldn't shove away Ty's hand, Sophia fisted her own. "Jerry is the grandnephew of La Coeur's current president. He's an ambitious and intelligent man who had a grudge against my father. And very likely against my family. Every market share Giambelli's lost during these crises has been profit in La Coeur's pockets. As a family member, that's profit in Jerry's pocket, and personal satisfaction along with it."

  DeMarco heard her out. "And I have no doubt that when presented with this information the proper authorities will want to question this Jeremy DeMorney. Obviously, as he's an American citizen residing in New York, I'm unable to do so. At this point, my main concern is the apprehension of Donato Giambelli."

  "Who's eluded you for nearly a week," Sophia pointed out.

  "We learned the identity of his traveling companion, or I should say the woman we believe to be traveling with him, only yesterday. Signorina Chezzo's credit card has several extensive charges. I am even now waiting for further information."

  "Of course he used her credit card," Sophia said impatiently. "He's an idiot, but he's not a fool. He's certainly smart enough to cover his tracks there and to get out of Italy the quickest and easiest way. Over the border into Switzerland, I'd imagine. He contacted Jerry from the Como district. The Swiss border is minutes away. The guards there barely look at a passport."

  "We're aware of this, and the Swiss authorities are assisting us. It's only a matter of time."

  "Time is a valuable commodity. My family has suffered personally, emotionally and financially for months. Until Donato is apprehended and questioned, until we have the answers and assurances that no other sabotage is planned, we can't end it. My father was part of this, how much a part I don't yet know. Can you understand how this feels?"

  "Yes, I believe I understand, signorina."

  "My father is dead. I need to know who killed him, and why. If I have to hunt down Don myself, if I have to confront Jerry DeMorney personally and take on the entire La

  Coeur organization to get those answers, believe me, that's what I'll do."

  "You're impatient."

  "On the contrary, I've been remarkably patient." She got to her feet. "I need results."

  He held up a finger as the phone rang. His expression changed slightly as he listened to the stream of information. When he hung up, he folded his hands. "You have your results. The Swiss police have just taken your cousin into custody."

  If was an education to watch her in action. Tyler didn't say a word, wasn't sure he'd have gotten one in if he'd tried. She'd peppered DeMarco with demands, questions, scribbling down information in her notebook. When she'd marched out of DeMarco's office, Tyler had to lengthen his considerable stride just to keep up. She moved like a rocket with a cell phone attached to her ear.

  He couldn't understand half of what she was saying anyway. She started in Italian, switched to French somewhere along the line and went back to Italian with a few short orders in English. She mowed her way through the tourists thronging the narrow streets, clipped busily over the pretty bridges and beelined across squares. And never stopped talking, never stopped moving, even when she had to cock the little phone between her ear and shoulder to drag out her Filofax and make more notes.

  She passed shop windows without so much as a glance. He figured if she breezed by Armani without it putting a hitch in her stride, nothing was going to stop her.

  At the main dock she jumped on a water taxi, and he caught the word for airport in her brisk stream of Italian. He figured it was a good thing he had his passport in his pocket, or he'd be left in her dust.

  She didn't sit even then, but braced herself on the rail behind the driver and made still more calls. Fascinated, he wedged himself in on the other side and watched her. The wind teased her short cap of hair, the sun bounced off the dark lenses of her glasses. Venice washed by behind her, an ancient and exotic backdrop to a contemporary woman with places to go and people to see.

  Small wonder he was crazy about her.

  Tyler folded his arms, tipped back his head and let himself enjoy the last breezes of the city built on water. If he knew his woman, and he did, they were going to be spending some time in the Alps.

  "Tyler!" He tuned back in when she
snapped her fingers at him. "How much money do you have? Cash?"

  "On me? I don't know. Couple hundred thousand in lire, maybe a hundred American."

  "Good." She swung toward the stairs as the boat docked. "Pay the driver."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She cut her way through the airport just as she had through the city streets. Per her orders, the corporate jet was waiting, fueled and cleared for the flight. Less than an hour after she'd received the news her cousin was in custody, she was strapped in for takeoff. And for the first time in that hour, she turned off her phone, shut her eyes and took a breath.

  "Sophia?"

  "Che? What?"

  "You kick ass."

  She opened her eyes again, and her smile came slow and sharp. "Damn straight."

  He'd been taken from a tiny resort nestled in the mountains north of Chur and near the Austrian border. The farthest he'd thought ahead was perhaps getting over that border, or alternatively into Liechtenstein. The goal had been merely to put as many countries between him and Italy as possible. But while looking north, Donato had failed to look at his own ground. His mistress wasn't as dim as he'd supposed, nor half as loyal. She'd seen a news report on the television while lounging in a bubble bath and had found his cache of cash in his traveling case.

  She'd taken the money, booked a flight, placed a single anonymous call. And had been on her way, considerably richer, to the French Riviera when the efficient Swiss police had broken into Donato's room and plucked him out from under the bedcovers.

  Now he was in a Swiss cell, bemoaning his fate and cursing all women as the bane of his existence.

  He had no money to hire a lawyer and desperately needed one to fight extradition for as long as possible. For as long as it took, for God's sake, for him to think his way clear.

  He would throw himself on the mercy of La Signora. He would escape and run to Bulgaria. He would convince the authorities he'd done nothing more than run off with his mistress.

  He would rot in prison for the rest of his life.

  With his thoughts circling this same loop, around and around, he looked up to see a guard on the other side of the bars. Informed he had a visitor, he got shakily to his feet. At least the Swiss had had the decency to let him dress, though he'd been allowed no tie, no belt, not even the laces in his Guccis.

  He smoothed his hair with his hands as he was taken to the visiting area. He didn't care who'd come to see him, as long as someone would listen.

  When he saw Sophia on the other side of the glass, his spirits soared. Family, he thought. Blood would listen to blood.

  "Sophia! Grazie a Dio." He fell into his chair, fumbled with the phone.

  She let him ramble, the panic, the pleas, the denials, the despair. And the longer he did so, the thicker the shell grew around her heart.

  "Stai zitto."

  He did indeed shut up at her quiet order. He must have seen that she stood for her grandmother now, and that her expression was cold and merciless.

  "I'm not interested in excuses, Donato. I'm not here to listen to your pitiful claims that it's all been a horrible mistake. Don't ask for my help. I'm going to ask the questions, you'll give the answers. Then I'll decide what will be done. Is that clear?"

  "Sophia, you have to listen—"

  "No, I don't. I don't have to do anything. I can get up, walk away. You, on the other hand, can't. Did you kill my father?"

  "No. In nome di Dio! You can't believe that."

  "Under the circumstances, I find it easy to believe. You stole from the family."

  He started to deny it and, reading his answer in his eyes, Sophia set the phone down, began to get to her feet. Panicked, Don slapped his palm on the glass, shouted. When the guards started forward, she coolly gestured them back, picked up the phone again.

  "You were about to say?"

  "Yes. Yes, I stole. I was wrong, I was stupid. Gina, she makes me crazy. She nags for more. More babies, more money, more things. I took money. I thought, what did it matter? Please, Sophia, cam, you won't let them keep me in prison over money."

  "Think again. I would, yes. My grandmother might not. But it wasn't just money. You tampered with the wine. You killed an old, innocent man. For money, Don? How much was he worth to you?"

  "It was a mistake, an accident. I swear it. It was only supposed to make him a little sick. He knew—He saw… I made a mistake." His hand shook as he rubbed it over his face.

  "Knew what, Donato. Saw what?"

  "In the vineyard. My lover. He disapproved, and might have spoken of it to Zia Tereza."

  "If you continue to play me for a fool, I'll walk away and leave you to rot. Believe it. The truth, Don. All of it."

  "It was a mistake, I swear it. I listened to poor advice. I was misled." Desperate, he dragged at his already loosened collar. His throat was closing, choking him. "I was to be paid, you see, and I needed money. If the company had some trouble, if there was bad press, lawsuits, I would be paid more. Baptista, he saw… people I spoke with.

  Sophia, please. I was angry, very angry. I've worked hard. My whole life. La Signora never valued me. A man has his pride. I wanted her to value me."

  "And killing an innocent old man, attacking her reputation was the answer?"

  "The first, that was an accident. And it was the company's reputation—"

  "It's one in the same. How could you not know that?"

  "I thought, if there's trouble, then I'll help fix it, and she'll see."

  "And you'd get paid from both ends," Sophia finished. "It didn't work with Signore Baptista. He didn't get sick, he died. And they buried him believing his heart had just given out at last. How frustrating for you. How annoying. Then almost immediately Nonna reorganized the company."

  "Yes, yes, and does she reward me for my years of service? No." Sincerely outraged, he thumped a fist on the counter. "She brings in an outsider, she promotes an American woman who then can question me."

  "So you killed Margaret and tried to kill David."

  "No, no. Margaret. An accident. I was desperate. She was looking at the accounts, at the invoices. I needed—wanted—only to delay her, a short time. How was I to know she would drink so much of the wine? A glass, even two, would only have made her ill."

  "It was inconsiderate of her to spoil things. You sent bottles, poisoned wine, out on the market. You risked lives."

  "I had no choice. No choice. You must believe me."

  "Did my father know? About the wine? The tampering?"

  "No. No, it was just a game to Tony. The business was his game. He didn't know about the dummy account because he never took time to look. He didn't know Baptista because he knew no one who worked in the fields. It wasn't his life. Sophia, it was my life."

  She sat back briefly. Her father had been weak, a sad excuse for a husband, even for a man. But he'd had no part in murder, or in sabotage. It was, at least, some small comfort.

  "You brought DeMorney to the castello, to the winery.

  You took money from him, didn't you? He paid you to betray your own blood."

  "Listen to me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Stay away from DeMorney. He's a dangerous man. You have to believe me. Whatever I've done, you have to believe I'd never want to hurt you. He'll stop at nothing."

  "Murder? My father?"

  "I don't know. I swear to you on my life, Sophia. I don't know. He wants to ruin the family. He used me for that. Listen to me," he repeated, laying his palm on the glass again. "I took money, I stole. I did what he told me to do to the wine. I was misled. Now he'll let me hang for it. I'm begging you to help me. I'm begging you to stay away from him. When I knew Cutter would expose me, I ran. I only ran, Sophia, I swear it to you. They're saying I hired someone, some thug from the streets to shoot him and steal the papers. It's a lie. Why would I? It was over already for me. It was done."

  The twists of lies and truths had to be unknotted. It would take a cold and steady hand to do so, she thought. Even now, after all sh
e knew of him, part of her wanted to reach out. She couldn't allow it. "You want my help, Don? Tell me everything you know about Jerry DeMorney. Everything. If I'm satisfied, I'll see to it Giambelli arranges for your legal needs, and that your children are cared for and protected."