The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  "Aunt Helen, I'm sorry to call so early."

  "Not so early. I'd've been out the door in fifteen minutes. Are you still in Venice?"

  "No, I'm home, and in need of a legal opinion. On several pesky matters actually. Some involve international law."

  "Corporate or criminal?"

  "Both. You know Donato's been taken into custody. He's being extradited to Italy today. He's not going to fight it. He's implicated someone, privately to me at this point, an American, a competitor. This person was at minimum aware of the tampering and the embezzlement, and very likely was more involved. Doesn't that make it conspiracy? Can he be charged? Margaret died here in the States, so—"

  "Hold on, hold on. You're moving much too quickly, Sophie. The law's a slow wheel. First, you're going on something Don told you. He isn't very credible at the moment."

  "He'll be more credible," she promised. "I just want a picture."

  "I'm not an expert on international law. I'm not a criminal attorney, come to that. You need to talk to James, and I'll put him on in a minute. But I'm going to tell you this, as your friend. This is a matter for the police and the system. I don't want you to do anything, and I want you to be very careful what you say and what you print. Don't make any statements without running them by either me, James or Linc."

  "I've drafted press releases for here and overseas. I'll fax them over if that's all right."

  "You do that. You talk to James now. Don't do anything."

  Sophia bit her lip. She wondered what her surrogate aunt, the judge, would have to say about the visit she and Ty had paid to Jerry the night before.

  At mid-morning, David stood among the rows, among the young mustard plants, at the MacMillan vineyard. He felt useless, out of touch and more than a little panicked because his just-turned-seventeen-year-old son had driven off to school that morning behind the wheel of a secondhand convertible.

  "Don't you have some papers to push?" Tyler asked him.

  "Up yours."

  "In that case I won't suggest you head over to the caves to check on the month's drawing. We're going to be testing the '93 Merlot for starters."

  "I get to taste wine, you get to rumble."

  "That's the breaks. Besides, it wasn't much of a rumble."

  "Pilar said you flattened him one-handed." David tested his injured arm. "One hand's still about all I've got, though the sadist physical therapist says I'll be back to two in no time. I want to take a pop at him." David strode between the rows to work off some of the temper. "I worked for the son of a bitch. For years. Sat in meetings with him, had lunches, late-night strategy sessions. Some of them were about how to woo over some of Giambelli's accounts, some of yours. That's business."

  "That's right."

  "When La Coeur copped the exclusive on Allied flights to and from Europe, I went out and celebrated with him. We nudged Giambelli out on that one, barely. I patted myself on the back for days over that. Now I look at the timing, go through the steps and realize we copped it because he had the inside track. Don fed him Giambelli's bid before it was made."

  "That's the way some people do business."

  "I don't."

  It was the tone that made Ty stop. He supposed somehow over the past months they'd become friends. Almost family. Near enough that he understood the guilt, and the frustration.

  "Nobody's saying that, David. Nobody thinks that."

  "No. But I remember how much I wanted that account." He started to jam his hands in his pockets, and his bad arm vibrated. "Goddamn it."

  "You going to finish beating yourself up soon? Because I've got a lot of work to catch up on, seeing as I had to go to Italy to help wipe your blood off the street. You getting yourself shot really put a crimp in my schedule."

  David turned back toward Tyler. "Did you use that same tone when you suggested that fucker DeMorney get an X ray?"

  "Probably. It's the one I use when somebody's being annoyingly stupid."

  The raw edges in David's stomach smoothed away, and the first glint of humor sparked into his eyes. "I'd take a swing at you over that, but you're bigger than me."

  "Younger, too."

  "Bastard. Now that I think of it, I could take you down, but I'll give you a break because Sophia's heading this way. I'd hate for her to have to watch her future stepfather kick your ass."

  "In your dreams."

  "I'm going to go sulk in the caves." He started off, pausing as he passed Tyler. "Thanks."

  "Anytime." He walked the opposite way until he met Sophia. "You're late. Again."

  "Priorities. Where's David going? I wanted to ask how he was feeling."

  "Do yourself a favor and don't. He's at the restless stage of his recovery. What priorities?"

  "Oh, solidifying some shaky accounts, manipulating the press, consulting with legal. Just another quiet day for the wine heiress. How are we doing out here?"

  "Nights've been cool and moist. Brings on mildew. We'll do the second sulfur spraying right after the grapes have set. I'm not worried."

  "Good. I'll carve out some time for the vintner tomorrow, and you carve out some for the promotion whiz. Back to teamwork. Now, why haven't you kissed me hello?"

  "Because I'm working. I want to check the new plantings, run by the old distillery and check on the fermentation vats. And we're testing today in the caves. Then we've got to move your stuff over to my place."

  "I haven't said I was—"

  "But since you're here anyway." He leaned down and kissed her.

  "We're going to have to discuss this," she began, then pulled her ringing phone out of her pocket. "Very soon." she added. "Sophia Giambelli. Chi? Si, va bene." She angled the phone away. "It's Lieutenant DeMarco's office. Don was transferred to his custody today. Ah." She shifted the phone back in place. "Si, buon giorno. Ma che… scusi? No, no."

  Still clutching the phone, she sank onto the ground. "Come!" she managed. Gripping Tyler's hand before he could take the phone from her, she shook her head fiercely. "Donato." She lifted her stunned gaze to Tyler's. "E' morto."

  He didn't need her to translate the last. He took the phone from her and, identifying himself, asked how Donato Giambelli had died.

  "A heart attack. He wasn't yet forty." Sophia paced. "This is my doing. I pushed him, then I went to Jerry and pushed him. I might as well have drawn a target on Don's back."

  "You didn't do it alone," Tyler reminded her. "I'm the one who yanked DeMorney's chain."

  "Basta," Tereza ordered, but without heat. "If they find Donato died from drugs, if they find he was murdered while in the hands of the police, there's no fault here. Donato's choices put him where he was, and the police were obliged to protect as well as contain him. I won't have blame cast on my house."

  And that, she determined, would end that. "He was a disappointment to me. But I remember he was once a sweet young boy with a pretty smile. I'll mourn the little boy."

  She reached out, found Eli's hand, brought it to her lips in a gesture Sophia had never seen her make.

  "Nonna. I'll go to Italy, to the funeral to represent the family."

  "No, the time for you to stand in my place will come soon enough. Not yet. I need you here. Eli and I will go, and that's as it should be. I'll bring Francesca, Gina and the children back with me if they want it. God help us if they do," she finished with spirit and got to her feet.

  * * * * *

  Sophia studied Linc's office. No one, she decided, could accuse his father of preferential treatment. The room was little more than a glorified box, cramped, windowless and stacked with law books and files. She imagined there was a desk hiding under the mounds of paperwork.

  "Welcome to my dungeon. It's not much," Linc said as he cleaned off a chair for her. "But… it's not much." He dumped the files and books on the floor.

  "The nice thing about starting at the bottom is, you can't get any lower."

  "If I'm a good boy, I'll get my own stapler." With a skill that told her he'd done so before
, he wheeled his desk chair around the mountain. From somewhere under the mounds of papers and books a phone began to ring.

  "Do you need to get that? Wherever it is."

  "If I do, somebody'll just want to talk to me. I'd rather talk to you."

  How anyone could work in such confusion and disorder was beyond her. She had to mentally sit on her hands to keep herself from digging in to organize. "Now I feel guilty about adding to your workload. But not guilty enough to stop me from asking if the papers I sent you are somewhere around, and if you had a chance to look them over."

  "I've got a system." He reached under a stack on the left corner of his desk, pulled out a file.

  "It's like the magician's tablecloth trick," she commented. "Nicely done."

  "Want to see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?" Grinning at her, he sat. "You covered yourself here," he began. "I fiddled with the press releases a little, got to earn my inflated fee, after all." He passed the revised papers over. "I take it you're acting as spokesperson for Giambelli-MacMillan."

  "I take it, too, at least as long as Nonna and Eli are in Italy. Mama's not trained for this sort of thing. I am."

  "David? Ty?"

  "I'll see they have copies, just in case. But it's best that the media representative be someone from the Giambelli family. We're the ones getting kicked around."

  "I'm sorry about Don."

  "So am I." She looked down at the releases again, but she didn't see them. "Funeral's today. I keep thinking about the last time I spoke to him, how scared he was. I know what he did, and I can't forgive him for it. But I keep remembering how scared he was, and how cold I was to him."

  "You can't slap yourself around for that, Sophie. Mom and Dad updated me on what went on, at least what we're sure of. He got greedy, and he got stupid. He was responsible for two deaths."

  "Accidents, he called them. I know what he did, Linc. But who was responsible for him?"

  "Which brings us around to DeMorney. You're going to have to be careful there. Keep his name out of your statements. Keep La Coeur out of them."

  "Mmm-hmm." Idly, she studied her manicure. "It's leaked that the police are questioning him in connection with the tampering, the fraudulent account, even my father's murder. I can't imagine how the press got the information."

  "You're a devious package, Sophie."

  "Spoken as my friend or my lawyer?"

  "Both. Just be careful. You don't want any leaks traced back to you. And if you're asked about DeMorney, and you're bound to be, go with no comment."

  "I have plenty of comments."

  "And the ones you're thinking of could dump you into a lawsuit. Let the system wind its tortuous way toward the end goal. If DeMorney was involved you don't have proof," he reminded her. "Let me be a lawyer. If he was involved, it's going to come out. But Don's word isn't enough."

  "He pulled the strings. I'm sure of it, and that's enough for me. People are dead, and why? Because he wanted a bigger market share? For God's sake."

  "People have killed for less, but I've got to say, that's the weak spot. He's a wealthy, respected businessman. It's going to be a rough road tying him to corporate espionage, embezzlement, product tampering, much less murder."

  "He's opened it up, and the press is going to leap on the juicy morsel about his wife and my father. Humiliating him publicly. He hates us and will hate us more as this plays out. I felt that when I saw him in New York. It's not business, or not just business. It's very personal. Linc, have you seen our new ad?"

  "The one with the couple on the porch? Sunset on the lake, wine and romance. Very slick, very attractive. It had your name all over it. Yours, I mean, not just the company."

  "Thanks. My team put a lot of time and thought into it." She reached into her briefcase, pulled a photograph from a file folder. "Someone sent this to me yesterday."

  He recognized the ad, though this copy had been computer-generated and altered. In this, the young woman's head was tipped back, her mouth open in a silent scream. A glass lay on the porch, the wine spilling out and bleeding from white to red. The header read:

  IT'S YOUR MOMENT TO DIE

  "Jesus, Sophie. This is sick, and nasty. Where's the envelope?"

  "I have it. No return address, naturally. Postmarked San Francisco. Initially I thought of Kris Drake. It's her style. But I don't think so."

  She could study the doctored ad now without a shudder. "I think she's backing way off to keep herself clear of the fallout. I don't know if Jerry was on the West Coast, but he did this."

  "You need to take this to the police."

  "I took the original in this morning. This is a copy. I got the impression that while they'll look into it, they see it as another ugly little prank." She pushed to her feet. "I want the private detective you've hired to look into it, too. And I don't want you to say anything about it to anyone."

  "I agree with the first part, but find the second stupid."

  "It's not stupid. My mother's planning her wedding. Nonna and Eli have enough to deal with. So do Ty and David. Besides, this came to me. Personally. I want to deal with it personally."

  "Even you can't always have what you want. This is a threat."

  "Maybe. And believe me, I intend to be very careful. But I'm not going to have this time spoiled for my mother. She's waited too long to be happy. I'm not going to dump any more stress on my grandparents. And I'm not telling Ty, not just yet anyway, because he'll overreact. So it's you and me, Linc."

  She reached down for his hand. "I'm counting on you."

  "Here's what I'll do," he said after a moment. "I'll put the detective on it, and give him forty-eight hours to work before I say anything. If during that time you get another of these, you have to come to me right away."

  "I can promise that. But forty-eight hours—"

  "That's the deal." He got to his feet. "I'll give you that because I love you, and I know what you're feeling. I won't give any more because I love you, and I know what I'm feeling. Take it or leave it."

  "Okay. Okay," she said again on a long breath. "I'm not being brave and stupid, Linc. Stubborn, maybe, but not stupid. He wants to scare me, and throw my family into more turmoil. He's not going to. Right now, I'm going to meet my mother, and yours. We're going shopping for a wedding dress." She kissed his cheeks. "Thanks."

  Maddy's idea of shopping was hanging around the mall, scoping out the boys who were hanging around the mall scoping out the girls, and spending her allowance on some junk food and new earrings. She expected to be terminally bored spending the day with three adults in fancy dress shops.

  But she figured the points she'd earn with her father for agreeing to go would translate into the streaks she wanted to put in her hair. And if she played her cards right, she could cop some pretty cool stuff out of Pilar.

  A potential new stepmother was prime fruit for plucking. Guilt and nerves, by Maddy's calculations, equaled shopping bags.

  She was supposed to call Ms. Giambelli Pilar now. Which was weird, but better than being expected to call her Mom or something.

  First she had to get through the lunch deal with Pilar and the judge lady. A girl lunch, Maddy thought with derision. Tiny portions of fancy, low-fat, tasteless food where you were expected to talk about clothes and your figure. It wouldn't have been so bad if Sophia had been with them. But Maddy's broad hints that she'd tag along with Sophia while she did her errands had fallen on barren ground.

  She resigned herself to a miserable hour or two, more points, she decided. Then was surprised to find herself walking into a noisy Italian restaurant where the air was full of spice.

  "I should get a salad. I should just get a salad," Helen repeated. "But I won't. I already hear the eggplant Parmesan calling my name."