The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  Mama to feel relaxed and completely female."

  "This'll do it. Can you see Tereza and Maddy over there getting pedicures and arguing."

  "Mmm," Sophia mused. "They disagree about the name for the beauty products we don't even have yet. I don't know if it's Maddy or the concept, but it's boosted Nonna's morale."

  "I'm glad to hear it. I've been worried about her, all of you, since we talked last. The idea of Rene trying to make Tony a hero and you a villain over the Cardianili business; it fries my cookies."

  Sophia tensed, deliberately relaxed again. "It was a stupid move. DeMorney's behind it, and it's one of the first truly stupid moves he's made. He's cracking."

  "That may be. But it caused more upset." She held up a hand. "And that's all I'm going to say about it. Tonight's not about problems. It's about indulgence. Where's Pilar?"

  Don't think about it, Sophia ordered herself. Think pure thoughts. "Treatment Room B—otherwise known as the lower-level guest bath. Full-body facial. You need to be near a shower."

  "Fabulous. I'm next."

  "Champagne?"

  "Maria." Sophia roused herself enough to sit up. "You're not to serve. You're a guest."

  "My manicure's dry." She showed off her nails. "I have a pedicure next. You can bring me champagne then."

  "That's a deal."

  Maria glanced over as Pilar, looking soft and relaxed, came back in. "You've made your mama happy tonight. Everything's going to be all right now."

  "You sure know how to show a woman a good time."

  Jerry ran a hand over the butt of Rene's snug black pants. "You haven't seen anything yet. This is going to be a night to remember. For everyone."

  They moved through the vineyard now. It had been a long hike from the car, and the sack he carried seemed to gain weight with every step. Still, there was something to be said for doing the job himself that he hadn't experienced before. Not just the amused gratification he'd felt at other times, but a deep and personal excitement.

  And if anything went wrong, he'd simply sacrifice Rene. But he didn't intend for anything to go wrong.

  He knew the setup here. Between Don and Kris and his own observations, he was aware of the security setup, and how to avoid setting off alarms. It was simply a matter of patience and care. And a single driving ambition.

  Before the night was over, Giambelli would, one way or another, be in ruins.

  "Stay close," he told her.

  "I am. Not to spoil the party, but I wish I was as sure as you are this is going to work."

  "No second thoughts now. I know what I'm doing and how to do it. Once the winery's on fire, they'll come spilling out like ants at a picnic."

  "I don't care if you burn the whole fucking vineyard to ashes." In fact, she got a thrill out of the image, and of her dancing at the edge of the flames. "I just don't want to get caught."

  "Do what I tell you and you won't. Once they're out here busy trying to put out the fire, we go in, plant the package in Sophia's room, get out. We're in the car and heading back five minutes later. We call the cops from a pay phone, give them an anonymous tip, and we're back at your place popping champagne before the smoke clears."

  "The old lady'll pay off the cops. She won't let her precious granddaughter go to prison."

  "Maybe. Let her try, it won't matter. They'll be ruined. Sooner or later you find the right straw, and that's the one that breaks the back. Isn't that what you want?"

  Something in his voice had a chill snaking up her spine, but she nodded. "It's exactly what I want."

  When he reached the winery, he took out the keys. Don had been slick enough to make copies, and he'd been smart enough to duplicate those. "These get tossed in the bay when we're done." He slid the key into the first lock. "No one's going to need them after tonight. They'll have a hell of a time explaining how a fire started inside a locked building." With that statement, he opened the door.

  Sophia lay on the massage table and looked up at the stars. "Mama, am I obsessive?"

  "Yes."

  "Is that a bad thing?"

  Pilar glanced back from her stance at the edge of the patio. "No. Occasionally annoying, but not bad."

  "Do I miss the big picture because I'm drilling on the details?"

  "Rarely. Why do you ask?"

  "I was wondering what I'd change about myself if I could. If I should."

  "I wouldn't change anything."

  "Because I'm perfect?" Sophia asked with a grin.

  "No, because you're mine. Is this about Ty?"

  "No, it's about me. Up until… well, I'm not exactly sure when, but up until I was sure I had everything figured out. Knew what I wanted and how I was going to get it."

  "Not sure anymore?"

  "Oh no, I'm still sure. I still know what I want and how I'm going to get it. But the things I want changed on me. I was wondering if they were there all along, and I was just missing the big picture. I… could you give us a minute," she said to the therapist. She sat up, holding the sheet to her breast when she was alone with Pilar. "Please don't get upset."

  "I won't."

  "Not that long ago I still wanted you and Dad to get back together. I wanted it because I didn't know how to want anything else, I think. Because I felt if you did, he'd be what I needed him to be. Not what you needed or what he was, but what / needed. That was the detail I kept obsessing over, and I missed the big picture. I'd change that if I could."

  "I wouldn't. You would've been a good daughter to him if he'd let you. You were willing to be, you needed to be. No, I wouldn't change that."

  "That helps." She took Pilar's wrist, turned it to check the time on her watch. "It's just midnight. Happy wedding day, Mama." She pressed Pilar's hand to her cheek, then started to lie back.

  "What's that? It looks like… Oh my God. The winery! The winery's on fire. Maria! Maria, call nine-one-one. The winery's on fire."

  She rolled off the table, and snagged her robe on the run.

  As Jerry had predicted, they poured out of the house. Raised voices, running feet. From the shadows of the garden he counted the figures wrapped in white robes that raced down the path and out across the vineyard.

  "In and out," he whispered to Rene. "Piece of cake. You lead the way."

  She'd given him the location and setup of Sophia's room, but he wanted her going in first. She might have made a mistake. She claimed she'd only slipped into Sophia's room once, but that was once more than he'd managed.

  He couldn't risk turning on the light, though he was sure his flashlight would be enough. He only needed to plant the package at the back of her closet where the police, even if they were idiots, would find it.

  He moved up behind Rene, up the terrace steps, glancing over his shoulder. He could see the bright orange and gold of the fire against the night sky. A brilliant sight. It illuminated the figures rushing like frightened moths toward the flame.

  They'd put it out, of course, but not quickly. It would take time for them to realize the water had been turned off for the sprinkler system, time for them to gather their wits, time for them to watch helplessly as precious bottles exploded, as equipment was ruined, as their god of tradition burned to hell.

  So he didn't have the guts to do his own dirty work? Gingerly he flexed his hand. It still twinged now and then. They'd see who had the guts when the sun came up.

  "Jerry, for God's sake." Rene hissed at him from the terrace outside Sophia's room. "This isn't a tourist attraction. You said we had to hurry."

  "Always time for a moment of pleasure, darling." He stepped, swaggered, up to the terrace door. "Sure this is hers?"

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  "Well then." He pushed open the doors, stepped inside. And drew a deep, satisfied breath of her scent just as Sophia dashed through the opposite door and slapped on the lights.

  The sudden glare slashed across his eyes, the shock froze his brain. Before he could recover from either, he was fighting off a hundred and ten pounds of enr
aged woman.

  She leaped at him, blind fury catapulting her across the room. Even as she sank her teeth into him, the edges of her vision glowed red with blood lust. Her only clear thought was to inflict pain, monstrous pain. And when he howled, the feral thrill of it spurted through her like lava.

  He struck out, caught her across the cheekbone, but she didn't even feel it. She went for his eyes, freshly manicured nails already tipped red, slashed out, missed by a breath and scored like the tongs of a rake down his cheek.

  The burn of it maddened. With no goal but to free himself, he tossed her aside and sent her into a shrieking Rene. He could smell his own blood. Intolerable. She'd ruined all his careful plans. Unforgivable. Even as she scrabbled to her feet, prepared to leap at him again, the gun was out of the pouch, in his hand, with his finger sweaty on the trigger.

  He nearly ended it then, with one quick twitch of his nervous finger. Then her body jerked to a halt and her eyes cleared of rage and filled with shock and fear.

  Finally, he thought, face-to-face. And he wanted more than survival. He wanted satisfaction.

  "Now. Isn't this interesting? You should've run out with the others, Sophia. But maybe it's fate you end like your worthless father. With a bullet in the heart."

  "Jerry, we have to get out of here. Just go." Rene pushed herself to her feet, stared at the gun. "My God! What're you doing? You can't just shoot her."

  "Oh?" He thought he could, and that was a revelation. He didn't believe he'd have any trouble with it at all. "And why not?"

  "That's crazy. It's murder. I'm not having any part of murder. I'm getting out. I'm getting out now. Give me the keys to the car. Give me the damn keys."

  "Shut the fuck up." He said it coolly, and in an almost absent gesture smashed the gun into the side of her head. When she went down like a stone, he didn't even glance at her, but kept his eyes locked on Sophia's.

  "She was a pain in the ass, on that we can agree. But she's useful. And this is perfect. You'll appreciate the spin on this, Sophia. Rene started the fire. She's had it in for you all along. She went to the cops a few days ago, tried to convince them you'd killed your father. And tonight, she came here, fired the winery and broke into your room to plant evidence against you. You caught her, you struggled, the gun went off. The gun," he added, "used to shoot David Cutter. I had it sent to me. Forward-thinking, which I'm sure you'll appreciate. You're dead, and she hangs for it. Very tidy."

  "Why?"

  "Because nobody screws with me and gets away with it. You Giambellis think you can have it all, and now you'll end up with nothing."

  "Because of my father?" She could see the bright orange glow from the fire through the open doors behind him. "All of this because my father embarrassed you?"

  "Embarrassed? He stole from me—my wife, my pride, my life. And what did any of you lose? Nothing. Just another bump to you. I've taken my own back, and more. I'd have been satisfied to ruin you, but dead's better. You're the key. Tereza, well, she's not as young as she was. Your mother, she hasn't got what it takes to bring the company back. Without you, the heart and the brains are dead. Your father was a user, a liar and a cheat."

  "Yes, he was." No one would come for her, she thought. There would be no one to race back from the fire to save her. She would face death on her own. "You're all that, and so much less."

  "If there was time, we'd debate that. But I'm a little pressed so…" He brought the gun up another inch. "Ciao, bella."

  "Vai a farti fottere." She cursed him in a steady voice. She wanted to close her eyes—to find a prayer, an image of something to take with her. But she kept them open. Waited. When the gun exploded, she stumbled back. And watched blood seep through the tiny hole in his shirt.

  Baffled shock crossed his face, then another shot jerked his body to the side and dropped him. In the doorway, Helen lowered the gun to her side.

  "Oh my God. Oh God. Aunt Helen." Her legs gave out. Sophia stumbled to the bed, lowered herself to it. "He was going to kill me."

  "I know." Slowly, Helen came into the room, sat heavily on the bed beside Sophia. "I came back to tell you the men had come. I saw…"

  "He was going to kill me. Just like he killed my father."

  "No, honey. He didn't kill your father. I did. I did," she repeated, and dropped the gun she held to the floor. "I'm so sorry."

  "No. That's crazy."

  "I used that gun. It was my father's. It was never registered. I don't know why I took it that night. I don't think I planned to kill him. I… wasn't thinking at all. He wanted money. Again. It was never going to end."

  "What are you talking about?" Sophia took her shoulders. She could smell gunpowder, and blood. "What are you saying?"

  "Linc. He was using Linc against me. Linc, God help me. Linc is Tony's son."

  "They've got it under control. It's—" Pilar rushed in the terrace doors, stopped cold. "Oh dear God. Sophie!"

  "No, wait." Sophia sprang to her feet. "Don't come in. Don't touch anything." Her breath came out in pants, but she was thinking, thinking fast. "Aunt Helen, come with me. Come with me now. We can't stay in here."

  "It'll destroy James, and Linc. I've ruined them after all."

  Moving quickly now, Sophia dragged Helen up, pulled her out onto the terrace. "Tell us. Tell us quickly, we can't have much time."

  "I killed Tony. Pilar, I betrayed you. Myself. Everything I believe in."

  "That's not possible. For God's sake, what happened here?"

  "She saved my life," Sophia said. A blast rent the air as bottles exploded in the winery. She barely flinched. "He was going to kill me, with the gun that shot David. He'd sent for it, kept it like a souvenir. Helen, what happened with my father?"

  "He wanted money. Over the years he'd contact me when he needed money. He never actually demanded, never actually threatened. He'd just mention Linc—what a fine boy he was, what a bright and promising young man. Then he'd say he needed a bit of a loan. I slept with Tony." She began to weep then, silently. "All those years ago. We were all so young. James and I were having problems. I was so angry with him, so confused. We separated for a few weeks."

  "I remember," Pilar murmured.

  "I ran into Tony. He was so understanding, so sympathetic. You and he weren't getting along, either. You were considering a separation. He was charming, and he paid attention. The way James hadn't been. There's no excuse. I let it happen. After, I was so ashamed, so disgusted with myself. But it was done, and couldn't be changed. I found out I was pregnant. It wasn't James's because we hadn't been together that way. So I made my second hideous mistake, and I told Tony. I might as well have told him I'd decided to change my hairstyle. He could hardly be expected to pay for one night's indiscretion, could he? So I paid." Tears dripped down her cheeks. "And I paid."

  "Linc is Tony's child."

  "He's James's." Helen looked pleadingly at Pilar. "In every way but that one. He doesn't know, neither of them know. I did everything I could to make up for that night. To James, to Linc—God, Pilar, to you. I slept with my best friend's husband. I was young and angry and stupid, and I've never forgiven myself for it. But I did everything I could to make it up. I gave him money, every time he asked for it. I don't even know how much over the years."

  "And you couldn't give any more," Pilar concurred.

  "The night of the party, he told me he had to see me, told me when and where. I refused. It was the first time I'd done so. It made him angry, and that frightened me. If I didn't do as he said, he'd go inside, then and there, and tell James, tell Linc, tell you.

  "I couldn't risk it, couldn't bear it. My baby, Pilar. My little boy with the loose shoelaces. When I went home, I got the gun out of the safe. It's been there for years, I don't know why I thought of it. Don't know why I took it. It was like a veil over my mind. He had music on in the apartment, and a good bottle of wine. He sat and told me his financial troubles. Charmingly, as if we were old, dear friends. I don't remember everything he said; I'm
not even sure I heard him. He needed what he liked to call a loan. A quarter of a million this time. He'd be willing, of course, to take half by the end of the week, and give me another month for the rest. It wasn't too much to ask, after all. He'd given me such a