Betrayal

  “So you don’t have contact with your father?”

  “I don’t even know who he is. She won’t tell me. She says he’s a creep.” Suddenly she realized she was doing all the talking, and felt sick with embarrassment. “I, um… What about your parents?”

  “My father is Gavino Di Luca.”

  It took her about three beats to assimilate that and blurt, “Oh, my God. No wonder you’re so handsome!”

  Throwing back his head, he burst into laughter.

  She sank down in the seat as low as she could go. Crossing her arms over her belly, she said, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No! Please! I told you, growing up in the shadow of my brothers has left me with no ego at all. Let me treasure your compliment.”

  “No ego at all,” she scoffed. “You’re oozing with ego.”

  He slid his arm around her shoulders. “Do you think I’m handsomer than my brothers?”

  “Of course you are,” she said sullenly.

  “There’s no ‘of course’ about it.” He still sounded delighted. “Everyone thinks Rafe is the handsome one. He was a child movie star, too. And Eli’s the tall one with the gift for wines. I’m usually the shorter, younger, okay-looking one with the weird-colored eyes.”

  “Your eyes are very… unusual. Not just the color, but the shape, almost Asian. Do they run in the family?”

  His arm stiffened, he took a breath, and finally he answered, “No one knows where I got them. From my mother, I guess.”

  “You guess? You don’t know your mother?”

  Another hesitation. “My father has no more told me who my mother is than your mother has told you… you know.”

  Penelope faced him straight on, more excited than she had any right to be. “Really? You don’t know who your mother is? I’ve never met another person who didn’t know even the name of their parent.”

  “We’ve got a lot in common, don’t we?”

  She thought about his loving family, his position in the community, his looks, his confidence, his wealth.…

  “Not really.”

  “I think we do. We’re both smart, ambitious, determined to make something more of ourselves than we were born to be.” He was watching her lips.

  “Yeah.” He made her feel good about herself. He made her feel normal.

  He slid his hands over her shoulders, up to cup her face, to slide his fingers into her hair. Leaning in close, he inhaled as if absorbing her scent. His lips parted, and he whispered, “I shouldn’t.”

  Made bold by his hesitation, she asked, “Why not? It’s just a kiss.”

  “No. Not with you. With you, it will never be just a kiss.” He started to let her go.

  She pressed her hand over his, holding it to her face.

  And he started trembling. Just the slightest, finest tremor in his fingers, but…

  She was young, but she wasn’t stupid.

  It occurred to her he was feeding her a line. With you, it will never be just a kiss. It was a good line. Original. Interesting. Flattering. But still, nothing but a line served with the clear intentions of separating her from her panties.

  But she didn’t think he could fake the trembling. Or that he would. This kind of emotion displayed over a simple kiss seemed… well, sort of unmanly.

  “Noah, it’s just a kiss,” she said again.

  His fingers flexed beneath hers. He leaned forward, feathered his lips across hers, and for one moment, she tasted regret. And restraint. And then… all the complexities were swept away by a rush of passion: pure, raw, undiluted. She’d never been kissed like this before, as if he wanted her, needed her to hold him, to heal him.

  She slid her arms around his neck, trying to get closer. The console got in the way. He hit the horn with his elbow, then banged his knee, hard, on the steering wheel.

  They pulled apart, laughing, but when their eyes met, the laughter died. He pushed the seats back as far as they would go. They twisted and turned, trying to touch their bodies together and finally giving up and allowing only their lips to touch.

  And for that moment, that was enough.

  So much hunger. So much heat. The smooth taste of Noah infused with cool vanilla custard drizzled with warm chocolate. He caressed her cheeks, her chin, her throat. He pushed her hair back off her face, moaning as he sank his fingers into the thick, warm mass.

  He hadn’t wanted to kiss her, but now that he’d given in to temptation, he offered her himself, generously allowing her to take what she needed.

  After that night, there wasn’t a day when they weren’t together.

  Before the summer was half over, she had given him her virginity.

  By the time it was time to go back to school, he had broken her heart, and never again did she feel young.

  Chapter 25

  On Sunday afternoon, Noah arrived late at Nonna’s house carrying a glass bowl of bacon-spinach salad created by his chef at the Bella Terra resort restaurant, and he smiled because today was special. He had a present for Nonna, and he wanted to be here to see her receive it.

  Oh, and he smiled because he was pissed. Pissed at the situation. Pissed at fate for bringing Penelope back into his life just to watch him die. Mostly pissed at himself for being such an idiot. At least if he was going to be here wearing an ugly, murderous dog collar, it would be nice if he could blame someone else. He strolled into the kitchen and waved a hand toward the big round wood table where Eli, Rafe, Brooke, Bao, Nonna, and Bryan DuPey sat in chairs culled from various ancient family dining sets, holding playing cards with piles of poker chips at their elbows.

  Chloë sat off to the side, her legs propped up on a second chair, a netbook on her lap, an intent frown on her face as she typed and stared, typed and stared.

  A chorus of welcomes greeted him.

  “I’ve decided not to arrest you, Noah.” DuPey flung a chip into the pot in the middle of the table. “Turns out Eli had a decent alibi and you Di Lucas are not the ones who broke the dumb thief’s fingers.”

  “Told you so.” Noah stuck the glass salad bowl in the refrigerator, then turned to face the crowd.

  Chloë looked up. “Who did break the guy’s fingers?”

  “I’ve had my officers watching for a pack of three guys.” DuPey shook his head. “We had a report that they were sighted near the town square, but when we checked it out, we got nada. That’s the trouble with packs. If they separate, they’re not a pack anymore.”

  Noah heaved a private sigh of relief. He did not want DuPey and his officers tangling with Liesbeth and her merry band of criminals. Someone would get hurt, and it wouldn’t be the Propovs.

  “Shall we deal you in, Noah?” Brooke shuffled the cards enticingly.

  “Do it,” he told Brooke.

  She started to shuffle again, then straightened as if surprised by something, and handed the deck to Nonna. “Please, Nonna, you do it. I have to visit the little girls’ room.”

  “Let’s take a break.” Eli stood and limped over to rub Chloë’s shoulders with his good hand. The other hand, the one in the cast, he leaned against the high back of her chair.

  She moaned softly and rolled her head.

  He leaned down and kissed the bare nape of her neck. “Do you want to go lie down?” Because of her injuries, he meant. Because she still wore the light body cast that still felt cumbersome and uncomfortable.

  “Probably after dinner.” She patted his broken arm. “It does get uncomfortable in this thing.”

  “Don’t overdo,” he admonished. Then he straightened and asked, “Anybody need something to drink?”

  “Iced tea.” “Iced tea.” “Wine.” “Wine.” “Coke.” “Bottle of water.” “Wine.”

  Eli clomped over to the door that led down to the wine cellar. He swung it wide, looked down the narrow, steep stairs—and sighed. “Noah?”

  Noah chuckled at Eli’s frustrated expression. His brother, usually so active in the vineyards and at the winery, hated wearing a cast on
his arm and doubly hated the cast on his leg. “Tell me what you want,” Noah said, “and I’ll get the bottles.”

  Eli looked over the crew around the table. The traits that made him such an expert vintner, the knowledge and instincts that helped him develop and blend wines, made him the undisputed master of predicting their guests’ preferences. An almost reverent silence descended while the family waited to see what he would pull from the cellar for their enjoyment. “Before dinner,” he said, “for the white wine drinkers, I think a pinot grigio, and for the red wine drinkers, a smooth blend… the Dragon’s Eye, I think. For dinner, I want a couple of bottles of nice, older vintage barberas.”

  “Got it.” Noah started down the stairs.

  “Be careful of those stairs!” Nonna said.

  He waved a reassuring hand and descended into the large, dim cellar.

  Nonna had raised her son and grandsons in this house, and never said a word, but now that they were grown, she admitted the stairs had always terrified her. Constructed when the house was built, the steps were steep and narrow, with open risers and a rickety banister, and the stairs ended at the bottom on an unforgiving concrete floor that could have broken little skulls if anyone took a fall.

  The irony, of course, was that now that Nonna was older, the stairs terrified her grandsons, because she lived alone. She kept her vegetables down here, as well as her wines. If she fell going down for carrots or potatoes, she could lie at the bottom of the stairs for a day before someone came to find her.

  Thank God for Bao—she relieved the worst of their current worries, but before she went on to another assignment, Noah and his brothers had to tear these stairs apart and construct them with deeper treads and a sturdy railing, and they’d build a closet underneath with shelves inside, to be used as a pantry. They’d been talking about it for years, urging first Nonno and then Nonna to let them handle the matter.

  Nonno, a crotchety old fart to the very end, had scorned their concern.

  Nonna had agreed it needed to be done, but she had insisted on getting a new oven first, and her Wolf stovetop, and well… Noah’s mouth quirked. He and his brothers were givers. If Nonna wanted new appliances so she could cook for them, they made sure she got them.

  Noah stepped on the last step; the board gave a tiny, mouselike squeak; then, as he stepped onto the concrete floor, the whole stair groaned as if relieved to be rid of his weight.

  No more delaying. One experience of seeing Nonna injured in a hospital bed was enough for Noah. He’d better have a serious talk with his brothers about rebuilding the stairs ASAP, set up a date to get down here and… and what?

  Noah stood at the bottom and looked up.

  Three days had passed since he’d clicked the lock on the dog collar. Bloody death awaited him if he failed to find Massimo’s bottle of wine. On the last day, if he hadn’t located the bottle, he’d call one of his contractor connections and set up the schedule to have the stair rebuilt. That way at least he’d go to his grave knowing his grandmother would not soon join him.

  Windows high on the wall, up at ground level, provided a little bit of natural light, but far corners and the area beneath the steps were rich with shadows.

  Noah flipped on the fluorescent fixture.

  A wine rack covered the long wall; built at the same time as the house, it was sturdy, but rustic and unfinished, a suitable frame for the bottles, old and new, that filled the slots. Noah searched for the wine Eli required, and stacked it on the bottom step.

  Then he did what he and his brothers always did when they visited the cellar.

  He looked around, trying to see where his grandfather could have hidden a green glass bottle of wine.

  Motes of dust floated in the still air. Sturdy oak beams supported the floor above; Noah craned his neck up and paced the cellar, twenty feet one way, thirty feet the other, looking for a long, slender package cleverly placed against the ceiling that could conceal the old-fashioned bottle.

  Nothing. Of course not.

  The stairway was quickly eliminated; the construction was so basic, just two long, thick boards on each side ascending from the floor of the basement to the floor of the main level, cut with jagged teeth that supported the narrow steps.

  Nonno had told Noah once that wine wanted to stay close to the earth, to remember the rich soil that grew the grapes that made the wine.

  Noah didn’t know whether it was true or not, but he liked the sentiment, and his grandfather believed it, for he had always kept his precious bottle of wine down here, tucked into a cubbyhole near the floor in the concrete wall. But when he died and Nonna went to get the bottle, it was gone. All that was left was an ambiguous note written in an old man’s shaky handwriting.

  So when Noah and his brothers heard the story of the missing wine, they had searched. They had pulled every bottle out of its slot and read the label. They had moved the wine rack—no small accomplishment—and had tapped every inch of the walls. They had examined the floor to see whether their grandfather had somehow sawed through the concrete and placed the bottle in a secret little grave.

  Their search had been fruitless, but now Noah wandered the walls again, his fingertips sweeping the rough cement as if the earth that created the grapes would call out to him and give him the answer.

  He smelled the scents of wine maturing in its bottles. He felt the chill of the dirt pressing against the walls. He heard plenty of creaking and moaning from the kitchen above. But the earth remained stubbornly silent, and the bottle elusive.

  From above, Eli called, “Anything interesting down there?”

  Noah walked to the stairway and looked ruefully up at his brother. “No. Damn it.”

  “Bring the wine up. Take a day off from your search. You’re going to end up like a mole, blinking at the sunshine.”

  “Sure.” Noah took one last look around, collected his bottles, and ascended the stairs.

  Chapter 26

  While Eli poured wine, Noah shed his jacket. He nodded toward the table where DuPey and Brooke had accumulated twice as many chips as anyone else. “Looks like it’s business as usual.”

  “They are lucky,” Rafe said.

  “No, they’re not.” Bao looked at him incredulously. “They count cards. We should change decks every hand.”

  At once, everyone at the table started bickering.

  Typical Sunday. Noah soaked in the familiar banter and long-standing affection and was glad he had come.

  He rolled up his sleeves. In the normal run of matters, he would now strip away his tie and unbutton his shirt. But not today. Today, he loosened his tie and hoped everyone was too focused on the game to pay any attention to his attire.

  From the way they snapped at one another and laughed and chatted, he thought he was pretty safe.

  He joined Eli at the kitchen counter, and after gathering and distributing drinks, he poured himself iced tea and added two teaspoons of sugar.

  Normally, he went a little lighter on the sweetener, but hey, when a man knew the day of his death, he could live it up with a few more calories.

  Pulling up a chair, he wedged it between DuPey and Bao and seated himself.

  From here he could hear Nonna’s gift arrive. He intended to be the first one to the door when it was delivered.

  Brooke walked in and slid into her chair. “Thanks for waiting. This baby is sitting on my bladder. I wish I could get through more than one hand without having to go.”

  Nonna finished shuffling.

  DuPey cut the deck.

  “Five-card stud, deuces are wild,” Nonna announced, and shot the cards across the table with narrow-eyed precision.

  Elaborately casual, Eli sorted his hand. “So, Noah—how’s the search going?”

  Noah looked at his cards. A full house, nines high.

  Figured. Of course he’d get his best hand as his time ran out.

  Could have been worse. Could have been two pairs, aces and eights—the dead man’s hand.

&n
bsp; Everyone tossed money in the pot, hummed or sneered, plucking out one or two or three cards and discarding them as Nonna dealt replacements from the deck.

  They glanced at their new cards, but the primary focus was on Noah.

  “I’ll play these.” He threw his stake into the center of the table. “Great. The search is going great.” He smiled toothily. “Do you know how many miles of corridors there are under that resort?”

  Rafe tapped the table. “I’ll take two.” When he had his cards, he tossed his chips in. “Come on. Miles is an exaggeration.”

  In the 1930s, during Prohibition, the basement had been dug below the original resort building as a root cellar, a space to run plumbing and electrical wiring, and maybe, just maybe, as a secret wine cellar hidden from the revenuers. Recently, Rafe and Noah—and Brooke—had spent more than a few ghastly hours down there.

  Had their grandfather hidden Massimo’s jewel-laden bottle of wine in those cellars? Noah had believed the possibility was good. But his hopes were fading. “I have looked in every cubbyhole, every mouse hole, every rat hole, plus I’ve lifted the cushions and opened the drawers on every cobweb-covered, abandoned piece of furniture.” He shook his head. “I used a portable ultrasound to find cavities in the walls, and have unearthed a dozen secret rooms with wine racks and pot paraphernalia and one that was built for—apparently—some long-ago Di Luca and his mistress.”

  Chloë’s head popped up, her attention caught. “How do you figure? Is there only a bed in there?”

  “That’s right,” Noah answered.

  Everyone in the room went, “Ooh.”

  Chloë’s eyes sparkled, and she went back to typing.

  “I have had my fingers crushed by mousetraps. I have stared into the empty eyes of rodent skulls, cat skulls, snake skulls”—he shuddered at one memory—“and seen one live snake that had somehow found its way down there specifically to scare the crap out of me. I have washed cobwebs out of my hair every damned night.”

  “No bottle?” DuPey knew about the bottle of wine, but he thought it was just that—a bottle of wine. He hadn’t heard about the diamonds. The family had managed to keep that information to themselves.