Authors: Christina Dodd

Revenge at Bella Terra (38 page)

BOOK: Revenge at Bella Terra

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“I am honored,” he replied, and with his cast, he gestured to Chloë. “Please allow me to introduce you to my adored
esposa
, Chloë Di Luca.”

Abuela’s gaze moved to her, and although Chloë knew she’d always been aware of her, she gave her the same extensive examination she’d given Eli. “Welcome to my family.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to be Eli’s wife and your granddaughter.” Everything about this conversation was stilted, but Chloë recognized what was going on under the surface. Much was being said, all without words.

Only Abuela’s eyes moved as she looked again at Eli. “Many months ago, I wrote you a letter.”

“I received it.” Obviously, he wasn’t going to apologize for not answering.

“The doctors say next spring the grass will turn green over my grave.” When Chloë would have spoken her sympathy, Abuela waved her to silence. “I’ve had a long life. There have been struggles and hardships, but there have been moments of great joy, too. This is one of those moments of joy.”

Clearly, Abuela did not show emotion.

So that was where Eli had learned that trick. Abuela continued. “But before I leave this life, I want to make amends where needed. Your family in Chile, Eli, are doing well. Your cousins send their greetings.”

“I remember them in return,” Eli said.

Obviously, whatever newfound forgiveness he felt for Abuela did not extend to his cousins.

“Of course, my will gives all to them. They have stayed with me all these years”—a reproach, skillfully delivered—“and one, young Salazar, is almost as talented as you when it comes to blending the wines.”

“I’ve heard of him as a winemaker,” Eli said. “He is very good.”

Another surprise. Eli was full of them today.

Something that passed for a smile crossed Abuela’s face. “Yes. I am proud of the boy. Yet when I heard the doctor’s verdict, I looked for a way to give
you
something as a remembrance of me.” She leaned down and picked up her purse.

Chloë expected her to pull out a knickknack or a piece of jewelry or something etched with the Silva family escutcheon.

She underestimated Abuela.

“It came to my attention that Owen Slovak, your accountant and friend, stole your fortune and the wealth of your winery and fled to South America.” Those dark, expressionless eyes grew icy. “I don’t like thieves, especially not thieves who steal from my grandson and, by extension, from me.”

So many revelations for Chloë. Eli had gotten a
lot
of his traits from his maternal grandmother, including this stiff-necked protectiveness about his possessions and his family.

“As you know,” Abuela continued, “I have some influence with the authorities.”

“I’m aware of that.” Eli’s face was as impassive as Abuela’s.

Yet in the way he held himself, Chloë could see his wariness.

“Under my direction”—Abuela’s voice grew proud—“the authorities discovered a reason to arrest this traitor to my grandson. Apparently he had moved on to a new career—selling drugs.”

“Owen?” Eli was clearly surprised.

“Perhaps he was framed.” Abuela shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I only know Owen Slovak was quite surprised to discover drug lords are nasty when someone moves into their territory, and our justice system is not quite as . . . indulgent . . . as the one in America.”

“I can imagine with so many threats, he was frightened.” Eli’s gaze never left Abuela’s.

“I believe he was,” Abuela conceded. “A day of being intimidated by our drug lords, a few weeks in a foreign prison . . . they convinced him he would like to return your fortune.” She held up one gnarled finger. “With interest.”

“Wow,” Chloë whispered. Now,
that
was influence.

Abuela pulled a folder from her purse. “I have papers here, made up by my lawyers. I’ll leave them with you to peruse, and if they are written to your satisfaction, the fortune will be transferred back into your account and you’ll be a wealthy man once more.” She placed the folder on the table beside Eli.

“Thank you, Abuela.” Eli was pale with shock. “I am most grateful for your gift.”

She stood. “I’m tired from my trip, so I will go.”

“Wait!” Eli said. “What’s happened to Owen?”

“He’s living in Chile. He has no money. His reputation as a thief is well-known. No one will hire him as an accountant.” Abuela appeared to think. “I believe . . . Owen Slovak is working as a farmhand for Del Toro Wines.”

Chloë’s eyes widened. She would never want to anger this woman. “Abuela, we have room if you wish to stay here.”

Once again Abuela’s gaze examined her, and her eyes warmed ever so slightly. “Thank you, but I’m staying with Sarah. She is lovely. You are most fortunate, Eli, in your grandmother.”

“In both my grandmothers.” Taking her gnarled hand, he kissed it. “Thank you, Abuela. Thank you for coming to visit me. Welcome to the United States. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

Abuela squeezed his hand, and for the first time, Chloë saw a glimpse of the woman who loved her grandson enough to make these restitutions to him.

Turning slowly, she made her way to the door and into the living room, leaving a shocked silence behind.

Finally Chloë asked, “How old is she?”

“About a million.” Eli moved restlessly on the bed. “I remembered her as being a giant, but she’s so short.”

“And feeble.”

“I should have finished that call. I should have gone to her.” He turned to Chloë. “Please don’t say, ‘I told you so.’”

Chloë shut her mouth. Then she opened it again. “Okay, but can I say—if you’d written Abuela back when she first contacted you, do you realize this never would have happened? You would have never been in the position for my father to blackmail you. You would never have had to get married. You’d be single, heart-whole, and with no broken bones.”

“Thank God you didn’t say, ‘I told you so,’” he said with fine-tuned insincerity.

“Of course not,” she said righteously. “That would be mean.”

“If I had written her back and been saved from my financial difficulties . . . I wouldn’t have you.” Eli smiled at her, a sweet smile the likes of which she had never thought she would see from this austere man. “So everything is right with the world.”

“That’s true.” She lifted her hand and showed him her rings, glinting merrily. “Because if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t know the joy of wearing your wedding band on my finger.”

He grew serious. “Chloë, I don’t need your father’s money now.”

“He won’t like that,” Chloë warned.

“If he were smart, he would make me pay him for the privilege of having his daughter as my wife.”

She laughed. “I want to hear that conversation.”

“I’ll return your father’s money, but I will never return your heart, and I’ll never let you return mine. Because all I need in this life . . . is you.” He kissed her hand with the rings. “Will you stay with me forever?”

This was the wedding proposal she had never imagined she would hear. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

“I will show you every day of our lives how much I love you, and when we’re old, you’ll look back on our lives together and you’ll really know what it means to be cherished.”

His face swam before her eyes, and she had to swallow back the tears before she could whisper, “I look forward to a long life with you. There is no one else who makes me feel so happy, so passionate, so angry . . . and so alive.”

He kissed her, and it was as if all the kisses that went before were insignificant, because this kiss was a pledge.

And they made it together.

Chapter 52

S
arah Di Luca had always told Anthony their grandsons got their intelligence from her.

She was joking, of course. Anthony was brilliant, good at construction and wiring and better than her at reasoning his way through intricate problems.

But for years she did the accounting for the vineyard and the resort, dealt with the wine vendors, hired the staff.

In fact, she and Anthony had been the perfect team.

He’d been gone for ten years, yet in the deepest recesses of the night, she still missed him. She missed his warm body, those nights when he held her close and made love to her. She even missed his sonorous snoring.

In those first few months after he had passed away, the silence was what kept her awake.

She always thought of him at night.

Last night, especially.

Because last night had been different.

Since Anthony had died, Sarah had lived alone. She’d grown used to the sounds of the house, creaking in the wind. . . . Then, after the attack, the girls had come to live with her.

Bao Le, strong and fit. She watched, constantly on guard, her gaze fixed outside, anticipating another attack. She was almost frightening in her focus. As long as Bao was on the job, Sarah knew she was safe.

Olivia Kelly, soft and sweet. In only one way was she fierce: when she guarded Sarah’s well-being. She was a wonderful nurse, so dedicated to her patient’s care.

She and the girls had been home from the hospital almost a month now, and Sarah had grown used to the noises they made in the night. When Sarah got up to use the bathroom, Bao would check the house. After Sarah went back to bed, Olivia would drift past and look in to make sure she didn’t need anything.

The girls seldom needed to use the bathroom at night.

Oh, to be so young again!

Last night had been different from those other nights. . . .

Last night, Sarah had slept hard, but her dreams had been like waking nightmares.

She had dreamed she was awake, but not awake, watching through closed eyes as someone crept into her dark bedroom. Someone came over and petted her head and murmured words Sarah didn’t quite catch, in a voice Sarah couldn’t quite recognize.

Sarah didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Although she tried. She tried so hard, but she was frozen in place, unable to move, to lift her eyelids, to speak.

It was truly a nightmare, and no matter how hard Sarah struggled, she couldn’t break the bonds that held her in place.

A small light flicked on. Sarah could see it through her eyelids. And through the hours that followed, she could hear someone searching her room. The drawers in her dresser. All the boxes stored in the closet. The ones under the bed. The bookcase.

The girl moved the furniture and looked behind it. She searched the headboard while Sarah lay unmoving on the mattress. Sometimes Sarah drifted off, coming back to that truncated consciousness to find the light at a different place in the room, and the searching always sounded a little more frantic.

Sarah’s mind had concluded two simple facts: she was drugged, and one of the girls had done it so she could search the room.

Finally Sarah drifted off once more, and when she came back, she was alone as the morning sun shone through the window. Alone, able to move, and crying with disappointment.

One of the girls, her girls, the girls she had welcomed into her home and her family . . . one of them had searched Sarah’s room for Anthony’s bottle of wine.

Slowly, stiff from lying in one position, Sarah sat up in bed. Gripping the bedpost in one hand, she waited for the room to quit spinning.

Had Bao hooked an inconspicuous microphone to Sarah’s clothing and heard about the diamonds, and gone looking for them?

Had Olivia overheard a conversation between Eli and Chloë?

Which one was it?

Olivia was the most likely suspect, of course. She’d been trained in the use of drugs.

But Bao was efficient in everything she did, a woman who could, and undoubtedly had, killed in many different ways. If she needed to drug Sarah, she’d figure out how to do it.

And how had the deed been done?

Last evening, Sarah had fallen asleep in front of the television. But she always did. Was the drug in the coffee she drank after dinner?

Bao had made the coffee.

Or was it mixed in the pills Olivia gave her before bedtime?

Lately she hadn’t been using the walker much, but Sarah needed it today. Pulling it close, she got unsteadily to her feet.

Her mouth tasted like a garbage dump. A side effect, she supposed. She pulled on her robe, headed down the hall to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. She proceeded to the kitchen, giving fair warning of her arrival with the squeaking of the wheels on the carpet.

Olivia and Bao sat at the table, drinking coffee and looking tired. Because they’d both searched her room? Because one of them had searched and one had been drugged? The scenarios paraded across Sarah’s mind in a fearful frenzy.

As soon as she walked in, Olivia got to her feet. “Do you not feel well this morning?” She was eyeing the walker.

“A little unsteady. Don’t fuss, Olivia.” That came out a little sharper than Sarah had intended, and she shot Olivia an apologetic smile.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Olivia’s pale complexion clearly showed the rings under her eyes.

“Just cereal.” Sarah seated herself. “How did you girls sleep?”

“Lousy,” Olivia said. “I had the weirdest dreams.”

“I slept well.” Bao spoke stiffly and bowed her head as if thanking Sarah for asking.

Sarah thought she looked guilty, but right now Sarah was too distrustful to have faith in her own instincts. “I had bad dreams, too. Very odd dreams.”

“That’s it,” Olivia announced in her best nurse’s voice. “We’re not drinking caffeinated coffee after dinner anymore.”

“Probably a good idea,” Sarah agreed.

Breakfast was quiet, the clink of the spoons against the china bowls a little too loud for comfort.

By the time she was done, Sarah had decided what to do. “It’s a beautiful day. I think I’ll shower and go out to the garden and do some weeding.”

BOOK: Revenge at Bella Terra

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