“That’s six.” Noah clicked the safety on the Glock, put it into his belt, and helped Penelope to her feet. “Get her, and you’ve got them all.”
“DuPey has the local police chasing her. They know the area. I’ve got my people guarding the house.” Rafe glanced at Noah. “You look pretty good, kid, for a guy who had his head blown off five minutes ago.”
“False alarm,” Noah said casually.
Penelope punched his ribs hard enough to make him wince.
But then… he was already hurt.
Rafe stopped his bandaging of Eli long enough to critically examine Noah. “I’d say you need some stitches.”
“And I think”—Noah flexed his hand, rolled his shoulder, felt his ribs—“maybe a cast and some bandages.”
“You have broken bones?” Penelope didn’t know why she was surprised. In a lifetime of watching Hollywood movies, she had never seen such a vicious fight in her life.
“Things are broken inside, but compared to how dead I thought I would feel… I’m pretty good.” Gingerly, Noah pulled her into his arms and looked toward his brothers. “Penelope saved us. She found the bottle and used it to bargain with them.”
“No. Really? Good job!” Rafe nodded approvingly at Penelope. “Where was it?”
“Under the stairs,” she said.
He glanced toward the bottom step. “Whoa. Where is it now?”
“Hendrik dropped it.” She glanced around the floor. “I think… someone grabbed it.” She tried to remember the details, but the last twenty minutes had been like one snapshot after another, moments frozen in time, all the focus on Noah. Noah. Noah. Stupid to be unsure, yet all of her attention had been fixed on the struggle between Noah and Hendrik.
She hadn’t cared about the bottle of wine.
She had cared only about her lover.
In a disgusted tone of voice, Eli said, “It was Joseph Bianchin. He’s got the bottle. If Nonna were alive…”
“What?” Rafe grabbed Eli’s hand. “What about Nonna?”
Bao rushed down a few steps and stood above them, poised to run in any direction. “DuPey got the last one of the gang. The woman killed herself rather than let law enforcement take her. But where’s Mrs. Di Luca?”
“They shot her in the kitchen,” Noah said.
Bao and Rafe exchanged glances.
“No,” Bao said. “No blood. No blood trail. But she’s not in the house.”
Rafe looked at Bao, at Penelope, at Noah. “Find her.”
Sarah stood in her backyard under the widespread branches of the oak tree she loved so much, and pointed her cute little handgun, a Judge Public Defender, at Joseph Bianchin. “Put it down now.”
“Sarah, you know it’s mine.” Joseph held Anthony’s bottle of wine in his gnarled fingers, caressing it as if it were the woman of his dreams. “Massimo liked the Bianchin family better than the Di Lucas. My father always said so. It’s rightfully mine.”
“Massimo did not leave you without a gift.” Sarah was giving Joseph his last chance to redeem himself.
She considered herself generous.
“A silver rattle!” Joseph’s eyes blazed with indignation. “He gave me a silver rattle. Not the priceless bottle of wine he gave to Anthony, but a simple silver rattle.”
“It is a beautiful, antique piece of art,” Sarah reminded him.
“The wine… that was a celebration laid down to be enjoyed on Anthony’s twenty-first birthday.” Joseph bared his yellowed teeth. “The rattle… it’s a baby toy.”
“Put the bottle down.” Sarah’s gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her aim.
“You wouldn’t shoot me. You’re a woman, and a sweet woman at that. Stop pretending that you would.” Joseph smiled a smile of scorn and false sympathy, and turned away.
Sarah waited until he was about thirty feet away.
She shot him in the butt, a spray of buckshot that pierced his pants and his skin and ripped into the muscle and through the veins.…
He screamed in surprise, pain and rage. He dropped the bottle. He fell down and writhed on the ground.
She heard shouts from the house.
The children had found her. But she had a few minutes with Joseph before they got there. A few precious, much-needed moments.
She strolled over to him. She stood well away from his flailing body, and she spoke clearly and coldly. “Any woman whose husband was shot in a family feud and almost killed who doesn’t take shooting lessons is a fool.” Leaning over, she picked up Anthony’s bottle. “It’s taken you sixty years, Joseph, but I hope you realize now—I am not a fool.”
Chapter 67
Eleven months later…
The babies had been christened.
The party had gone on all afternoon and most of the evening. They’d hired a band to play music from the forties, the music that Sarah loved. Caterers set up tables and chairs, and torches and trash cans. Bottles of water and cans of Coke had filled icy tubs. Masses of food had been set out on long tables in Sarah’s acres of front yard. Eli tapped a cask of one of his finest wines, and the guests who arrived brought casseroles, salads, cakes, dips.…
Sarah had been in her element, directing, placing, greeting, exclaiming. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun.
All the police department came, of course, and Eli’s vine crew, the staff from the tasting room, the staff at the resort, Police Chief DuPey and his wife (no matter how difficult she found the woman and how much she longed to, Sarah could hardly exclude his wife), and everyone who had worked security during last spring’s bottle crisis, as Chloë blithely called it.
And the family had come. All the family from Washington, from Far Island off the coast of California, from Italy, and from every other far-flung corner of the world.
Annie and June were here with their families, all charming, as Di Lucas tended to be, all chatting and smiling.
Rafe’s mother, Francesca, had taken time off from her Broadway play to be here for her granddaughter’s christening.
Brooke’s mother, Kathy, looked great in the designer outfit she’d picked up in New York with Francesca’s help.
Arianna Marino was here with her whole family.
Sarah had decided it was time to end that feud, especially since Primo Marino had stood as godfather to Anthony Joseph, solemnly promising to take care of the child and guide him through his life.
Sarah liked Primo.
She suspected who he pretended to be and who he actually was… were two different things.
But as the sun slid in a golden haze toward the horizon, the first batch of guests, guests with exhausted, grubby children, began to say good-bye. Elderly friends yawned and joked about their wild lives, and thanked the Di Lucas and left.
Finally, as dusk settled among the trees, only the family remained.
Chinese lanterns hung from the great oaks, their light spreading a golden glow, and Sarah stood arm in arm with Bao and smiled benevolently at her dear ones.
“You know,” Sarah said to Bao, “you don’t have to guard me tonight. It’s not your job anymore.”
The usually reserved Bao hugged Sarah’s waist. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Sarah hugged her back.
Bao had gone on to other security jobs, but before she left Sarah had made her promise that in between she would regularly check in to assure Sarah she was well. And Bao, who was the most responsible young woman Sarah had ever met, always did. Which was good, because Sarah worried. Bao was strong and brave. She stood on the forefront of the fight between good and evil. Someday… she would be hurt, and Sarah would weep.
But for now, Bao was relaxed and smiling, although every time Primo Marino spoke to her she stared at him in alarm.
Sarah found it greatly amusing that Bao, who feared nothing, ran away from Primo.
“I’m glad to see Mr. Joseph Bianchin is walking pretty well.” Bao’s tone indicated quite the opposite. “For a man who’s been shot in th
e ass.”
“Yes.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Although they say he occasionally has to visit the doctor to have another piece of buckshot taken out of his posterior.”
Bao laughed, a great burst of uncharacteristic amusement. “He will never again challenge another female to shoot him.”
“I don’t know. He’s been a superior swine all his life, and you know how hard it is for old geezers to change.” Sarah realized that during all this long day, she hadn’t seen him sit down at all.
Good. His butt still hurt.
What a day it had been! Sarah reflected with satisfaction.
Four-month-old Katherine Sarah Di Luca had been christened first, shrieking loudly as the priest anointed her head.
Two-month-old Anthony Joseph Di Luca stayed awake, placidly sucking his fist through the entire proceedings. He was without a doubt the calmest baby Sarah had ever seen.
Penelope claimed that in the first eight days after his conception, he’d been involved in so much drama he found nothing else worth getting excited about.
Sarah thought Penelope was right.
Now little Anthony slept on his father’s shoulder, his chubby, sweet face lax and wrinkled as Noah wandered toward Penelope, smiling as if he’d won life’s lottery.
Which he had, and Sarah was glad to see that he knew it.
Eli carried Katherine Sarah upright in the crook of his arm. Katherine Sarah had a grumpier outlook on life than her cousin, but she adored her uncle Eli, and for him she flirted and smiled. Which was fine with Rafe and Brooke, both exhausted from dealing with the biggest diva ever born to the Di Luca family.
Sarah admired her great-granddaughter, and privately agreed with Brooke’s mother, Kathy, that she hoped the child gave them both hell.
“For a man who has never before had a child, Mr. Bianchin seems very proud of his grandson,” Bao said in a low voice.
“If not so pleased about his grandson’s name. Anthony Joseph.” Sarah rolled the name off her tongue.
“Mr. Bianchin thought the Joseph should come first?” Bao did not guess so much as make a statement.
“Mm-hm. Dear Joseph is suffering from the ordeal of having a grown daughter he cannot bend to his will.”
Sarah and Bao put their heads together and laughed.
Bao said, “He probably imagines he can train his grandson in his image.”
“The old fart has never been around a small child. He’s in for a shock.” Sarah’s gaze lingered on Joseph’s erect figure as he spoke stiffly to Tom Chan about wines. “Still, he’s trying. He polished the antique silver rattle Massimo gave him at his birth and gave it to little Anthony.”
In fact, Joseph had had a blue satin-lined wooden box made to display his gift, and now it sat in a place of honor on the table that groaned with christening gifts: receiving blankets, engraved christening cups, silver spoons, booties, handmade afghans, baby-Food cookbooks, subscriptions to National Geographic, vegan cookbooks, car seats, Onesies, Cardboard books, Mobiles, Bottle warmers, Boxes of diapers, Silver rattles.…
Sarah’s first great-grandchildren had been welcomed into the community with prayer, with blessings, with song and wine and joy.
Her life was exactly as it should be.
Bao ran her finger along the box’s polished wood, and then along the rattle’s smooth silver handle. “It’s very beautiful. And valuable, I think?”
“Joseph has never appreciated it, because it wasn’t what his family wanted from Massimo, but yes, I suspect it is valuable.” Sarah picked it up out of the box. “Look at the workmanship on the bell. Someone spent a lot of time creating little grapes on little grapevines that grow off the handle.…” She caught Joseph watching her, and carefully placed the rattle back in the box.
Joseph hadn’t been very friendly since she’d shot him.
Imagine that.
With a kiss for them both, Noah handed little Anthony over to Penelope and came to get Sarah. “We’re ready, Nonna,” he said in a low voice.
She nodded to Bao. “Be careful.”
Bao nodded back. “You, too.” She moved into position on the porch, overlooking the yard.
Sarah took Noah’s arm and they walked slowly toward the house and the most important event of their lives. “How is Eli doing?” she asked in that same low tone.
“He’s doing well.” Noah’s gaze sought out his brother, standing close to the table, one arm around his wife, Rafe’s baby girl cradled in the other arm. “The doc told him it would take a year to recover completely, and I’d say he was right on the money. Eli has his moments, but he’s almost completely back to normal.”
“We were lucky the emergency room doctor had served in the military and realized Eli had been shot twice.” When Sarah remembered how close they came to losing him, she felt sick and faint.
“I thought you’d taken the second shot.” Noah leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I thought I had lost you, Nonna.”
“I’m tough to kill.” For one moment, she leaned her head on his arm. “I wanted to live to see my three grandsons so happy.”
“I’m glad I lived to see the day, too,” Noah said fervently.
Since the day Noah had faced his mother and his family from hell, since the day he had defeated the fate that had stalked him for so many years… he was a changed man. He lived every day as if it were precious, he embraced his family and friends, and most of all, he loved Penelope with all his heart and soul. She was the center of his life, and little Anthony Joseph was the jewel arrived to crown their happiness.
Eli stood holding little Katherine and watching Chloë as she tried desperately to get a smile out of the obstinate baby. He laughed at his wife, but at the same time, the worship in his eyes brought a lump to Sarah’s throat.
Chloë with her wild hair, her artistic temperament, her acute mind, and her loving heart had broken through to Sarah’s distant, controlled grandson and made him a whole man who lived with no fear and no barriers.
Noah followed Sarah’s gaze. “I think he loves her better than his wine. Don’t you?”
Sarah nodded. “I really do.”
Rafe and Brooke had moved into their beautiful, old, mostly remodeled home barely in time for Katherine’s birth. Brooke’s mother, Kathy, had stayed with them for the first week and helped out, for which they were both pathetically grateful. Now they learned parenting as they went along, and best of all, they did it together.
“I wish Anthony could have seen how you children have grown,” Sarah said.
Noah lightly bumped her shoulder with his. “He knows, Nonna. He knows.”
“Yes. You’re right. Today… I’ve felt him close. He would approve.”
The band was packing up, but on Rafe’s request they performed a drumroll.
Sarah clasped Noah’s hand. “Here we go!”
The crowd gathered around the bandstand.
In his best radio-announcer voice, Rafe said, “As you know, tonight the Di Luca family celebrates a night unlike any other in our family. Tonight we want to welcome Joseph Bianchin into the family. You all can only imagine our excitement on discovering our beloved sister Penelope is Joseph’s long-lost daughter, making Joseph the grandfather of Noah’s son, little Anthony.” Rafe wickedly did not give the baby’s full name.
The small crowd politely clapped.
Joseph limped forward and waved a hand in acknowledgment.
“I don’t say it to Penelope, of course”—Noah kept his voice quiet—“but that limp you gave him is small payment for the trouble he started over that bottle of wine.”
“And for the years of agony his attack caused Anthony. If I had it all to do again… I would have shot between Joseph’s legs.”
“Nonna!” Noah laughed, startled.
“So there!” She nodded emphatically.
“Tonight we also welcome our former enemies into our family.” Rafe gestured. “The Marinos, always our favorite fighting foes, have joined us from our beloved Nonna
’s side of the family.”
Joseph looked sour.
The Marinos cheered.
At the outburst, Katherine Sarah started crying.
“Oh, no.” Brooke collapsed into a lawn chair hidden in the shadows.
Chloë took Katherine from Eli and brought her to Brooke.
Brooke tossed a blanket over her shoulder and put baby Katherine to her breast, then waved at Rafe to continue.
He smiled at his wife, then returned to the announcements. “Our father, Gavino Di Luca, is currently filming and was unable to attend. He sends his love.”
Nonna looked down and sighed. She wasn’t surprised at Gavino’s defection. He might be willing to play a grandfather in a movie, but to actually be old enough to be a grandfather… he wouldn’t acknowledge that.
“So we—Nonna, Eli and Chloë, Noah and Penelope, and Brooke and I—have decided this day, with the joyous celebration of the newest generation and their christenings, is the right and proper time to honor our grandfather, Anthony Di Luca.” Rafe paused to clear the emotion from his throat. “To do that, we will open the gift of wine Massimo made and gave to him on the day of his birth, and share it with all of you.”
Chapter 68
Clapping. Laughter. A buzz of conversation as the small crowd agreed they were thrilled to be included in this momentous moment in wine history. They surged toward the serving table, set up close to the porch and spread with a white tablecloth.
Sarah hung back and watched Joseph.
He stood tall, his shoulders erect and proud, his nostrils quivering, his eyes narrowed.
“He’s been waiting for this moment all his life,” Noah said quietly.
“Yes, but now he wants more than merely the taste of the wine,” she said.
“He wants a look at those diamonds,” Noah said.
“Well, don’t we all,” she said tartly.
“It’s okay, Nonna,” Noah said. “We don’t expect trouble—but we’re ready for it.”
The Di Lucas, all of them, were carrying firearms concealed beneath light jackets and bulky cardigans.
Bao was packing, too, and DuPey was in uniform.
Sarah brushed her hand over her pocket and across her Judge Public Defender, loaded with buckshot. “He wouldn’t dare.”
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