by Nora Roberts
She sat again and pulled out her Filofax. “Making connections is one of my best things. Thanks.”
“Hey, I’m just along for the ride.”
“Let me tell you something that didn’t escape my notice today.”
“Sophie, nothing does.”
“Exactly. I was plowing my way through this mess, making calls, arrangements, pushing all the buttons, you never interrupted me, never asked me any questions, never patted my head and told me to step back so you could handle it.”
“I don’t happen to speak three languages.”
“That wasn’t it. It didn’t occur to you to flex your muscles and take over, to show me you could handle things for me. Just like it didn’t dent your ego that I knew what I had to do and how to do it. You don’t have to flex your muscles because you know they’re there. And so do I.”
“Maybe I just like watching you flex yours.”
She got up just to crawl into his lap, curl there. “All my life I’ve made certain to hook myself up with weak men. All show, no substance.” With her head on his shoulder she could finally rest. “Now look what I’ve done.”
Jerry made several calls himself. From pay phones. He didn’t consider Donato much of a problem, but more of an inconvenience. And even that would be seen to before long. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish.
Giambelli was fighting its way out of yet another crisis, the family itself was in turmoil, consumer trust was diving toward an all-time low. And he was reaping the rewards, personally, professionally, financially.
Nothing he’d done—nothing he’d done that could be proved—had been illegal. He’d simply done his job, as an aggressive businessman would, and had seized opportunities that had come his way.
He was more amused than annoyed when lobby security announced he had visitors. Prepared to be entertained, he cleared them, then turned to his companion. “We have company. An old friend of yours.”
“Jerry, we’ve got two solid hours of work to get through tonight.” Kris uncurled her legs from the couch. “Who is it?”
“Your former boss. Why don’t we open a bottle of the Pouilly-Fuissé? The ’96.”
“Sophia.” Kris surged to her feet. “Here? Why?”
“We’re about to find out,” he said as the buzzer sounded. “Be a good girl, won’t you? Fetch the wine.”
He strolled to the door. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise. I had no idea you were in town.” He actually leaned forward to kiss Sophia’s cheek. She was quick, but Tyler was quicker. His hand rammed sharply into Jerry’s chest.
“Let’s not start out being stupid,” he advised.
“Sorry.” Holding up both hands, Jerry stepped back. “Didn’t realize things had changed between you. Come in. I was just about to open some wine. You both know Kris.”
“Yes. How cozy,” Sophia began. “We’ll pass on the wine, thanks. We won’t be here long. You appear to be enjoying all your new employee benefits, Kris.”
“I much prefer the style of my new boss to the style of my old one.”
“I’m sure you’re a lot more friendly with your associates.”
“Ladies, please,” Jerry pleaded as he closed the door. “We’re all pros here. And we know executives switch companies every day. That’s business. I hope you’re not here to scold me for snatching one of yours. After all, Giambelli wooed one of our best away just last year. How is David, by the way? I heard he had a close call in Venice recently.”
“He’s doing very well. Fortunately for Kris, Giambelli has a firm policy against trying to kill former employees.”
“But apparently not a strong enough one against internal wars. I was shocked to hear about Donato.” Jerry lowered to the arm of a sofa. “Absolutely shocked.”
“We’re not wired, DeMorney.” Tyler ran an arm down Sophia’s arm to calm her. “So you can save the act. We paid Don a visit before we left Europe. He had some interesting things to say about you. I don’t think the police will be far behind us.”
“Really?” He’d been fast, Jerry thought, but apparently not quite fast enough. “I have more faith in our system than to believe the police, or anyone else for that matter, will put much credence in the ravings of a man who’d steal from his own family. This is a difficult time for you, Sophia.” He stood again. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“You could go to hell, but I’m not sure they’d have you. You should’ve been more careful,” she continued. “Both of you,” she added with a nod toward Kris. “Spending time at the castello, the winery, the bottling plant.”
“It’s not illegal.” Jerry shrugged. “In fact, it’s not an uncommon practice for friendly competitors to visit each other that way. We were invited, after all. You, and any member of your family, are always welcome at any La Coeur operation.”
“You used Donato.”
“Guilty.” Jerry spread his hands. “But again, nothing illegal about it. He approached me. I’m afraid he’s been unhappy at Giambelli for quite some time. We discussed the possibility of him coming aboard at La Coeur.”
“You told him to tamper with the wine. Told him how to do it.”
“That’s ridiculous and insulting. Be careful, Sophia. I understand you’re upset, but trying to deflect your family’s troubles onto me and mine isn’t the answer.”
“Here’s how it was.” Tyler had spent the hours in the air working it out in his head. Now he sat, made himself comfortable. “You wanted to cause trouble, serious trouble. Avano’d bounced on your wife. Hard for a man to take that, even if the other guy’s busy bouncing on every woman he can find. But trouble just slides right off Avano. Nothing sticks. He keeps his wife just where he wants her, which is out of his way but close enough to lock in his position with her family organization. That’s a pisser for you.”
“My ex-wife is none of your business, MacMillan.”
“But she was yours, and so was Avano. Goddamn Giambellis gave the son of a bitch free rein. Now there ought to be a way to take that rein and hang all of them. Maybe you know Avano’s skimming, maybe you don’t. But you know enough to look at Don. He cheats on his wife, too, and he’s pretty friendly with Avano. Don’s a friendly guy. Wouldn’t be hard for you to get close to him, hint that La Coeur would love to have him on the team. More money, more power. You’d play into his complaints, his ego, his needs. You find out about the dummy account, and now you’ve got something on him.”
“You’re fishing, MacMillan, and fishing bores me.”
“It gets better. Avano’s snuggling up to Sophia’s second in command. Isn’t that interesting? Dangle a carrot under her nose and you get lots of inside information. Did he offer you money, Kris? Or just a corner office with a nice, shiny brass plaque?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she took a quick and careful step away from Jerry. “My relationship with Tony had nothing to do with my position at La Coeur.”
“You keep thinking that,” Ty said casually. “Meanwhile, DeMorney, you keep playing on Don, nudging him along. Deeper, deeper. He’s got some money problems. Who doesn’t? You lend him a little, just a friendly loan. And you string him along about the move to La Coeur. What else can he bring to the table? Inside information? Not good enough.”
“My company doesn’t require inside information.”
“It’s not your company.” Ty inclined his head when he saw the fury spurt out of Jerry’s eyes. “You just want it to be. You talk to Don about the tampering, just a few bottles. Show him what he should do, could do, then how he’d be able to step in and be a hero when the shit hits. Just like you’ll be a hero at La Coeur because you’re primed and ready to move when Giambelli takes the hit. Nobody’s going to get really hurt, or that’s what you tell that poor sap Don. But it’d shake up the company good.”
“Pitiful.” Beneath his precisely tailored shirt, a line a sweat ran down Jerry’s back. “No one’s going to believe this fairy tale.”
“Oh, the pol
ice might be pretty entertained. Let’s just finish it out,” Ty suggested. “It goes wrong for Don, and an old man dies. No skin off your ass, of course. You’ve got Don by the short hairs now. He talks, he’s up for murder. Meanwhile, Giambelli’s moving right along. Avano’s still sliding. And one of your own moves to the enemy camp.”
“We’ve managed to bump along without the help of David Cutter.” He wanted to pour wine, carelessly, but realized his hand was shaking. “And you’ve taken up enough of my time.”
“Nearly done. You’d already started a second front, courting one of the brains in promotion, feeding her dissatisfaction, her jealousies. When the crisis hits, and you’re going to make sure it does, the Giambelli spin is going to be off balance.”
“I had nothing to do with this.” Kris grabbed her briefcase, began stuffing papers inside. “I don’t know anything about this.”
“Maybe not. Your style’s more the backstabbing variety.”
“I’m not interested in what you think or anything you have to say. I’m leaving.”
She bolted to the door, slammed it behind her.
“Wouldn’t count on too much company loyalty in that one,” Ty commented. “You underestimated Sophia, DeMorney. Just like you overestimated yourself. You got your crisis, you spilled your blood, but it hasn’t been enough for you. You want more, and that’s what’s going to choke you. Going after Cutter was stupid. Legal had copies of the paperwork, and Don knew it.”
Kris didn’t worry him. She could be sacrificed, like any pawn, if necessary. “Obviously Donato panicked. A man who’s killed once doesn’t scruple to kill again.”
“That’s right. Old Don, he doesn’t figure he killed anybody. The wine did. And he was too busy running to worry about David. I wonder who clued you in to the meet in Venice, and Don’s scramble to get the money out of his private account. The cops’ll work on that angle, and they’ll start tying you in. You’re going to have a lot of questions to answer, and before too much longer you’ll have your own public relations nightmare. La Coeur’s going to prune you off, pal, just like they would a diseased cane.”
Ty got to his feet. “You figure you’ve covered yourself, every inch. Nobody ever does. And when Don drowns, he’s going to drag you under with him. Personally, I’m going to enjoy seeing you go under for the third time. I didn’t care much for Avano. He was a selfish idiot who didn’t appreciate what he had. Don falls in the same category, at a slightly higher level. But you, you’re a dickless coward who pays people to do the dirty work you haven’t got the guts for. Doesn’t surprise me your wife went hunting elsewhere for someone with balls.”
He stood where he was, hands at his sides as Jerry lunged. And he took the fist on the jaw without making a move to block it. He even allowed Jerry to knock him back against the door.
“Did you see that?” Tyler asked Sophia calmly. “He punched me, now he’s laying hands on me. I’m going to ask him politely to stop. You hear that, DeMorney? I’m asking you, politely, to stop.”
“Fuck you.” Jerry bunched a fist and would have rammed it into Tyler’s belly if it hadn’t been stopped an inch from its mark. If it hadn’t suddenly been crushed and the pain radiating up his arm hadn’t dropped him breathless to his knees.
“You’re going to want to have that hand X-rayed,” Tyler told him as he gave him a light shove that sent Jerry the rest of the way to the floor in a curl of agony. “I think I heard a bone snap. Ready, Sophie?”
“Ah . . . yes.” Slightly dazed, she let Tyler draw her out the door, toward the elevator. Inside, she let out the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. “I’d like to point something out.”
“Go ahead.” He punched lobby level, leaned back.
“I didn’t interrupt, or ask any questions. I wasn’t compelled to flex my muscles,” she continued as Tyler’s mouth twitched. “Or prove to you I could handle things. I just want to mention all that.”
“Got it. You’ve got your areas of expertise and I’ve got mine.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Now let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“And then . . .” Sophia dug into the leftover lasagna while the family gathered in the villa’s kitchen. “Ty had his hand—I didn’t even see it happen. It was like lightning. This big hand covering Jerry’s pretty manicured one, which was probably still stinging from rapping against Ty’s jaw. Anyway”—she gulped down some wine—“all of a sudden Jerry’s gone white and his eyes are rolling back in his head and he’s folding like, I don’t know, an accordion toward the floor. And the big guy here’s not even breaking a sweat. I’m goggling, I know I am, but who wouldn’t, and Ty politely suggests that Jerry might want to get his hand X-rayed because he thinks he heard a bone snap.”
“Good lord.” Pilar helped herself to some wine. “Really?”
“Mmm.” Sophia swallowed. She was starving. The minute she’d walked in the door, she’d been starving. “I heard this little sound, like when you step on a twig. Rather horrible, really. Then we just left. And I have to say . . . Here, Eli, your glass is empty. I have to say that it was so quietly vicious, and exciting. So exciting, I’m not ashamed to say that when we got back on the plane, I jumped him.”
“Jesus, Sophie.” Tyler felt heat rise up the back of his neck. “Shut up and eat.”
“It didn’t embarrass you at the time,” she pointed out. “Whatever happens, however this all comes out, I’m always going to have the image of Jerry curled up on the floor like a cocktail shrimp. Nobody can take that away from me. Do we have any gelato?”
“I’ll get it.” Pilar got up from the table, then paused and kissed Ty on the top of the head. “You’re a good boy.”
Eli drew a breath, let it out. “He didn’t leave much of a mark on your jaw there.”
“Guy’s got pussy hands,” Ty said before he could think, then winced. “I beg your pardon, La Signora.”
“As you should. I don’t approve of such language at my table. But as I’m in your debt, I’ll overlook it.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.” She reached for his hand, held it tight. “That’s why I’m in your debt. My own blood betrayed me and mine. For days knowing that opened a hole in me, made me doubt myself. Things I’ve done and things I haven’t. Tonight I look and see the daughter of my daughter, and the boy Eli once brought to me. And that hole closes again. I regret nothing. I’m ashamed of nothing. How could I be? Whatever happens, we’ll go on. We have a wedding to plan,” she said, smiling as Pilar dished up ice cream. “A business to run, vines to tend.” She lifted her glass. “Per famiglia.”
Sophia slept like a log and woke early. At six she was already closed in her office, refining a press release and making personal calls to key accounts in Europe. By seven, she’d worked her way across the Atlantic to the East Coast. She was careful, very careful not to mention Jerry’s name, and not to accuse a competitor of shady practices. But she let the implication take root.
At eight, she judged it late enough to phone the Moores at home.
“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 cred
ible,” 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.”