Betrayal (42 page)

The family had had small wine goblets made especially for the occasion, with B
ELOVED
G
RANDFATHER
A
NTHONY
D
I
L
UCA
etched into the glass, and Chloë placed thirty of them on the table, one for each guest.

The Di Lucas had focused floodlights on the table—it looked like the most narcissistic production ever staged, but they had their reasons, and the reasons had nothing to do with immodesty and everything to do with legendary diamonds and tight security.

A smiling Brooke joined them behind the table, holding the sleeping Katherine Sarah, and seated herself beside Penelope.

Everyone held their breaths as, with steady hands, Eli eased the cork out of the tall, narrow old bottle. He sniffed the cork and said in surprise, “I think… I think it’s good!”

Quiet applause.

Carefully Eli decanted the wine through a cheesecloth into a glass decanter.

More applause.

But no diamonds.

Sarah observed her family. They showed no reaction at all… because they had discussed this as a possibility. As the years passed and a wine aged, a hard red sediment called the lees settled out and clung to the sides of the bottle. The diamonds could very well be stuck in the lees.

But Joseph’s eyes narrowed.

Of course. The suspicious old bastard.

Rafe took the cheesecloth and put it into a waiting plastic bag, then took the bottle and placed it on a small stage built behind the table especially for that purpose. The bottle was easy to see—and hard to reach.

Eli poured the wine, drop by drop, into the glasses.

Thank God the bottle was bigger than the modern standard, and he managed to squeak out enough for everyone there.

When the glasses were full, Chloë handed them out.

“Wait for the toast!” Eli called.

When everyone had wine, all eyes turned to Sarah.

She moved into the spotlight. She lifted her glass. She looked up at the heavens. “For Anthony,” she said simply.

“For Anthony!” everyone repeated, and lifted their glasses.

Joseph looked as if he were having an appendicitis attack.

“And!” With a word, Noah stopped the guests. “For our grandmother, Sarah, kind and dear and an example of strength for us all.”

“For Sarah!” everyone repeated, and lifted their glasses again, and clicked them together.

Then, in a reverent silence, they drank.

Sarah held the glass for one more moment, breathing in the scent of deep red ripe fruit, spice, and a long-ago California summer sun. “Anthony, I miss you,” she whispered. Then she, too, took the wine in her mouth.

It was smooth, rich, with flavors that lingered on the tongue like a kiss on the lips.

Massimo’s wine was everything it was reputed to be.

And then… it was gone.

In unison, the families sighed in delight. A babble broke out as everyone compared their impressions, sniffed the glasses, tried to eke out another taste.

The Di Lucas remained around the table, accepting thanks, nodding and smiling, saying good night as slowly the guests took their leave.

Finally, only Sarah and Bao, Rafe and Brooke, Eli and Chloë, Noah and Penelope, and the babies were left.

And Joseph, of course.

Rafe let DuPey go home and shooed his own security people away. Although not Bao. They all insisted she stay. She knew what was in that bottle. Her curiosity was as keen as theirs.

Eli and Noah brought the lights closer and shined them on the table.

In a portentous silence, Eli spread plastic on the table.

Rafe opened the bag and pulled out the cheesecloth and Massimo’s glass bottle. He laid out the cheesecloth. “We decided that since Noah has the youngest eyes, he would be best suited to examine the cloth.”

No one even smiled.

They were too tense.

Noah used a magnifying glass, going over the stained cloth again and again. Straightening, he shook his head. “No. No diamonds. Not even the tiniest chip.”

Eli poured water into the bottle and swished it around, breaking the lees off the sides of the glass. Placing another clean white cheesecloth over the decanter, he strained the water and eighty years’ worth of wine sediment through the cloth.

Again, they laid the cheesecloth out, and both brothers stepped back to let Noah examine it.

With great care, he mashed up the lees, smoothing out the flakes and the lumps. He used the magnifying glass. He went over it again and again.

But everyone could see the truth.

Noah looked around at the faces staring at him incredulously. “There’s nothing here. There were no diamonds in this bottle.”

A babble broke out.

“All that for nothing?” Chloë said.

“People killed for nothing?” Penelope said.

“Shot twice for nothing?” Eli said.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Rafe reminded him. “The wine was very good.”

Eli nodded. “True.”

“Maybe somebody stole the diamonds from
Massimo?” Brooke suggested. Then, “No, because they never hit the market.”

“But where
did
he hide those diamonds?” Nonna’s eyes drooped. “Hm.”

Joseph leaned across the table and glared at Noah. “This was a trick!”

Penelope leaned back, little Anthony in her arms, and returned the glare. “Don’t accuse anyone here of thievery,
Father
. You could live to regret that.”

Noah patted her back until she settled down. In a sensible tone, he said, “Joseph, we did it like this for
you
. So
you
could see exactly what we did and how many diamonds came out of the bottle. We didn’t expect to come up clean, either. I mean, after all the trouble and pain we had, don’t you think we want the diamonds?”

“It’s a trick,” Joseph repeated.

“How do you think we stole the diamonds out of the bottle?” Rafe asked.

“You changed the bag.…” Joseph’s voice faded.

Rafe had kept the bag within view the whole time.

Slowly, as cold reality sank into his old brain, the red blotches of anger faded from Joseph’s cheeks. But he was still breathing hard, and he muttered, “I know Massimo stole those diamonds.”

Laughing softly to herself, Sarah slipped away from the table.

“Perhaps he did,” Noah said. “But even if he did, they weren’t ours to start with.”

“I suppose if they’re anybody’s, they are Noah’s,” Penelope said to her father. “
He’s
the last remaining Propov.”

Noah snorted. “Ah, the legacy of the Propovs. Bitterness, death, and lost diamonds.”

Sarah walked to the gift table, where all the babies’ presents were displayed. She knew exactly what she wanted: the gift Massimo had given Joseph at his birth.

“I did want to see the Beating Heart,” Chloë said wistfully.

“I want to see any six-point-eight-carat diamond,” Brooke responded.

All the women nodded in unison.

Picking up the satin-lined box, Sarah carried the antique silver rattle back to the little group that hovered under the lights, reluctant to let this evening end.

“Anyway, all those years ago, before the diamonds were stolen, they were sold to a duchess,” Noah said. “If we had found diamonds, they would belong to her, or rather, her descendants.”

“Actually, I did the research.” Chloë had that instructional tone in her voice, the one she got when she’d found information that excited her. “The insurance company decided the fault for the robbery lay in the Propovs’ handling of the security, and they made them pay the money back to the duchess. So in fact, with all known Propovs dead, the diamonds
are
yours, Noah. I mean… they would be if there were diamonds.”

“Noah is not the last of the Propovs,” Sarah pointed out. “Little Anthony is.”

“Poor kid.” But Noah grinned as he put his arm around Penelope and looked down at the baby in her arms.

“We’ll have to make sure he’s not the very last of the Propovs,” Penelope said. “In a year or two?”

“I would like that,” Noah murmured.

Sarah waited until the children had begun to clean up before she approached Joseph.

“It’s difficult to imagine Massimo
lost
such valuable pink diamonds,” she said to Joseph.

“I don’t believe it,” he snapped.

“I don’t either.” Picking up the rattle out of the box, she shook it back and forth, back and forth. The rattle did not so much ring… as clatter. “I think Massimo was even craftier than we could have ever imagined.”

Joseph stared at her as if she were a batty old woman.

What a thickheaded old fool.

“Noah!” she called sharply.

Noah responded to the tone in her voice, and hurried immediately to her side. “What is it, Nonna?”

“Earlier in the evening, I was admiring the gift Massimo gave the newborn Joseph Bianchin, and I was so pleased to see that today Joseph gave the precious rattle to his first grandchild, little Anthony.” Sarah’s smile invited Noah to share the joke.

Noah’s gaze fell to the silver rattle, and he said uncertainly, “Yes, that was very kind of Joseph.”

She shook the rattle again.

Joseph drew in a horrified breath.

Look at that.
Comprehension had finally dawned.

“Joseph is very generous,” she said, “for this is a
kingly
gift.”

Noah looked at Joseph. Looked at the silver baby toy in her hand. Met her gaze. And he, too, realized the truth. In a wondering tone, he said, “I think you’re right.”

“You should keep this in a safe place. You should guard it with your life.” She spoke to Noah, but she kept her gaze on Joseph. “And I think, on Anthony’s twenty-first birthday, you should present it to him with all ceremony.” As she handed the box to Noah, she shook the despised baby toy once more.

Joseph’s hand reached out in appeal.

“Thank you, Nonna.” Noah took the box and the rattle, and kissed her forehead. “That is exactly what Penelope and I will do.” And he, too, shook the toy.

Joseph stood stricken, staring, listening to the sound that diamonds made as they rolled back and forth, back and forth, inside the rattle.

Read on for a special preview
of the next book in Christina Dodd’s
Chosen Ones series,

WILDER

Coming from Signet Select in August.

Deep beneath the city of New York
Present Day

C
harisma Fangorn was so busy shaking the heavy plastic grip on her flashlight, trying to eke another minute’s worth of illumination out of the wavering bulb, she never noticed the abrupt drop-off until she stepped out into nothingness.

Her flashlight went flying, a brief illumination that twirled away from the hot, close air of the tunnel and into the void. Then the glass shattered, plunging Charisma into bleak darkness. She landed on her feet, on the sharp stone edge of… somewhere. Her foot slipped off. She fell again. Landed on her hands and knees, irretrievably off-balance. On a stair. Stone stairs. She tumbled, curled into the fetal position, protecting her head with her arms, hitting each step, bruising each rib, her hips, her knees, her elbows. She hit bottom face-first, felt her chin split and her eye blacken, and something snapped in her shoulder.

Pain crashed through her, overwhelming her.

She tried to scream. Tried to move. Got her breath. Screamed, except… it sounded like a whimper.

Oh, God. Oh, please. Please, God…

Don’t pray. Don’t attract their attention.
Down here the mouth of hell lurked too close and yawned too wide.

She rested there, gasping, getting control, subduing the agony, praying—not praying—sure her collarbone was broken,
wanting
it not to be true.

Without moving, she tried to look behind her.

Where was behind? The dark was… blacker than anything she had ever seen.

Except for eyes, glowing eyes, dozens of eyes, moving, shifting, circling.

She needed to get up. Get moving. Find her way out. Now.

But… agony. Pain everywhere.
Agony
… collarbone definitely broken.

She breathed again, in through her nose, out through her mouth, as her yoga teacher had taught her, controlling her mind, soothing her nerves…

Every time this happened, every time she broke a bone… the pain blistered her. Usually, though, she got hurt during a fight, and adrenaline kept her going. This time… she had nothing except a warm, flat stone surface under her body, a darkness so thick it smothered her, and fear. So much fear.

She tried to remain still, to allow the pain to subside. But it didn’t, and she couldn’t.

She groaned.

How could she have been so unwary? She knew the treacherous passages down here. In the last three days—or was it five days?—she’d been all over, looking for the way out.

There was no way out.

Just as there was no end to the pain. Or the fear.

So dark.

So hungry. So thirsty.

That was why she’d fallen. She’d been down here for days. Three days. No, more, because she’d been without food for at least three days, had drained the last of her water more than forty hours ago.

Probably. Maybe. Her phone was dead—not that it did her any good, so far underground, except as an alternative flashlight.

The stones in her bracelet hummed softly, warning her.

She wanted to snap at them. Which made no sense. They were stones. Although they spoke to her, they did not live.

They warned her that danger lurked, but what good did it do? She knew she was in trouble. She was dying of hunger and thirst, her body was broken and bleeding, she was half-insane with the need to sleep, and she kept thinking she would gladly die of any of those causes… because when she looked behind her, or in front of her, she saw those eyes, glowing eyes, in the dark.

She had to find the wall, to get her back against it, to prepare her weapons for a fight to the death. The wall… was where the glowing demon eyes were not. Not too far. A few feet, perhaps. She could move a few feet.