The Heart Of The Game (2 page)

“Ah yes, Zoe. Lovely name.” Donato tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Santino thinks he’s deep undercover, but the fools in the Finance Exchange don’t pay their people quite enough. Our inside man has done his job. It is possible that Santino suspects the leak, suspects that someone has tipped off the Komarovs, that his cover may be blown. Perhaps that’s why he moved the family, to keep them out of harm’s way. When this data tying you and our family to them disappears, I don’t care what happens to the Komarovs. Or to the Tavonesis, for that matter. Although I must admit I liked that girl.”

Donato’s use of the past tense had Vico paying attention. Outsiders could be pawns when money and the family’s position were at stake.

Donato was no longer smiling. “You have chosen badly, Vico. The Komarovs operate in a world far beyond our reach. And they are ruthless.”

He sipped his champagne, calm in the face of the violence he was suggesting could unfold.

“In any case, Santino is an intelligent man, so do not underestimate him. He fancies himself a surveillance expert. Charming, really, to be fascinated with such toys. My source tells me the drive holding the data”—Donato levered a slicing gaze to Vico—“the data that could crush you and taint our name, is somewhere on the Tavonesi compound in California.”

Adrenaline lit through Vico. Never had the family trusted him with a mission. No one had to say that this was his chance to be a hero in their eyes.

His palms sweated with the weight of the facts that no one but he and the Komarovs knew. The secrets he harbored. The plans he’d already put into action. It was likely that Santino had copies of the data hidden on multiple drives. But if Vico could get hold of the data, insert one of his clever worms and force it to link and destroy all related information—or better yet, harness the data for his own purposes—well now, the prospect of such a challenge was nearly as appealing as that of luring Zoe Tavonesi to his bed.

“Get the girl to trust you. Your passion for electronic tinkering should serve you well in breaking through Tavonesi’s security, if it comes to that. And when you bring the drive to me, we shall toast your success.” Donato set his glass on the carved wooden table beside him and crossed his arms. “And you will cease these activities, Vico. Involving the family in such petty crimes is demeaning.”

That for two hundred years the Gualdieri family had been at the heart of vendettas, had been vicious pirates and cold-blooded killers, didn’t seem to be remembered. Now—now that they had the legitimate business with the casinos—no one cared to recall that the fortune behind their growing wealth had been seeded with blood.

But Vico feared the Komarov family more than his own. He should’ve chosen his partners more carefully. He hadn’t anticipated the late-night visitor the Komarovs had sent to his apartment just two nights prior. The well-muscled messenger had frightened him. And momentarily made him consider opting out and walking away. What had started out as a thrilling gambit had slid into a morass of deception. But they underestimated him, Vico assessed. Just as his family did. He was a master. And if he recovered the drive, he’d hold another key, a key to his own power and wealth.

Donato couldn’t know he’d just opened the door to a brilliant future.

Donato handed him an envelope.

“Moldano will teach you what you need to know about the... shall we say,
practicalities
of such an operation.” He tapped his fingers along the chair’s arm. “I’d send him with you but”—he tapped his fingers again—“a few unfortunate episodes have landed him on the no-fly list.”

Vico tipped a photograph out of the envelope and stared into Moldano’s unreadable face.

“Just don’t fall prey to any of Moldano’s drastic methods.” Donato twisted the heavy gold signet ring on his finger and met Vico’s gaze with a lethal stare. “That is, unless you have to.” He leaned back into his chair and let out a heavy sigh. “I think you know what I mean. You got us in, Vico. Now get us out.”

Vico nodded and raised his glass in a toast, forcing a smile. And knew what he would do. Knowing at the same time that he’d never be forgiven.

It was supposed to be a perfect day.

Zoe squinted into the sunlight blazing off the panels of the very large, very well grounded white tent covering one side of the polo field and cursed under her breath.

In less than an hour, hundreds of guests would arrive expecting to watch a world-class polo match. It didn’t matter that the event was a fundraiser for the Boys and Girls Club or that the weather was Sonoma perfection—bright sun with a cool breeze—or that the food and drink would be sublime—the ticket holders had paid good money to see great polo.

And her handpicked team was one rider short.

Zoe put her hands to her hips and tried not to glare at the cousin striding toward her.

“Tell me again, Parker, how a baseball catcher who has
never
been on a polo pony in his life is going to learn the game in an hour? And maybe remind me why you just had to climb up on a ladder at the last minute to adjust a
garland
?”

Zoe tried to keep the sharp edges of her Italian-accented English soft, but if there was one undeniable quality about her native language, it was excellent for expressing irritation.

And Zoe was irritated.

She should never have agreed to host the dratted fundraiser.

Parker nodded toward the festively decorated tent. “I’m a perfectionist, darling.”

He had the soft vowels of a Sonoma-born-and-bred Californian. It made him sound calm and collected, everything Zoe wasn’t feeling at the moment. He tossed the ice pack he’d been holding against his wrist on a nearby table.

“It’s what you love about me, remember?”

“I’m not remembering anything I love about you right now.”

But she did love him and couldn’t help but crack an appreciative smile. He’d worked for days overseeing every detail of the event. Falling from a ladder and spraining the wrist of his playing hand hadn’t been in Parker’s plans either. At least he’d laughed when she’d volunteered to tape his mallet to his arm.

How could she chastise him?

That very morning, when some of the children from the Boys and Girls Club had shown up to help serve the tables, their eager smiles and enthusiasm had won his heart as well as hers.

He truly was a generous man.

A loud woofing had her turning in time to see a waiter sidestepping Pulu and Kaja, her beloved Maremma sheepdogs.

“Zoe, you promised.”

Parker might love horses, but he had little patience for dogs.

She knelt to rub first Pulu and then Kaja behind their ears. Then she wrapped her arms around both and snuggled between them, breathing in the familiar scent of their sun-warmed coats.

“I’ll put them in the back paddock,” she said as she stood. “
A terra
,” she commanded in a soft voice, and they settled near her feet. She had to smile at Parker’s grimace as her dogs sniffed at waiters passing by carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres to the tent.

“They appear to love their new home,” Parker said.

“What you mean is why hasn’t their enthusiasm worn off on me?”

“I didn’t say that. I know what it’s like to feel displaced.” Parker slipped his arm around her. “Don’t fret so much. Cody Bond was a rodeo champ. He knows his way around a horse.”

“We are talking
polo
here, not performing in a ring with red capes and bulls.”

“That’s bullfighting; rodeo’s different. Cody rode very well according to Alex. He was Montana state champion in bronc riding.”

Such a title meant nothing to Zoe. When she wrinkled her nose, Parker added, “Alex tells me catchers are good at defense. He can ride position four.”

“Of all days for Adrian to be up in Seattle for a vintner’s meeting. I didn’t even know they
made
wine in Washington.” She pulled away from Parker. “How far is Seattle, anyway?”

“A two-hour flight. And that’s not including time to and from the airports.”

She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a bun at the top of her head. The tension on her scalp matched the tension in her neck, so she rolled her shoulders, trying to cast it off. “What about Brent Ormond?”

Parker shrugged. “All the guys from my team are playing the Montero Open in Argentina with your brother. And the local players have a championship match in Santa Barbara today.” He swiped his uninjured hand through his hair. “Believe me, I’ve called around. Cody’s your only shot. Unless you’re going to ride.”

“You know I can’t. It’s a men’s match—the Panamanians insisted. Stupid idea, but I went along with it. Besides, I have to deal with this
event
—with the people. I promised.” She untwisted her hair and batted the unruly strands away from her face. “I always keep my promises.”

Dealing with diplomats and socialites was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d much rather be shooting for goals on her favorite mount. And she was still steamed that Coco and Anastasia had managed to wrangle out of helping. Evidently a trait that came with being the babies of the family. But the twins were twenty-one, for goodness’ sake. They could start to step up to some family responsibilities. She let out a deep sigh. Maybe she was just mad that they seemed to have adjusted to life in California far quicker than she had. Maybe she felt guilty because she had no intentions of adjusting. If all went as she’d planned, she’d be back in Rome in two months, following through on her real promise, the promise that kept her from dropping into despair.

Parker leaned down and petted the dogs. “Be careful what you promise family,
cara mia
—it gets me into trouble every time.” He looked up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now that I’m not playing,
I
can handle hosting the party. You could pin your hair up, wear my togs. Talk in a low, growling voice.”

The scenario was beyond tempting. When she didn’t laugh, he slid her a sideways glance.

“What’s the big deal who wins?” He tilted his head toward the lavishly decorated tent. “It’s a fundraiser, not a polo cup.”

“It
always
matters who wins. And whichever team wins today gets the fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for the charity of their choice. The Panamanians are just going to use it to improve their club lounge. The Boys and Girls Club could do so much more good with such money.” She crossed her arms and looked out at the field. “I was
counting
on you to play in the three spot, to captain my team. I was—”

Tears welled and she blinked, fighting them back. It wasn’t just the polo match. Her emotions were raw. Had been for longer than she wanted to remember.

Parker slid a finger under her chin and tipped her gaze to his. “This isn’t about polo.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t hide her feelings from Parker.

If her mother hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have gotten roped into doing the fundraiser. If her mother were alive, they’d be in Rome, opening the Galleria Visione and surrounded by friends and the sparkling city she loved. But Mama had died. Too young and too fast and too painfully. When Zoe’s grief-stricken father insisted on moving nearly the whole family from Rome to California, Zoe and her siblings had gone along with his plan because they were afraid he would fall apart.

Zoe was pretty sure the hurried move had been undertaken more to ease his breaking heart than to start a new wine venture, even if that had been the reason he’d given them all. After all, if every street, every sound, every smell at Villa di Fiore made her think of her mother, she could only imagine how much more devastating such memories must have been for her father. Her mother had been more than a remarkable woman and amazing wife and mother. She’d been a force of love. Zoe missed her with a longing that ripped at her insides like a barbed hook that wouldn’t be dislodged without drawing blood.

But even in the face of such disturbing memories, the drastic uprooting of the family seemed impulsive. She’d heard grief could make people act irrationally, but her father was usually a very rational man.

Still, he hadn’t offered them a choice, not really. He’d just gathered them together and announced the move. Said the family was starting a new venture in California.

How her father had managed to organize the property purchases and construction in such a short time frame was beyond her. But he was a man of decisive action. He probably could’ve settled them on the moon if he’d had a mind to.

He’d refurbished Casa del Sole, an old estate in the Sonoma hills, and added a private apartment on the second floor for Zoe. He’d also built a combined photography and sculpting studio with a living space above for the twins just south of the main house and set up her other sisters in the sprawling Victorian house down by the stream. Dante and Adrian were living in a rented estate just up the road until their houses were finished. But her other brothers fared best, in her opinion. Out of the eleven Tavonesi children, only Gaetano and Rafe got to stay behind in Italy. They were needed to run the family’s Italian estate and vineyards. She’d pleaded to stay at Villa di Fiore with her brothers, but her father had insisted she join the rest of the family in Sonoma. There was wide-open space in Sonoma, he’d argued. Room for a proper pasture for her polo ponies, room to roam. And he needed her to help run the new vineyard.

And if anything, Zoe was a dutiful daughter.

But there were limits. Surely there were.

She’d managed to escape the frenzy to spend the summer at her Aunt Liliana’s ranch in Argentina. She’d thought that being with her mother’s sister would help ease the deep ache of grief. Had imagined that she could lose herself riding the magnificent countryside and playing polo with Argentina’s most talented riders. Had believed that hard riding and working on her plans for the gallery would allow her to ignore the pain and erase the images of caring for her mother in her last days as she’d struggled for life.

She had been wrong.

In August her father had thwarted her plans to go to Rome, insisting that she return to California to work with Adrian to develop the new winery.
A Tavonesi family effort
, he’d said. Under his firm command she’d heard the odd sound in his voice, the sound of ache and hurt and something else, something strong but indecipherable, something that scared her to her bones. So she’d packed her bags and returned to Sonoma.

Parker wrapped her in his arms and hugged her close, bringing her thoughts back to the challenges of this place, this afternoon. She shuddered, fighting the sting of tears.

“This fundraiser is just one more of Papa’s not-so-veiled attempts to get me to put down roots. All this mad frenzy of construction and planning and activities piled one on top of the other—it’s his way of coping,
his
way of grieving. But it’s not working for me. Every day I wake up here and I hope for a better day, but then this thick, dark feeling settles in, coating every moment in a web, like gray fog. And no matter how hard I try to make it so, nothing about California feels like home.”

Parker listened, with Zoe grateful that he didn’t offer any platitudes. He might be the wild black sheep, but he had a wise heart under all his bravado.

“I
have
to get back to Rome. I’ve bought the building to house the gallery, the architect is finishing the interior plans and—”

“Hey.” He pressed her away and held her in his unwavering gaze. “I have a friend working on a project near the Piazza Navona, close by the space you bought. He can oversee a crew for you and get the gallery in shape in no time. A springtime bash in Rome to celebrate the gallery’s completion will cheer you.”

Wanting to buoy her hope, she let his words sink in. Maybe together they could pull off the opening as she’d planned. But in the past weeks, her father’s strange behavior had her worrying she might lose him too.

“I’m concerned about Papa, Parker—I’d like to believe he’s in stronger shape before I leave. I’ve watched him since I got back from Argentina. He’s up late, takes off without notice for days at a time, and there’s a hollow look to him I’ve never seen. He wanders in the garden and looks more than preoccupied—he appears lost. And not just lost in thought, but
lost
.”

She knew the feeling herself. But lately her father had been edgier than usual. They all were. Grief had long, tenacious fingers. But she suspected that it was more than that, if there could be anything worse than losing the love of your life. Something new troubled him. And he wouldn’t talk about it. When she’d questioned him, he’d just pasted on a smile and told her not to worry.

She hauled in a breath and fingered the necklace that she never took off. The tiny gold horse that hung from the delicate chain had been a gift from her mother for her thirteenth birthday, the year she won her first polo match. The gift was an unspoken sign that she’d understood Zoe’s dreams.

Parker must’ve seen the defeat in her eyes. He smiled the Tavonesi smile and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Zizi.” He smiled, using her family nickname. “Let’s focus on today.”

“You’re
such
an American. Always practical.”