fascinated her. “Then what happened?”
“About a dozen years ago, my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He slid slowly into dementia and died.” Noah stopped for a moment, his head bowed. Taking a breath, he finally continued. “When Nonna went looking for the bottle of wine—it was gone.”
“Gone?” She straightened up. “Gone where?”
“Wouldn’t we like to know?” Noah flashed a smile. “Nonno hid it, and hid it well. We’ve looked and looked, but it’s gone. And yet the trouble remains.”
Chapter 15
“Y our grandfather could have put that bottle of wine anywhere,” Penelope whispered.
“No.” Noah shook his head with assurance. “The hiding places are limited. It’s wine. Wine has to be properly cared for or it disintegrates, and a bottle of that age… Well, there’s a chance—a good chance—that no matter how well tended it was, the wine has soured. But the bottle was precious to Nonno, his heritage, the reason he was wounded and almost killed. He would have put it somewhere it would be preserved. He would have put it somewhere dark and cool.”
She had to object. “But he had Alzheimer’s. Maybe—”
“For Nonno, the proper care of wine wasn’t a function of his mind. It was like his hair color or the sound of his voice. The proper care of wine was bred into him by a thousand generations of Di Lucas, and he would never have abused that bottle.”
She didn’t know whether she believed Noah or not, but it didn’t matter. He believed it. His family believed it. But she saw a flaw in the logic. “So the person who broke into your grandmother’s house was someone hired by Joseph Bianchin to grab the bottle of wine?”
“That’s right.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“I do.”
“How?” She leaned forward, making her point. “Because frankly, if Joseph Bianchin had wanted that bottle of wine so badly he’s willing to resort to violence, he should have come for it sooner.”
Noah nodded at her. “Exactly our thoughts. But we knew it was Joseph who started the trouble, because we found the Internet ad looking for someone to do the job.”
“He put up an ad for criminals to beat up an elderly lady and put his name on it?” She made her disbelief plain in her voice.
“No, he put up an Internet ad saying someone would pay to recover a precious possession, and the sly old bastard covered his tracks very well. He’s smart enough to make sure nothing he does is prosecutable.” Noah’s face grew cold again. “But while Nonna was in the hospital, he visited her. He threatened her.”
Penelope dropped her gaze, watching as Noah’s athletic shoes moved across the faded, worn-to-nubs carpet. She didn’t want to hear this. She couldn’t bear the impact this had on her stay in Bella Terra. It made her purpose here… impossible. Horrible.
But Noah’s relentless voice continued. “He told my grandmother he wanted the bottle now .”
Slowly, Penelope lifted her gaze to him once more,and watched Noah with unwilling compulsion. His family had lived in the United States for over a century, yet he was Italian in looks and demeanor, using his hands to punctuate his sentences, to convey excitement or sorrow. His face, too, was mobile, his expressions so vivid she could almost see the generations of men, the malice, the danger.
“Later, once we realized what was going on, I told Bianchin to get the hell out of town, so he tried to convince me to hand it over. Like I would do anything for that mean old bastard.”
Noah didn’t know—couldn’t know—that each word made them enemies. “So Bianchin left town?”
“Nonna’s well liked here. We three brothers love her dearly.” Noah’s deep voice grew silky soft and dangerous. “If he hadn’t, I would have worried about his health.”
“You wouldn’t hurt an old man!” Would he?
“He hurt my grandmother—she might have died, and he wouldn’t have cared—so in fact, I would have done whatever
“About a dozen years ago, my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He slid slowly into dementia and died.” Noah stopped for a moment, his head bowed. Taking a breath, he finally continued. “When Nonna went looking for the bottle of wine—it was gone.”
“Gone?” She straightened up. “Gone where?”
“Wouldn’t we like to know?” Noah flashed a smile. “Nonno hid it, and hid it well. We’ve looked and looked, but it’s gone. And yet the trouble remains.”
Chapter 15
“Y our grandfather could have put that bottle of wine anywhere,” Penelope whispered.
“No.” Noah shook his head with assurance. “The hiding places are limited. It’s wine. Wine has to be properly cared for or it disintegrates, and a bottle of that age… Well, there’s a chance—a good chance—that no matter how well tended it was, the wine has soured. But the bottle was precious to Nonno, his heritage, the reason he was wounded and almost killed. He would have put it somewhere it would be preserved. He would have put it somewhere dark and cool.”
She had to object. “But he had Alzheimer’s. Maybe—”
“For Nonno, the proper care of wine wasn’t a function of his mind. It was like his hair color or the sound of his voice. The proper care of wine was bred into him by a thousand generations of Di Lucas, and he would never have abused that bottle.”
She didn’t know whether she believed Noah or not, but it didn’t matter. He believed it. His family believed it. But she saw a flaw in the logic. “So the person who broke into your grandmother’s house was someone hired by Joseph Bianchin to grab the bottle of wine?”
“That’s right.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“I do.”
“How?” She leaned forward, making her point. “Because frankly, if Joseph Bianchin had wanted that bottle of wine so badly he’s willing to resort to violence, he should have come for it sooner.”
Noah nodded at her. “Exactly our thoughts. But we knew it was Joseph who started the trouble, because we found the Internet ad looking for someone to do the job.”
“He put up an ad for criminals to beat up an elderly lady and put his name on it?” She made her disbelief plain in her voice.
“No, he put up an Internet ad saying someone would pay to recover a precious possession, and the sly old bastard covered his tracks very well. He’s smart enough to make sure nothing he does is prosecutable.” Noah’s face grew cold again. “But while Nonna was in the hospital, he visited her. He threatened her.”
Penelope dropped her gaze, watching as Noah’s athletic shoes moved across the faded, worn-to-nubs carpet. She didn’t want to hear this. She couldn’t bear the impact this had on her stay in Bella Terra. It made her purpose here… impossible. Horrible.
But Noah’s relentless voice continued. “He told my grandmother he wanted the bottle now .”
Slowly, Penelope lifted her gaze to him once more,and watched Noah with unwilling compulsion. His family had lived in the United States for over a century, yet he was Italian in looks and demeanor, using his hands to punctuate his sentences, to convey excitement or sorrow. His face, too, was mobile, his expressions so vivid she could almost see the generations of men, the malice, the danger.
“Later, once we realized what was going on, I told Bianchin to get the hell out of town, so he tried to convince me to hand it over. Like I would do anything for that mean old bastard.”
Noah didn’t know—couldn’t know—that each word made them enemies. “So Bianchin left town?”
“Nonna’s well liked here. We three brothers love her dearly.” Noah’s deep voice grew silky soft and dangerous. “If he hadn’t, I would have worried about his health.”
“You wouldn’t hurt an old man!” Would he?
“He hurt my grandmother—she might have died, and he wouldn’t have cared—so in fact, I would have done whatever
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