Wild Cat (18 page)

“When Cordeau disappeared, he left a huge, very lucrative territory up for grabs. Everyone made a move on it. Some were willing to divide it up and share, others wanted it for themselves, and a couple of Cordeau's men were making a bid for it as well. Your grandfather was one of the bosses who wanted to keep it all for himself. He had Luigi Baldini and Angelo Fabbri taken out because he feared they'd fight him for it. Angelo was making noises in that direction. Antonio went after me for the same reason.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And Don Miguel and Carlo Bianchi? That was months ago,
before
Cordeau disappeared. Carlo was his friend for
years
. He spoke at his funeral. He cried. I had to finish his talk for him.”

“Don Miguel was always a threat to him. It was no secret he wanted to expand his business, and your grandfather refused to allow it. Carlo Bianchi had formed an alliance with Don Miguel, mostly because Carlo had grown weak and Don Miguel was eating away at the edges of his territory. By cementing his relationship with Don Miguel, Carlo could keep his territory together. Or so he thought.”

“So it was all about power plays. They weren't really friends at all, after what? Fifty years? Sixty? For money?”

“Mostly for power,” Elijah said. He slid the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate, added a few chips and took it to the table. “Come eat, sweetheart.”

“Why would my grandfather use me to deliver the wine?” She uncurled her legs and seated herself at the kitchen table. She'd seen the long, gleaming oak table with inlaid wood as they'd passed the formal dining room. This was much smaller, but no less beautiful. She ran her hand over the glossy surface before she slipped into the wide, padded chair.

Elijah sighed. Went silent.

Her gaze jumped to his face. “Elijah?”

“How much do you remember about the second kidnapping attempt?”

She swallowed hard. Shook her head. “Not much. I remember more about the first one. The second one I think I went into shock. They stabbed a needle in my arm, and everything was fuzzy after that. Not much,” she repeated lamely, because she really didn't and it bothered her a lot.

“Don Miguel was always suspected of that attempt on you by most of the bosses.”

Siena gasped and went still. She'd known Don Miguel all of her life. He had been friends with her grandfather. Close friends.

“He convinced your grandfather that it wasn't him. Truthfully, your grandfather, being leopard, would hear a lie. So if Don Miguel was guilty, and I'm fairly certain he was, your grandfather would have known. It would be very like Antonio to want revenge on Don Miguel—and no one else would ever suspect you of distracting someone while a hit man entered their home. Because you truly were innocent, you wouldn't give off anything that would tell the mark he was in danger. Antonio would like that. You delivering his reserve while Marco enters the house. What a sweet revenge.”

“That's
awful
.” But she could see Antonio waiting patiently for years for her to grow up. He would do that. He liked his petty revenge on anyone he thought had slighted him. It would be just like him.

“The other very real reason is if you were part of the murder, he could force you to do what he wanted because you would be tainted. Your grandfather liked to control everything and everyone in his world.”

The air left her lungs in a long rush. More than anything, her grandfather had wanted her to marry Paolo. She had always laughed, brushing the idea off because she wasn't the least physically attracted to the man. He hadn't asked her
out, or acted interested in her until a couple of years earlier when he began watching her closely. The way he watched her lately had actually creeped her out, so much so that she had taken an additional couple years of schooling just to avoid going home. Paolo hadn't worried about trying to court her because he believed he had her no matter what. Now she knew why.

“Once he sent you in, and he probably figured he'd only do it that one time to exact his revenge, it worked so well that he kept doing it.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from crying. Everything Elijah told her made sense.

“What would you like to drink?”

His voice was soft. Gentle. She had to blink back tears. “Water,” she answered, without looking up. Absently, she traced patterns in the tabletop. “He wanted me to marry Paolo. He talked about it all the time. Ever since I turned eighteen. I thought he was joking at first. Paolo never even looked at me then. Even that night, after Paolo beat me and Nonno saw what he'd done to me, he still wanted me to marry him.”

“Baby,” Elijah said softly. “Don't. I told you I didn't want to share this shit with you. It hurts. I don't like being the one to cause that hurt.”

“You aren't, Elijah. I need to know this. It was my grandfather who hurt me. He couldn't love me for some reason, and I guess I'll never really know why.”

“Never for one minute think that he didn't love you, Siena. Your grandfather loved you.”

She lifted her gaze to his face. “He didn't though, Elijah. I'm not certain he knew what love was.”

“He loved you,
mi amor
. No one could have you in their life and not love you. He lost sight of what was important. Once your grandmother died, he lost himself. My uncle and aunt used to talk about it. How different he was. How hard he became. How focused on being at the top. Before, when
she was alive, he laughed all the time. He had parties and opened the winery to his friends. He was very closed off after she died.”

His hand swept down the length of her hair in a caress. Gentle. So gentle her heart did a curious little melting around the edges and her stomach fluttered as if a million butterflies had taken wing.

“I was lost too, and he sent me away.”

Elijah put a glass of water in front of her and then pulled out the chair beside hers. He sat down, his thigh pressing against hers. Close. Staying close to her. For comfort. To make her feel safe. She realized it was the little things that mattered. He did those little things. He'd done them in the hospital. Braiding her hair. Noticing her lips were dry and smoothing on lip balm. Each time the pain got too bad, he'd already called the nurse. If anyone opened the door, his body had glided between the door and the hospital bed, shielding her from sight.

“You're not eating, Siena,” he reminded softly.

She picked up half of the sandwich. “It's very thoughtful of you, trying to convince me that my grandfather loved me, but he didn't even want me home with him.”

“Baby, I was there. In your home, having dinner with you. Do you remember that? He sat at the head of the table. He was laughing then. The only times I ever saw him laughing was when you were around. He had a great booming laugh that could make everyone in a room want to laugh with him. He looked at you so proudly, and he talked about how well you did in school. Do you remember him telling everyone that you already knew everything there was to know about growing grapes for the wines? That you'd been following him around the vineyards since you were first able to walk just absorbing information like a sponge. He bragged about you, Siena, all the time. Your name came up in any conversation and he was smiling and bragging.”

She bit her lip hard. She did remember his laugh. The board games he would play with her after dinner when she was home on her short visits from school. She hadn't wanted to remember because then it would hurt too much, and she had to acknowledge her part in his death. She'd driven Paolo over the edge.

Her eyes burned and tears spilled over. “If I'd just kept my mouth shut,” she whispered. “Elijah, I shouldn't have tipped my hand like that. If only I'd not said a thing. But it was such a betrayal that he hadn't fired Paolo on the spot. I wanted to hurt both of them. I knew it was his dream to have me marry Paolo, and I knew Paolo wanted the inheritance.”

His hand caught her chin and he turned her head toward him. “I need you to look at me, baby,” he said softly. “I need you to hear me. Can you do that for me?”

“You have to stop being sweet to me, Elijah.” A fresh flood of tears tracked down her face. Embarrassed, she tried to turn her face away, but his hand, firm but gentle, prevented movement. She had cried in front of him too many times, but her brain had simply refused to process her grandfather's death until that moment. “I can't pretend I didn't say those awful things to him. I can't pretend Paolo didn't shoot him because he was going to change his mind and let me choose someone else.”

“You aren't thinking this through, Siena,” he said, his thumb moving through the tears on her face. “He couldn't dictate to you who you would marry. Both of them knew that. Paolo didn't court you because he was certain he didn't have to. We aren't in a country where there are arranged marriages. All you would have to do is say no. Both of them had to know you could do that, yet Paolo felt confident enough to beat you and then calmly walk downstairs and talk to your grandfather. He didn't act remorseful. You told Drake he didn't even say he was sorry.”

Had she said that? Drake had asked her a lot of questions
when she was there in the hospital and she'd answered all of them as honestly as possible. Elijah had been in the room because he never seemed to leave. He'd heard everything she'd said—and clearly he remembered it.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“Paolo has something on you, something to connect you to the murders. He's counting on that to force you to marry him. He's so certain you'll do what he wants that he hasn't bothered to court you or pretend that he's going to treat you decently.”

Her heart stopped and then began to stutter in her chest. Hard. The blood drained from her face and she tasted fear in her mouth. Stricken, her eyes met Elijah's. “Oh. My. God. He does.” She shook her head. “But he can't. I didn't even know they were killing anyone. What could they possibly have on me?”

“The wine. It connects you to all of the murders. You show up with the wine and within hours the man you visited is dead. Drake checked into it with his police friends and there was never a case of wine at any of the houses. Marco had to have brought the wine back with him.”

She chewed slowly, not tasting the delicious cheese sandwich. “If the wine wasn't there, how could it possibly throw suspicion on me?”

“Babe.” His voice went soft. Gentle. “Everyone these days has security cameras, and you can bet anyone in our business has them. Marco had to have removed the tapes. He must have brought them back to Paolo, so Paolo has evidence of you arriving with your case of wine. The case of wine that was never found at any of the crime scenes.”

Her heart thudded again. The sandwich tasted like cardboard and she forced herself to swallow. “Anyone in our business?” she repeated. “You're in the same business my grandfather was in?”

She'd dreaded asking the question. All along she'd been dragging her feet, avoiding it, hoping that a miracle would
happen and he would be anything but what he appeared. The Lospostos name was associated with crime. With murder.

Elijah's gaze turned diamond hard just that fast. The soft lines in his face disappeared and he looked . . . intimidating. Dangerous. Very, very scary. His hand slid along the back of her chair and then into her hair.

“Baby, I grew up in a family so deep in that shit we bathed in it. Every relative I had was or is involved. I cut my teeth on enforcing and then gunrunning. I told you from the beginning I wasn't clean. I wouldn't have been sitting at your grandfather's table if I had been.”

The blow was much harder to take than she expected. She found herself hunched over, the cheese sandwich a stone in her stomach. She couldn't look at him anymore because he would see how that piece of news affected her—she didn't have a poker face. His admission shouldn't have stunned her, but it did.

“Mi amor,”
he said softly. “You know my name. You hear or read the news. I'm not going to hide what my family is. It would be ludicrous to try. I didn't know any other way of life. I didn't know there was any other way of life.”

She twisted her fingers together in her lap beneath the cover of the table, keeping her head down, allowing her hair to fall around her face, hiding her expression. She'd promised him she'd give herself time to process, but how did anyone process what he was admitting?

“Finish eating, Siena, while we talk.”

She pushed away from the table. “I'm not hungry anymore.” If she could have, she would have run from him. Run from the room with her hands over her ears. It was so much easier to be the girl coming home from boarding school believing her grandfather owned a winery and just didn't like having little children around.

Elijah didn't argue with her, rising with her as she stood up. Instead, he leaned down and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her stomach fluttered. Her
heart somersaulted. He'd held her so carefully after he found her, running with her to the helicopter. She remembered the feel of his arms and his hard chest. The steady sound of his heart beating. He made her feel safe when her entire world was collapsing around her. The very strange thing was, she still felt safe in spite of the information he'd just disclosed to her.

Siena sighed and slid her arms around his neck, buried her face against his shoulder and hung on, her mind racing as he carried her back through his beautiful, perfect house. She loved his house. She loved being in his arms. She loved his wild hair and his rock-hard body. She didn't love what he was telling her, but she did love that he told her the truth.

He moved with a fluid, casual elegance, his muscles rippling subtly, suggestively beneath his skin. “Thanks for not judging me, Siena.”

It wasn't about judging him. It was about having a baby with him. Raising a child with him. She tightened her hold on him and pressed her face deeper into him, breathing him in. She even loved the way he smelled. She was so far gone on him she could barely separate her dreams of him from the reality.