Revenge at Bella Terra Read Free Page B

and dated from the late nineteenth century, when Ippolito Di Luca arrived in central California, bought land all around long, narrow Bella Valley, and planted his first acres with the grapes he had brought from the old country. Nonna said Ippolito, a legendary vintner, had nursed his cuttings through the sea voyage from Italy, and within ten years his winemaking talents allowed him to buy this piece of ground. Here he had built this stylish farmhouse with tall ceilings, narrow windows, and ornate trim. Here he had brought his bride. Here they had started the Di Luca dynasty.
    Of course, she had brought land and vineyards as her dowry.
    So really, this marriage of convenience Eli was contemplating was nothing new. It was practically a family tradition.
    Except, of course, the first Di Luca bride knew all the facts. Stories about Allegra Di Luca said that she took pride in providing her share of the income, that she ran the home and the farm while Ippolito created his wines. Would Chloë Robinson be that kind of help to Eli?
    Who the hell knew?
    “Grandchildren? What if I don’t like her?”
    “How could you not like her? She’s American, like you. She’s pretty. She’s young. Twenty-three.”
    “For God’s sake, man, I’m thirty-four. Too old for her.”
    “She needs a mature man, one to make her decisions for her.”
    “Your American daughter is going to let someone make her decisions for her? What does she say about this marriage of convenience?”
    “Nothing. She knows nothing. And I would take it badly if you told her.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
    “She’s stubborn. She rejects every husband I offer her, so you’ll have to be crafty. It won’t be easy. She’s smart, like me, and she has become . . . suspicious.”
    “Imagine that.”
    “She graduated in the top of her class at Rice University in Houston. She wrote a book. Only twenty-one years old when her first book was published, only twenty-two when it was optioned for a movie.”
    “How are her teeth?”
    “Good. Strong, white. Also, she’s a virgin.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s twenty-three and . . . Wait. How would you know?”
    “I had her investigated, of course.”
    For the first time, Eli had felt sympathy for the poor kid. Her traditional Italian father was brokering a deal to marry her off. He didn’t get the joke when Eli asked about her teeth as if she were a horse he was considering for purchase. And Tamosso had investigated her love life.
    “A powerful man like you, you want a wife unsullied by another man’s touch.”
    Not really. What Eli wanted was to pick his own wife, make sure she was calm, quiet, attractive, desired the same things he did, was willing to support him in his endeavors. . . .
    He’d said all that once to Nonna. She’d suggested he buy a yellow Lab.
    Women. They stuck together.
    But he wanted a helpmate; he sure as hell didn’t need a young prima donna with a career that took her into the limelight.
    If only he were willing to ask his family for help.
    But when he had taken control of Di Luca Wines, he had sworn he would create a place for himself in this world, in Bella Valley. He had vowed he would elevate the family fortunes—and to his great pride, he had been doing just that.
    He had no modesty about his gift for creating wines that sang on the tongue. The gift was God-given, but he had gone to school, worked hard, learned how to cultivate his senses and when to trust his instincts. He was good at what he did. He won awards. His wines always rated at the top of the lists. He was everything Nonna (and Tamosso Conte) believed—one of the world’s finest vintners.
    Until his accountant, his friend Owen Slovak, had fled to South America, leaving Eli to discover that the bank account was clean and the taxes were in arrears. If Eli didn’t lay hands on a small fortune soon, the IRS was going to foreclose on the winery.
    What a fool he had been to trust anyone outside of his family. To trust