The Villa

she said to Theo and Maddy. "I'm head of the family and responsible for that pain."
    "Dad works for you. He was doing his job." As his stomach continued to shudder, Theo clenched his teeth. "It's that bastard's fault, not yours. Is he in jail?"
    "No. They've yet to find him. It appears he's run." Disdain edged her voice. "Left his wife, his children and has run. I promise you he will be found; he will be punished. I'll see to it."
    "He'll need money. Resources," Ty put in.
    "You'll need someone in Venice to clear this up." Sophia rose. "I'll leave tonight."
    "I won't put another of mine in danger."
    "Nonna, if Donato was using an account to skim funds, he had help. My father. It's my blood," she continued in Italian, "as much as yours. My honor, as much as yours. You can't deny me my right to make amends." She took another breath, switched to English. "I'll leave tonight."
    "Hell." Tyler scowled. "We'll leave tonight."
    "I don't need a baby-sitter."
    "Yeah, right." He lifted his gaze now, met hers with chilled steel. "We've got an equal stake in this, Giambelli. You go, I go. I'll check out the vineyards, the winery," he said to Tereza. "If anything's off there, I'll spot it. I'll leave the paper trail to the paper pusher."
    So, Tereza thought as she looked at Eli across the room. The next step in the cycle. We pass the burdens to the young.
    "Agreed." Tereza ignored Sophia's hissing breath. "Your mother will worry less if you're not alone."
    "No, I'll just spread the worry out over two people. Mama, Gina and her children?"
    "They'll be provided for. I don't believe in the sins of the father." Tereza shifted her gaze to Sophia's, held it. "I believe in the child."
     
    The first thing David did when he was released from the hospital, or more accurately, when he released himself from the hospital, was buy flowers.
    When the first bouquet seemed inadequate, he bought another, then a third.
    It wasn't easy carrying a huge load of flowers, one arm in a sling, through the crowded streets of Venice, but he managed it. Just as he managed to find the spot where he'd been shot.
    He'd prepared himself for the jolt, but hadn't realized there'd be fury along with it. Someone had thought him dispensable, had pierced his flesh with steel, spilled his blood. And had come very close to making his children orphans.
    Someone, David promised himself as he stood on the stains of his own blood with his good arm full of flowers, was going to pay for thinking it. Whatever, and however long, it took.
    He glanced up. Though there was no wash hanging out today, the window was open. He shifted his flowers, turned away from the street and entered the building. It amazed him how exhausted he was after the climb. Limbs weak, skin slicked with sweat. It pissed him off to find himself gasping for air and leaning limply on the wall outside the apartment door.
    How the hell was he supposed to get back to the Giambelli apartment, pack, book a flight when he could barely make it up these stairs? The fact that the doctor had said essentially that before David had signed himself out only annoyed him.
    So much so that, still puffing, he straightened and knocked.
    He didn't expect her to be home, intended to leave the flowers on her doorstep or hunt up a cooperative neighbor who'd take them for her. But the door opened, and there she was.
    "Signorina."
    "Si?" She stared at him blankly, then her pretty face lit up. "Signore! Come sta? Oh, oh, che bellezza!" She gathered the flowers and gestured him in. "I called the hospital this morning," she continued in rapid Italian. "They said you were resting. I've been so frightened. I couldn't believe such a thing could happen right outside… Oh." She tapped her head with her hand. "You're American," she said in careful English. "Scusami. Sorry. I don't have good English."
    "I speak Italian. I wanted to thank you."
    "Me? I did nothing. Please come in, sit. You look so pale."
    "You were there." He glanced around her apartment. Small, simple, with pretty little touches. "If you hadn't been, and if I hadn't looked up because you were late bringing in your wash and made such a lovely picture doing it, I might not be standing here now. Signorina." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. "Mille grazie."
    "Prego." She angled her head. "A romantic story. Come, I'll make you coffee."
    "You don't need to trouble."
    "Please, if I've saved your life, I have to tend to it." She carried the flowers to the kitchen.
    "Ah… one