Chapter Twenty-nine

Brody swallowed twice to make his Scotch go down. He couldn’t believe Alex had so matter-of-factly told them this. “The Corellis went directly to your father?”

“Yes. Somehow they knew what was in Gian’s will even before he died.”

Brody wondered how desperate the Corellis were. “Do you think the Corellis murdered Gian?”

“No. Why would they? My father agreed to sell them his interest, when he inherited a share of the winery. That was a start. I’m sure they planned on getting Gina Barzini’s share without any trouble.”

“Why would your father sell out?” Clearly, Tori was shocked and upset.

Alex walked over to the bar and poured himself more Knockando. “Dad told Gian about the Corellis’ offer. He didn’t go behind his back.”

“Oh, I thought …” Tori hiked her shoulders apologetically at Alex’s defensive tone.

“Dad told Gian what he would do if he inherited part of Hawke’s Landing.” Alex returned to his chair and slowly sank into the butter-soft suede. “Gian said it was all right with him.”

“Really? I find it hard to believe,” Tori said, and Brody had been thinking the same thing. “Why would Gian, who was obsessed with Hawke’s Landing, leave it to someone who made it clear he would sell to Gian’s enemies?”

“They discussed it right here,” Alex informed them. “It was about six months ago. Gian had come to see the new computerized press I’d installed. He was concerned because Elliott wanted to purchase the same press.

“I demonstrated the system, then we came in here and had drinks. The three of us talked until long after midnight. Afterward my father put Gian in the specially fitted van that accommodated his wheelchair and drove him home. It was the last time I saw Gian Hawke.”

There might have been a trace of sadness in Alex’s tone. The man was hard to read. Alex Abruzzo was every bit as impressive as Tori had led Brody to believe, but not because he was handsome. Underneath his looks was a power and depth most men would never possess, yet it came to Alex naturally. Brody wasn’t surprised at his success.

Alex swirled his Scotch, then took a swig. Brody wondered if the man was toying with him. Or did he have the type of personality that preferred to wait and tell only what he was asked, not revealing more than necessary? It was the way Brody preferred to deal with people.

“Exactly what did Gian say when your father told him about selling out to the Corellis?” Tori asked before Brody could.

“You’d have to understand Gian Hawke,” Alex said, speaking to Brody even though Tori had asked the question. “He was the brightest man I ever met”—he knocked back the rest of his Scotch—“and the meanest son of a bitch in the valley.”

The comment was delivered in a monotone, but the meaning was clear to Brody. Alex had despised Gian Hawke. Enough to kill him?

“Gian saw what was happening in the wine country,” Alex continued without missing a beat, “and in the world. Conglomeratization had struck. Big banks gobbled up little banks. Supermarkets devoured each other and cut out mom and pop grocers. There used to be a hardware store on every corner; now there’s Home Depot.

“It was the same story in this valley. The Gallos, Sebastianis, and Mondavis started out as little guys, but now they’re huge operations with a variety of labels. Frogs like the Rothschilds have moved here from France. Wine is big business. Gian understood the ramifications this would have when combined with new technology.”

“He hated computers and techie things,” Tori said, shaking her head. “He even fought with Elliott about adding something as fundamental as conveyor belts.”

A faint glimmer of humor lit his eyes. “I said Gian understood the impact technology and conglomeratization would have, but I never said he liked it. Gian hated it. What’s more he was afraid.”

My enemies are everywhere. Trust no one.

Could the enemies have been symbolic? Brody wondered, at a disadvantage because he’d never met Gian Hawke. Yet he had the distinct impression people thought he was very peculiar.

“Afraid? What do you mean?” Tori asked.

Alex rose, jiggling the ice cubes in his glass. “More Scotch? Another Diet Coke?”

Tori shook her head, but Brody handed Alex his glass. “A short one. I have to drive all the way back to Hawke’s Landing for dinner.”

Alex made a production out of getting fresh glasses and ice. Then he opened another bottle of Knockando even though the first bottle appeared to have enough in it. He’s stalling, Brody thought, then wondered why. It seemed out of character, but what did he know? He’d just met Alex.

He gave Brody the Scotch, and it was too full, but Brody didn’t say anything. Wasting anything grated on him, a throwback to the days he and his mother lived from paycheck to paycheck, always running out of money.

Alex took his seat and stretched out his long legs, crossing one Nike over the other. He wore a green plaid flannel shirt and Levis—exactly what Brody would have worn to work all day in a winery. Elliott dressed more like a GQ version of a gentleman vintner—coordinated shirt and slacks with Italian loafers. Even so, there was no mistaking both men lived for their work.

The way Brody lived for his.

“You were saying Gian was afraid of something,” prompted Tori. “What?”

“Change. It was something he couldn’t control. He tried to control his world. Believe me, Gian Hawke tried, and succeeded, but finally technology and conglomeritization got to him—big time.”

Brody detected just the slightest inflection of—what? Irony? “How did he succeed?”

Alex set down his glass, and Brody noticed it was still full. “Gian did what rich men have always done. He used his influence to block changes he didn’t like.”

When it became apparent that was all Alex was going to say, Tori asked, “For example?”

“The best ex—”

The shrill ring-ring of the telephone on the bar interrupted them. Alex walked over, looked at the digital display, then headed out of the room.

“It’s business,” he said over his shoulder. “I need to take this call in my office.”

As his footsteps on the tile floor faded away, Tori whispered, “What do you make of him?”

Brody didn’t hesitate. “You know, part of what I do is select teams for dangerous missions. I’m going with gut instinct here. Alex is the first man I’d want on my team.”

“What about Elliot?”

Again, Brody didn’t have to ponder the question. “Okay, it’s a toss up. They’re both guys I’d want. ‘Got your back.’ That’s a SEAL saying meaning you trust this guy to cover your back—in a life or death situation.”

“Interesting.”

“What do you think about him, Tori?”

“I like him, Alex, too. I don’t know him as well as I do Elliott, but I like him. I think you three are remarkable men.” The tenderness in her expression amazed him. “I sense Alex wants to tell us something. You,” she corrected herself. “He wants to tell you something. He’s trying to feel you out because he doesn’t know you.”

“Really?” he said in a teasing voice. “Have you got a crystal ball?”

“No, but my feminine intuition is fairly reliable.”

Brody didn’t add that he’d drawn the same conclusion. Alex Abruzzo was telling them something in his own time and in his own way. How much information he received probably depended on how he reacted.

“I’m going to help myself to another Coke,” Tori announced.

Brody couldn’t help but appreciate the adorable sway of her backside as she walked over to the bar. For the life of him, he couldn’t explain the way he’d behaved this afternoon. Despite promising himself to go slow and give her a chance—”

“Oh, my God!”

He jumped up. “What’s wrong?”

Tori was standing at the bar, and she motioned him over. He crossed the room in a few quick strides. She pointed to the digital display on the telephone: D. Rittvo.

“He’s talking to Dominic Rittvo,” she whispered.

“Caller ID picks up the way the telephone is listed. He could be talking to Rachel or her brothers or anyone at their house,” Brody said as the digital display cleared. “He’s hung up. Quick. Sit down and pretend nothing’s happened.”

They dashed across the room and tried to appear unfazed by what they’d discovered. A moment later, Alex strode into the room, then dropped into his chair.

“Where were we?” he asked, his face revealing nothing suspicious.

“You were giving us an example of Gian using his influence to block some change he didn’t like,” Tori said, and Brody gave her equal credit for being so cool.

“There was a man—this happened about twenty or more years ago—who wanted to start his own winery. He was an extremely hard worker with a lot of talent, a track record—and even more important back then—a history in the valley. He went to several banks and had no trouble lining up financing.

“You can imagine how thrilled the man was, how happy his family was. Their dream, the dream of every man who works in this valley, was about to become reality. He had the land, the plans for a small winery drawn, and grapevines on order …” Alex’s voice trailed off, and he paused to drink a bit more Scotch. “Then suddenly—without explanation—the financing dried up overnight.”

“Gian got to them,” Tori guessed.

“Exactly. Those were the good old days,” he said with forced humor. “Back then Gian could stop change and crush a man’s dreams.”

“The man was your father,” Brody heard himself say. Even though Alex’s tone wasn’t bitter, Brody could put himself in Alex’s place very easily. He knew the pain Alex and his father must have suffered.

“That’s right. Back then, Gian Hawke still had power, but by the last time I saw him—in this very room—the world was too complex for him to manipulate.” Alex lowered his gaze to his glass for a moment. “Gian was worried. He didn’t blame my father for wanting to sell his share to the Corellis. Gian said if it wasn’t the Corellis, it would be someone else.”

“I can’t believe Gian would just let Hawke’s Landing go without a fight,” cried Tori.

Alex gazed at her for a moment, then said, “Of course, not. That’s why he sent for Brody.”

“Is that what Gian told you?” The question was out before Brody could think. Something told him to play this closer to the vest. Alex had all the cards, and Brody didn’t have a clue where this was leading.

“No, Gian didn’t tell me anything,” Alex said and an oddly primitive warning sounded in Brody’s head. “Contacting you was my idea.”

“Your idea!” cried Tori and Brody at the same time.

“Yes. The letter. Elliott’s picture. Even the note scribbled at the bottom was my idea.”

The air seemed to have solidified in Brody’s lungs. He knew he was staring at Alex, but he couldn’t breathe to say a single word.

“How did you know about Brody?” she asked, clearly as shocked as he was.

Alex ignored their stunned expressions, acting as if this was a perfectly normal conversation about the possibility of frost or the price of grapes. “My father told me all about Brody.”

Tori clapped one hand over her mouth and the other over her eyes. “Oh, my God! How could I have been so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Brody croaked out the word.

No one said anything. A low hiss spewed from the fireplace as the log collapsed into the grate. Brody cursed himself. What was he missing here?

Tori uncovered her face and scooted closer to him. Uh-oh.

“Darling,” she began.

Christ! She’d never called him darling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tori responded, tears filling her eyes. “I should have seen it earlier. Alex is your half brother.”