Betrayal by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

what it was worth, what he had it insured for—but how did this brute of a woman know? Know that it was genuine? Know with a single glance? Howwas it possible that this Amazon warrior possessed the eye to successfully evaluate art from the turn of the twentieth century?
    Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she was the brains of the operation because… because she deserved to be.
    “You know”—she leaned over him, put her hands on the arms of his chair—“you’re old, and your bones are brittle. If you’re going to infuriate one of my people, it would be wise to choose one of the others. Hendrik is a throwback—more Russian than the others, demanding the respect owed a man of his noble ancestry.”
    Joseph seized on that shred of information. “You’re Russian?”
    “Aristocrats who oppressed the peasants for centuries until they rose in revolt and killed us. Not all of us—some of us escaped and have since made our living on our wits.”
    “That was a hundred years ago,” he said spitefully. “So don’t tell me you’re anything but a washed-out version of a failed aristocratic system.”
    “So true.” She caressed his hand. “And yet I rule you with a tyrant’s touch.” She straightened. “Hendrik says we don’t need you. That we can kill you, stay here and use your credit card, and not put up with your sour face while we search for that bottle of wine. My heart is soft and sweet; I tell him there’s no need to commit murder unnecessarily. But you’re convincing me Hendrik might be right. Remember that next time we want to order pizza.”

Chapter 7
    P enelope drove toward town like a woman who feared nothing.
    And she didn’t. Not really. Running into Noah would be uncomfortable, but she’d faced more daunting challenges. Really, what were the chances she would see him?
    Well. Possibly good, since he managed the Di Luca family’s resort, it fronted on Bella Terra’s main street right on the square, and she intended to look around at the changes that had been made in the last nine years. She would not, of course, reminisce at all. Because, yeah, she’d spent the most memorable summer of her life in Bella Terra, but she wasn’t here to remember.
    She was here on a whole different business.
    Penelope had taken a circuitous route from the Sweet Dreams Hotel (north and west of town) to Joseph Bianchin’s estate (on the southeast), around the outskirtsthat stretched to encompass mansions and subdivisions where people who worshiped the California wine country lifestyle had built homes. Now she drove to Bella Terra’s main street and into the compact, vibrant downtown.
    She stopped at the red light, two cars back from the crosswalk, and peered through the hustle of tourists and locals. She wanted to see the town square, a park of grass and a gazebo, where benches rested in the shade of tall trees.
    The square hadn’t changed a bit. It was still quaint, a carefully preserved early-twentieth-century square, still Bella Terra’s beating heart. Restaurants and art galleries lined the streets around it, and those had changed names and possibly owners, but the buildings hadn’t changed, and neither had Penny’s Bookstore, where Noah and Penelope had spent many a pleasant afternoon browsing the titles on the shelves.
    For her birthday in that long-ago August, Noah had bought her a picture book about the history of Bella Valley.
    She had kept it. It was packed in a box in a storage area with most of her furniture and knickknacks from Cincinnati. When she got back to Portland, she had to go through it all and…
    But she couldn’t think about that now. There was too much to see here, too many memories to confront.
    The Bella Terra resort’s stucco exterior faced Main Street. It had been washed a light gold, and guests strolled out of the breezeway holding icy bottles of water and wearing good-humored smiles.
    Yes, the resort had that effect on people. She knew; nine years ago she’d been an