With a kid, they were looking at a minimum of eighteen years.
All because Penelope had wanted sex to forget the pain caused by the hurtful end of her last pregnancy.
Some kind of cosmic justice was at work here.
But why?
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Penelope got slowly to her feet.
What was she going to do about Noah? What was she going to say to him?
Brooke said, “I can run to the drugstore for you—”
“No!” God forbid. More calmly, Penelope said, “I mean, no, I can do it. I’d like the fresh air. In the meantime…” How to keep Brooke from volunteering to accompany her? “In the meantime, maybe you could rest and get over your morning sickness, and when you feel better… I brought samples for the master bedroom curtains and comforter.”
Brooke clasped her hands. “Oh. I can’t wait to see them!”
“You sit in the recliner and I’ll put them on the table at your elbow. We’ll talk about them as soon as I get back. Sound good?” Penelope thought she was talking too brightly and too fast, as if she were distracting a preschooler with a shiny toy.
But she could be allowed her awkward moments caused by surprise and… well, she didn’t know what else she was feeling. But surprise for sure. And alarm, because really, a baby with Noah, the king of the vanishing lovers, could create all kinds of difficult situations.
But inside herself, underneath all the clutter of emotions, she spotted the tiniest, iridescent bubble of expanding joy.
Because… she was pregnant.
She was going to have a baby.
Perhaps her luck had turned at last.
Chapter 54
Dear Penelope, I know you hate me, but please read this. The last eight days have been a pure hell of loneliness. I treated you shabbily—again—and I am ashamed, but I promise you I have my reasons.…
Someone knocked on the door.
Noah stopped typing.
He had specifically instructed everybody at the resort that he was going to work in his office and he was not to be disturbed. And he meant it. He had so little time to get these letters written to Nonna and his brothers… and Penelope.
Hours, in fact.
He glanced at his watch.
Four hours and two minutes until three thirty-seven p.m.
He’d put his will in order. He’d done his best to prepare the resort to run without him until a new manager could be hired. He’d prepared a list of possible candidates.
Annie and June had left for Far Island, driving down the coast and taking the commuter plane across to the resort. Noah had booked their flights back to Bella Terra for tonight, knowing they would be making the journey and wanting them here for Nonna as soon as possible.
He’d put off writing the letters until the last minute, hoping against hope that he would find the bottle and free the Di Lucas from the constant threat of murder, and himself from a bloody and violent fate.
But this afternoon, the bomb at his throat would detonate.
So whoever was knocking at the door would have to ask for help from someone else at the resort.
He started typing again.
I’ve been searching through the resort with ever-increasing desperation, trying to locate my grandfather’s bottle of wine. The stakes are higher than you know. My brothers have been searching, too, starting at Nonna’s house and working in ever-increasing circles outward.…
Another knock, harder this time.
Did no one at this resort believe Noah when he said, “Leave me alone”?
Actually, they did. Almost everyone who worked at the resort respected his orders, especially for the last two weeks, when he’d been a little, should he say, obsessive and irritable.
And since Brooke had retired from being his right-hand man and they’d hired a new assistant manager, problems had inevitably popped up.
So actually, if someone was knocking at his door, there was a good chance some kind of emergency had occurred and they really did need his help.
But he had no time.
The deathwatch had started.
The next knock on his office door made him want to snarl like a wolverine.
Yes, he had descended to some of kind animal being who snarled and slathered rather than swore like a man.
“Come in,” he yelled.
No one did.
He sighed. Whoever it was had probably fled at the sound of his impatience.
Or not, because whoever it was now drummed at the door with his fingertips.
Fine. Noah would take a few precious minutes to deal with one more emergency. He wouldn’t mind performing a last act that the staff could remember him by: soothe an irate guest, find some lost luggage, straighten out a security glitch.
Going to the door, he opened it.
What. A. Mistake.
Hendrik stood there. Hendrik, grinning, dressed in shiny black leather like some tough biker dude with a fashion disability.
Noah looked him over, insulting him without saying a word. But it was Hendrik, so he had to say the words or the guy wouldn’t get it. “Nice threads. Afraid when I blew up, you’d get brains on yourself?”
Hendrik grinned more widely. “Ja. I worried. You know I had to go to San Francisco for these?”
“I’ll bet.”
“The shops here are so provincial!” Hendrik tried to push Noah aside and walk in.
“They really are.” Noah blocked the door. “We don’t have any jewelry shops with ugly man-necklaces.”
Hendrik’s gaze went to Noah’s neck, to the tie he kept tied around his throat to hide the black band of his dog collar. “Still you cover it up. I helped Grieta and Brigetta design the necklace. I thought it looked good!”
Noah sighed. “All your taste is in your mouth. Now go away. You’re not coming in. I’m not spending my last hours on earth with you, Hendrik, so I say this with the Propov familial affection—go to hell.”
“You first.” Hendrik tried again to bully his way in.
Noah grabbed Hendrik’s leather coat and pulled him close, chest-to-chest. “Hang around and I’ll take you with me.” With a slap under the chin, he shoved Hendrik backward into the hall.
Hendrik flushed. “I don’t take that from you, little cousin.” Lowering his head like an enraged bull, he started to charge.
Noah plucked the small pistol out of his pocket and aimed it at Hendrik’s chest. The click of the safety sounded as loud as a shot.
Hendrik skidded to a stop. The look of surprise on his face made Noah want to laugh out loud… if he could have laughed.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now, Hendrik. The police might come and arrest me, but I’ll be dead at three thirty-seven p.m.” Noah couldn’t believe it, but he’d just discovered the bright spot to being a walking time bomb. “So really, tell me—why shouldn’t I shoot your worthless ass right now?”
“I’m wearing a bulletproof vest.”
Noah aimed at Hendrik’s head. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Confusion and then indignation crossed Hendrik’s face, and he sounded affronted when he said, “I came to do you a favor.”
“Really? I thought you came to get into trouble.” Hendrik had come to torment Noah, and Noah had no time. “And you’re doing a fine job of it.”
“I came because I thought you needed pointers on how to use a condom,” Hendrik said in a patently patient tone.
“What?” What?
“Your girlfriend, the pretty, dark-haired one.” Hendrik made a curving gesture with his hands. “I followed her this morning.”
Noah pulled back the hammer on the pistol. It clicked into place.
“To the drugstore,” Hendrik said so quickly he slurred his words.
“So?” Noah waited, within seconds of shooting the bastard.
Hendrik’s gaze flicked between the eye of the pistol and Noah’s face. “She was buying a pregnancy test.”
Noah froze.
&
nbsp; Hendrik waited, and when Noah didn’t move, didn’t speak, he explained, “You know? A pregnancy test? I’ve been following her for a week. You’re the only one she’s fucking.” Hendrik laughed his nasty laugh. “She’s going to have your baby.”
Penelope. Having a baby.
Penelope. Pregnant.
Penelope, alone in a world that included Hendrik, the abusive, lawless stalker.
In a cold, dead voice, Noah asked, “Why were you watching her?”
“She’s pretty.” Hendrik grinned, seeing the stillness in Noah, reading him completely wrong. “You like her, and I thought it would be fun to—”
Noah straightened his arm and aimed right between Hendrik’s eyes.
“Run.”
Chapter 55
Hendrik must have seen something in Noah’s expression that convinced him, because he ran. He raced down the hall, looked back once to see Noah had stepped out to aim again, and took a left. Noah heard him hit the outside door. He yelped as the metal didn’t yield fast enough. Then the door slammed behind him.
Noah stood, still as a statue, and wished he had killed him.
If he had, he would know right now that Penelope was safe.
But he also knew he had to be free to eliminate the threat of the Propovs and finish them entirely before they killed Nonna, and his brothers, and his sisters-in-law, and terrorized the town even more than they already had.
Noah had made the right decision.
But he didn’t like it.
Turning, he walked back into his office and kicked the door closed. Going to his computer, he found a clear shot of Hendrik on the security tape and sent it to all personnel with the notice that if this man was seen on the property, they were to call the authorities and have him removed at once. And take all precautions, because he was dangerous.
Sinking into his chair, Noah stared at the letter he had been writing to Penelope.
Was Hendrik telling the truth?
Noah and Penelope had made love over and over, more times than he could count, but they had used a condom every time. Every time.
Of course, Noah knew the stats on condom use weren’t perfect. With his casual lovers, he had always insisted on double protection—a contraceptive foam, or pills, or an IUD.
That was the trouble. Nothing about Penelope was casual.
The first time… well, the first time. Before he pulled his condom out of his wallet, it had been lodged in there quite a few months. Maybe the heat from his body had affected its strength. Maybe condoms had an expiration date.
Most important, Noah and Penelope had been in a hurry. In fact, they’d been downright violent. Maybe the condom had torn.…
Penelope. Pregnant.
He wrapped his hand around his stupid dog collar.
Hours left.
His whole life had played like a cosmic joke, but this was the worst. He’d made all the sacrifices, trying to ensure that no one was injured by his death. No wife to mourn him. His family would remain alive. But now… he was leaving an innocent child? A child conceived one week from the day her father died?
It couldn’t be true.
Penelope would have told him.
But would she?
He’d walked out on her. Walked out because he’d done the wrong thing in loving her again. He didn’t want to toy with her. Walked out because he needed to spend his time searching for Massimo’s bottle of the damned… and failing.
Penelope wasn’t going to tell him about the baby. She judged him as her mother had judged Joseph Bianchin: as unworthy of fatherhood.
But no matter what she thought, he had the right to know.
Anger rose in him. He stood.
He needed to know.
He strode toward the door, yanked it open—
Penelope stood on the other side, fist raised to knock.
They looked at each other, both surprised.
Penelope glanced away as if afraid of the coming conversation, or maybe of him. “Hi.” She caught herself avoiding his gaze, and looked right at him. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment?”
“Sure.” Was it true?
Had they made a baby?
He stepped back and gestured her in.
“I won’t bother you for long.” She walked inside and stood in the middle of the room.
He shut the door after them. “You could never bother me.”
“I guess I could. When I’m around, you disappear fast enough.” She caught her breath, shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to bring that up.”
“It’s fair.”
She flicked him a scornful glance. “Yes, of course it’s fair. But that’s not why I’m here.” She paused as if gathering her forces. “I just… I don’t know how to say this. It’s not what we intended—I mean, obviously—but for me it’s a miracle, a gift from God. But I do understand you’re not going to feel that way.”
He didn’t dare speak. He didn’t dare assume.… But it was true. She had a glow about her, and for all that she was nervous, she kept trying to smile; then, intent on being serious, she would wipe away her smile.
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get into your wallet,” she said. “I can take care of myself, and… and I thought about this for the last hour or so, what I should do. When it comes to me and our relationship, you’ve been untrustworthy and irresponsible. But I knew that; I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you again; I can’t blame you for being who and what you are. It’s not like you’ve changed in the past nine years or anything.”
His gaze fell to her hands, hanging at her sides, clenching and unclenching.
She continued. “But last week, you were there at the right time, and I’ve always loved you, and I’m grateful for the time we spent together. You know, after you got me out of the bar.”
“Yes. I know what you mean.” The tight ball in the pit of his stomach eased as she spoke, and he began to feel almost… giddy. Light-headed. And for a man condemned to die today, that was odd. To him, his voice sounded odd, too, as if it were coming from inside a seashell. “What are you trying to tell me?”
She looked at him, then away, then at him again. She gnawed her lower lip, braced herself, and said, “We’re having a baby.”
It was true.
It was true.
He took a breath.
It was true.
“Noah? Are you okay?”
He shook his head.
He was going to die. Literally. He was going to die, killed by his mother and her brutal family.
And he was having a baby with the woman he loved.
In the space of three minutes, everything had changed.
What seemed like the right thing to do before, was now wrong.
Three minutes ago, he could say farewell to his family, to Penelope, and know that because they knew him, they would believe the best of him. They would know he was a good man who had given up his life for them. And not without a fight. They might not approve—his brothers most definitely would not—but his choice had been clear-cut.
Now… eight days ago, he had created an innocent life. That child would never know him. That child would blame him for not living and being the father he should be.
Noah had to make a different choice.
He had to gamble with everyone’s life… for the sake of the child.
He walked like an automaton toward Penelope.
She backed away, her eyes wide, viewing him as if he were a madman.
He supposed he looked that way.
Reaching out to her, he enfolded her in his arms, pulled her close, and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for giving me a reason to live.”
Chapter 56
Fists in the air, Grieta swung her computer chair around in a circle and chortled. “I did it!”
“What did you do, dear?” Liesbeth’s hand trembled as she pulled the black thread in and out of her tapestry.
“I reactivated the microphone
in Noah’s necklace,” Grieta said.
“About time,” Klaas said. “How about the camera?”
Grieta cast him a look of disgust. “You’re welcome.”
“That’s very good, Grieta,” Liesbeth said. “Once again, you’ve come through for us.”
Grieta beamed, pleased with Liesbeth’s praise.
They still valued her praise.
Yet they were cruel creatures. She had trained them to be proper Propovs, to despise the meek and the poor. They would kill her for any weakness.
Liesbeth’s thoughts shifted to Hendrik. Hendrik especially would kill her. He had enjoyed his time spent stalking Joseph Bianchin’s daughter. Every night he talked about how pretty this Penelope was, how vulnerable, how unaware… how eight days ago, she had spent all night with Noah and then they had separated and not seen each other since.
Right now, he was after her again, watching her, plotting how he would use her to make Noah’s last hours miserable… and how he would hunt her after Noah was dead, and hurt her.
After all, this girl didn’t matter. She was one of the lesser beings they all despised. But Liesbeth didn’t like the way Hendrik gloated, as if he thought his intentions for Noah’s woman would disturb Liesbeth. Hendrik seemed to imagine Liesbeth had a fondness for her son. It was as if he could see within Liesbeth’s mind, and enjoyed watching her affection wash away her cruelty.
He viewed Noah as a weakness he could use against her.
“Grieta, you’ve made me happy,” Brigetta said. “I want to hear Noah whimpering as his hour of death grows closer.”
“You really are a bloodthirsty little thing.” Rutger admired that. “But so is our leader.”
Everyone faced Liesbeth in awe and admiration.
“Come, now,” she said in a steady voice. “You know I abhor violence.”
Klaas snorted.
She ignored him. “I thought up the bomb at Noah’s throat only because I believed it would never be activated. I imagined he knew the bottle’s location and all he needed was the incentive to produce it.” How could Liesbeth have so misread her own son?
“If it’s true that he knows, he’s one cool customer.” Brigetta glanced at the clock. “He has four hours to hand it over.”