Chapter 11 – The Final Vintage

Bianca.

I stared at the cork, the implications slamming into me like a freight train.

“Bianca killed the Moretti family?” I whispered, terrified.

“Not Bianca,” Roman said, his voice low. “Nicholas.”

I shook my head, confused. “You said Nicholas was a pawn. You said he wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate anything.”

“He wasn’t,” Roman agreed. “But he was desperate. The Morettis were going to kill him for losing the cases. So he struck first.”

“How did he get access to their private reserves?” I asked.

Roman leaned forward. “Because Nicholas Rinaldi didn’t just auction wine, Megan. He authenticated it. The Morettis trusted him to curate their cellars.”

I felt sick.

“He wiped out the entire leadership in one night,” Roman said. “Which means Nicholas just absorbed all of the Moretti territory. He isn’t an auctioneer anymore. He’s a boss.”

The plane hit a spot of turbulence. Lily shifted in her sleep, murmuring quietly.

I looked at my daughter, then at my newly discovered brother.

“Is he coming after us?” I asked.

Roman picked up the Rinaldi cork. He squeezed it in his fist until his knuckles turned white.

“No,” Roman said softly. “He isn’t coming after us.”

He threw the cork into the small trash bin.

“Because tomorrow,” Roman said, “I am going to buy Rinaldi Fine Auctions. Hostile takeover. And I’m going to bury Nicholas in so much legitimate legal red tape he won’t be able to breathe without my permission.”

I smiled. A fierce, predatory smile I didn’t know I had.

The blood of the DeLuca family.

“Let me handle the wine division,” I said.

Roman looked at me, surprised. Then, a slow, proud smile spread across his face.

“Partner,” he agreed.

The plane began its descent into Milwaukee.

Through the window, I could see the city lights sprawling out below us. Somewhere down there, in a modest brick house, my mother was sleeping. Clara DeLuca.

For thirty years, she had hidden in the shadows to keep me safe. To keep us safe.

I reached across the table and took Roman’s hand.

He squeezed it tightly.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

The plane touched down smoothly.

We walked off the tarmac together. Roman carried Lily, who rested her head on his broad shoulder, completely safe, completely loved.

Elias walked behind us, carrying the heavy velvet pouch of Roman’s mother’s diamonds. To give them back to their rightful owner.

I looked up at the night sky.

The past was finally dead.

And our family was finally whole.

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