The Villa

steps afforded both family and guests private entrances and exits.
    Despite its size, its scope and its priceless treasures, it was very much a home.
    The first time Tyler had seen it, he'd thought of it as a castle, full of enormous rooms and complicated passages. At the moment, he thought of it as a prison, where he was sentenced to spend entirely too much time with entirely too many people.
    He wanted to be outside in the raw air tending his vines and drinking strong coffee out of a thermos. Instead he was trapped in the family parlor sipping an excellent Chardonnay. A fire was snapping gaily in the hearth, and elegant little hors d'oeuvres were set around the room on platters of colorful Italian pottery.
    He couldn't understand why people wasted the time and effort on bits of finger food when slapping a sandwich together was so much quicker and easier.
    Why was it food had to be such a damn event? And he imagined if he uttered such heresy in a household of Italians, he'd be lynched on the spot.
    He'd been forced to change out of his work clothes into slacks and a sweater—his idea of formal wear. At least he hadn't strapped himself into a suit like… what was the guy's name? Don. Don from Venice with the wife who wore too much makeup, too much jewelry and always seemed to have a shrieking baby attached to some part of her body.
    She talked too much, and no one, particularly her husband, appeared to pay any attention.
    Francesca Giambelli Russo said little to nothing. Such a contrast to La Signora, Ty mused. You'd never make them as sisters. She was thin and drifty, an insubstantial little woman who stayed glued in her chair and looked as though she'd jump out of her skin if anyone addressed her directly.
    Ty was always careful not to do so.
    The little boy, if you could call a demon from hell a boy, was sprawled on the rug smashing two trucks together. Eli's Border collie, Sally, was hiding under Sophia's legs.
    Great legs, Ty noted absently.
    She was looking as sleek and polished as ever, like something lifted off a movie screen and dropped down in three dimensions. She appeared to be fascinated by whatever Don was saying to her, and kept those big, dark chocolate eyes of hers on his face. But Ty watched as she discreetly slipped Sally hors d'oeuvres. The move was too slick and calculated for her to have had her full attention on the conversation.
    "Here. The stuffed olives are excellent." Pilar stepped up beside him with a small plate.
    "Thanks." Tyler shifted. Of all the Giambellis, Tyler was most comfortable with Pilar. She never expected him to make endless, empty conversation just for the sake of hearing her own voice. "Any idea when we're going to get this business rolling?"
    "When Mama's ready, and not before. My sources tell me lunch is set for fourteen, but I can't pin down who we're waiting for. Whoever it is, and whatever this is about, Eli seems content. That's a good sign."
    He started to grunt, remembered his manners. "Let's hope so."
    "We haven't seen you around here in weeks—been busy," she said even as he uttered the words, then she laughed. "Naturally. What are you up to, other than business?"
    "What else is there?"
    With a shake of her head, she pressed the olives on him again. "You're more like my mother than any of us. Weren't you seeing someone last summer? A pretty blonde? Pat, Patty?"
    "Patsy. Not really seeing. Just sort of…" He made a vague gesture. "You know."
    "Honey, you need to get out more. And not just for… you know."
    It was such a mother thing to say, he had to smile. "I could say the same about you."
    "Oh, I'm just an old stick-in-the-mud."
    "Best-looking stick in the room," he countered and made her laugh again.
    "You always were sweet when you put your mind to it." And the comment, even from a man she considered a kind of surrogate son, boosted the spirits that seemed to flag all too easily these days.
    "Mama, you're hoarding the olives." Sophia dashed up, plucked one off the plate. Beside her lovely, composed mother, she was a fireball, crackling with electricity. The kind that was always giving you hot, unexpected jolts if you got too close.
    Or so it always seemed to Ty.
    For that single reason, he'd always tried to keep a safe and comfortable distance.
    "Quick, talk to me. Were you just going to leave me trapped with Don the Dull forever?" Sophia muttered.
    "Poor Sophie. Well, think of it this way. It's probably the first time in weeks he's been able to say five