Page 76 of The Wrong Vintage
He’s only in his mid-sixties—I can’t imagine this being easy anything.
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes,” he admits. “But pain is good, eh? Means I’m alive. When I can’t stand it, there’s morphine.”
I’ve known Matteo for a long time, but never well—that changed once Alessia and I got engaged, and I started working on the merger between Cantina Alarico and the House of Alighieri. I like him. I respect him. This is a good man and an even better winemaker. His loss will be felt deeply.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes,” he replies like he’s been waiting for that question. “Firstly, you can’t tell Alessia. I don’t want her to know. When she finds out it’s going to be because I tell her.”
“With all due respect, Matteo, if you don’t tell her soon, she will find out from other sources.” He knows as well as I how small organizations and industries are when it comes to gossip.
There’s a pause, and then he speaks so softly that I have to strain to hear him, “I can’t stand to see her sad.”
The truth? Neither can I. But we can’t protect those we love from outside influences—that will require us to put them in a bubble.
But Matteo is dying and his wishes come first.
“I won’t tell her,” I promise.
“Good.” The relief in his voice is immediate—and it guts me. “Secondly, I want her to succeed me.”
I wish it were that simple.
“Matteo,” I begin, already weighing my words, “Alessia is?—”
“Not one for politics,” he cuts me off. “That’s not because she can’t play the game; she chooses not to. All three of the sisters stay away from it. This is why Cesare has power. If those girls brought their interest in the company to bear….”
I’ve never heard anyone in the House of Alighieri, or even around it, talk about the Alighieri daughters having any influence. Cesare is the loud and overbearing patriarch, the leader. I know each sister has a percentage of the company, based on when their trusts were released and their ages—I also know that Cesare is their proxy. I’ve never seen any of them at a board meeting.
“She’s a born leader. Tell me you haven’t seen it already at Pietra Alta?” Matteo insists.
“I have seen it.”
“I told Cesare she’s my successor,” Matteo continues. “I’vetold him for years. I told the board informally. I’ve told anyone who matters.”
“Cesare is the chairman of?—”
“You are the CEO. Hiring decisions are yours, not his. You don’t have to cede power as Dario did. You can hold on to it.”
“Power is a zero-sum game, a limited commodity, and right now it sits with Cesare. I haven’t been here in this role long enough to have more than a few allies. It’s going to take time.”
“Is that you being risk-averse or is it your cowardice?” he demands on a sneer.
I don’t reply—partly because I don’t know for sure and partly because what I do know sets me up as someone lacking courage. As a man who has always fought to do the right thing over the easy thing, this is a feeling that doesn’t sit well with me. So, I do what I normally do when I don’t like where I’m at: I ignore the feeling and move forward, move past it, beyond it.
“I’m dying, Nico, and that’s not hyperbole,” he bites out.
“I know, Matteo.”
“You must make me a promise,” he demands.
A promise to a dying man! Matteo certainly knows how to turn the emotional screws.
He takes my silence for acquiescence. “When the time comes, you won’t let him bypass her. You won’t let him turn this into a hire with a famous name and no soul. Alessia is the House of Alighieri. She’s ready.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as a stress headache blooms somewhere in the back of my skull. “Matteo?—”
