Page 113 of The Wrong Vintage
She greets Renzo with quick kisses on both cheeks.
Renzo is Alba’s boss, so they talk often and usuallybecause of their schedules, late for him, early or very late for her, depending on which continent she’s on. He’s told me more than once how much he enjoys working with her. Enough that I once asked—only half joking—whether he was interested.
The look he gave me shut that down immediately.
In the meeting room, I’m struck again by how different Alba is from Alessia.
Where my wife is rooted, elemental, Alba moves like a precision instrument.
Alba belongs beneath boardroom fluorescents the way Alessia belongs beneath open skies and twisting vines. And yet—I sense the same core. The same values. After all, Alessia did raise her sisters.
The meeting starts promptly at ten.
Renzo gives the business overview.
Gennaro follows with finances.
Matteo’s update arrives by email—he isn’t feeling well. I asked him again yesterday to tell Alessia, but he isn’t ready.
The secret gnaws at me. I want to tell my wife so she’ll have more time with the man she thinks of as her father—but I can’t betray Matteo’s trust.
But you can betray Alessia’s?
When Alba presents, she doesn’t grandstand—she’s confident without being fluffy.
She begins with Japan: a strategy that mirrors the country’s ethos—measured expansion tied to long-standing dining rituals, a deep-rooted respect for craft and ceremony rather than flash.
“Japanese wine culture prizes precision,” she explains. “Ritual. Pairing. They understand restraint as an art form.”
Next, she moves on to China.
No hyperbole, no breathless flimflam—just clear-eyed analysis.
“China’s wine scene is young,” she continues, “and has money to burn. They crave story—provenance, legacy. They want to be able to talk about the wine with their friends. Share it, show it off.”
I look around the room, and even though there are questions, no one is challenging Alba’s authority as the Senior Vice President of Hospitality for the House of Alighieri.
I know that Cesare didn’t fight this promotion because he doesn’t think the restaurant and wine tasting rooms are esteemed—they’re just gimmicks, suitable for a woman to lead.
Winemaking, on the other hand is serious business, the backbone of the House of Alighieri—not to be trifled with.
In Alba, I see the same devotion to integrity that steers Alessia in the vineyard. This is stewardship, not ambition for ambition’s sake. They seem to have the same motto:preserve the soul, prosperity will follow.
When Alba fields questions—on supply chains stretched across oceans, on sommelier training programs, on balancing long-term brand equity against short-term buzz—she does so effortlessly and with humor. She knows how to play her audience.
Her answers are precise, unblinking, rooted in data, and delivered with genuine understanding—but not devoid of a little bit of fun that she sprinkles along through anecdotes.
I’ve been in several meetings with her now, and I know that she doesn’t bluff.
By the time the meeting wraps, the charged buzz in the air is palpable—like the moment just before grapes are pressed, when potential hangs thick and sweet. Heads nod. Pens click. Small flutters of excitement pass around the room. All that comes from Alba.
She has charisma!
“How about we have our conversation with lunch?” Isuggest once the meeting room is empty, and just she and I remain.
Alba laughs. “Good idea. I’m starving.”
And as we leave the room, I can’t shake the thought that the Alighieri daughters are far more formidable than their father gives them credit for—and underestimating them might be his most dangerous mistake.
