Page 75 of The Wrong Vintage
“Well?” Cesare snaps.
I hesitate, and I know that hesitation is going to cost me. But defending Alessia might end up costing me and her a lot more. I used to be reckless when I was younger, buying a ’69 Mustang, going on a road trip across the United States, trekking the Arctic…but I’m not in my early twenties now. I’m a grown man. A CEO. I have responsibilities that go beyond Alessia, and in fact, they go beyond me. I have a business to take care of—ensure that the thousands of people who work for the House of Alighieri have the means to pay for their lives.
The boy could afford to be wild and impulsive, but not the man I have become, the one I want to be in the future.
“I think,” I say carefully, “that this is a larger conversation. One we don’t need to have today.”
Cesare nods, satisfied. He hears agreement where I offered evasion.
“Good,” he says. “Renzo, I want you and Nico to talk to the five candidates and bring me your two top choices. I will make the final decision.”
I grit my teeth and shoot Renzo a warning look. I know exactly what he’s thinking—because I’m thinking the same thing.
Cesare is the chairman of the board. Hiring a winemaker is not under his purview. It’s under mine, as CEO of the company. But Cesare never truly let go of the reins, not evenwhen another man held this title and ran the day-to-day before me. My predecessor didn’t mind being managed from above. I do.
Still, I also know how this ends if I challenge him now. I serve at the pleasure of the board, and until I’ve proven myself—until the numbers, the expansion, the strategy all bear my name—they’ll side with Cesare. If I push this, I’ll be out of a job, and if that happens, I’ll never be able to elevate Alessia to head winemaker—no matter how much she deserves it.
So, I will wait.
Patience is the strategy—and the price—that will make my wife’s and my dreams a reality.
I nod at Renzo, and he gives Cesare a deferential smile. “Nico and I will meet with the candidates.”
The meeting ends shortly after.
I leave with the distinct sensation that something essential has slipped through my fingers—not because it was taken from me, but because I let it go.
That evening, after I finish working out to burn through my despair at the Palazzo’s well-equipped gym, Alessia texts me.
A photo of the sunset over the vines with a simple note:I wish you were here.
I type back:Me, too,dolcezza. I miss you desperately.
It’s true.
I miss sleeping with her—sharing a bed, mornings, and meals.
She trusts me with her body, her time, and her heart—and I reciprocate in kind. She’s become more important to me in the past weeks than anyone else in my life.
And yet, I’m aware that behind a closed door, just now, I chose peace over her. I chose patience over fairness.
Does Alessia deserve to be the head winemaker? Yes, andit’s not only because I love her, but it’s also what Matteo wants. It’s Cesare who’s being bullheaded about it.
She has no expectations from her father, but she believes in me, and I betrayed her today, not by action but with my silence. That truth rests more heavily on my shoulders than the weights I was lifting at the gym.
17
NICO
I call Matteo. He answers on the third ring.
His voice is thinner than usual, and that tells me more than Cesare did.
“He told you,” Matteo says without preamble.
“Si.” I take a deep breath. “I’m so very sorry, Matteo.”
“Life’s like that. Easy come. Easy go.”
