Heat crawls up my spine. Nico shifts closer, I hear the faint scrape of his shoe against marble.
“You’re not an artist, Alessia,” Papà continues, voice tight with scorn. “You’re a manager. And you’re treating this estate like a personal vanity project. Shareholders don’t sip ideals—they read spreadsheets.”
I’m about to say something because he’s making no sense when I hear Nico.
“I’m sure this won’t happen again. We’ll tighten approval thresholds mid-harvest. Formalize escalation for any premium inputs.”
I turn to look at Nico, certain that he didn’t say what he just did. Then my gaze lands on Papà, who looks victorious. Was this his goal? To see Nico not stand up for me?
“Chiaro.Agreed,” Papà sneers.
“Good,” Nico agrees.
The word settles like dust. I don’t look at Nico now because I’m not sure how to react. He didn’t defend me. Didn’t say, hey, she’s the winemaker, and yeah, she’s the artist, so back off. No, he said that he’s in control of me, and with that, he reduced me to a line item on his CFO’s budget spreadsheet.
Nico continues unruffled. “Alessia acted in good faith.”
He gives me a smile, akin to one a parent gives an errant child.
My throat is closing up. Good thing, too, because if I open my mouth now, I’m going to scream.
“Good faith or not, she’s an inexperienced winemaker and must be controlled.”
I wait for Nico to say that I’ve been making wine for a decade and a half now, and under the guidance of Matteo—that I’m not some dilettante. I’m a qualified and essential part of the company, not just because my last name is Alighieri.
“We’ll install some guardrails,” Nico says tightly. His syllables steal the air. My heart stutters.
Cesare nods, eyes gleaming.
Guardrails? Because I’m an out-of-control engine?
That’s when I know that Nico isn’t just not shielding me—he is intentionally preserving the very structure that holds me down.
Cesare’s approval is a nod of cold steel. “Now, isn’t it a good thing you came up here with Alessia?”
I look away from both men as I swallow against the lump in my throat. Was Papà expecting Nico—and all of this was staged by my father to make me feel small? Make my husband treat me like a CEO rather than a husband?
Well, the hell with that.
“I made the best choice for the wine.” I raise my voice. “And for the estate’s future.”
Papà’s gaze doesn’t soften. “The future belongs to those who respect cost.”
Nico remains silent.
“I’m done,” Cesare announces then. “Expect stricter discipline.” With those words, he walks out of thesalonewhere his words hang.
Outside, the evening sun glares off the hills as it gets ready to sink into the sea.
Nico pulls me to him as I walk ahead, his chest against my back. “Cara, we’ll sort this out.”
I stand on loose gravel, its sharp stones biting into my boots. The warmth at my back feels like a question I can’t answer.
“You agree with him?” I ask, my voice surprisingly strong when everything inside me is shaking.
Nico nuzzles his chin on my hair. “No. But he was in a mood. I wanted to defuse him.”
Pain sears through me.
