Nico will live his life the way he wants, and so will I.
It’s a fair bargain.
Then why does it hurt so much?
2
NICO
Palazzo Alighieri isn’t merely a mansion—it’s a statement of opulence, history, lineage, and, yes,authority.
From the street, it keeps its power quiet—Renaissance lines, sand-colored pietra serena, arched windows set deep like watchful eyes.
The family crest is cut into the façade above the main portal; the Alighieri name and logo are scorched into the city, the way Florence bakes history into everything, along with the year of the birth of the first estate, 1298.
The symbol of the House of Alighieri hangs everywhere in this palazzo—carved into stone, etched into glass, woven into rugs and drapery—a half sun caught mid-rise.
How this half-sun became the crest is a myth that’s now become fact. In the late thirteenth century, when the first Alighieri vineyards were being cut into the Tuscan hills—Chianti or Montalcino, depending on who’s telling it—a plow struck something buried deep in the earth. It was an Etruscan artifact—a sun disk, broken cleanly in half.
The Alighieris took it as a sign, named themselves not for what they found whole, but for what survivedbeing shattered. The half sun became their mark—endurance over perfection, legacy over symmetry. Only later did I understand what it really meant: the House of Alighieri has always believed that supremacy doesn’t need to be complete to be absolute. It only needs to endure.
Tourists pass by, point their phones, and don't understand what they’re photographing. Locals don’t pay it much mind. Florentines are used to being surrounded by history and dynasties.
Inside, the palazzo breathes old money and old control.
Marble underfoot—worn smooth by centuries of silk and leather soles. Frescoes overhead, saints and allegories watching with serene indifference. Corridors that turn twice before they reveal their destination, like the building itself is trained to keep secrets.
A fountain murmurs somewhere in the inner courtyard, softened by stone and citrus trees.
This palazzo is the headquarters and home. Michelin-star restaurant and wine tasting room.
The south wing is family: suites, salons, private staircases, a chapel no one uses unless death is involved. The Alighieris live here when they want to be seen as one unit, and hide here when they don’t.
I live here, as do several other family members.
My wife lives in Tenuta Pietra Alta in Bolgheri—she’s neverreallylived in the Palazzo since she was a teenager, preferring to live in estates as she learned winemaking. She’s the only Alighieri to attend university to study vineyard management and winemaking.
The east wing of the palazzo is the hospitality arm of Alighieri, the estate’s first two-Michelin-star restaurant, and an elaborate wine tasting room and cellar.
The south side of the palazzo is where the stately gardensits, overlooking the Arno. This is where Alighieri weddings take place—where I was married.
The west wing is corporate: legal, finance, export, investor relations—glass doors and muted voices, modern muscle installed inside an ancient skeleton.
Cesare’s office is on thepiano nobile, the main floor of the palazzo, and mine sits across the hall from his.
That’s not an accident. Nothing in this palazzo is accidental.
Cesare is chairman of the board. I amonlythe President and CEO. The distinction matters. He remains the visionary, the steward of legacy, while I’ve been tasked with execution—running the company, integrating the merger, turning ambition into numbers that hold.
No one inside the House of Alighieri is confused about where authority ultimately sits. The hierarchy is visible. Cesare is the chairman and owner. I am an employee.
I’m fine with it.
I’ve only just stepped into the role of chief executive officer.
Give me time, and I’ll take the chair as well. That was part of the understanding—promised, not written. In exchange, I brought Cantina Alarico into the Alighieri fold, along with our estates in Burgundy, Sicily, Umbria, and the Colchagua Valley in Chile.
Not just labels or distribution rights, but land.
