“Because he’s powerful. He can change lives.”
“I have enough money that I could live my life without working, hell my kids could. So why am I still afraid of losing my job?” I ask him even though I know the answers are within me.
“Money is not power, and the CEO of the House of Alighieri, like the head winemaker of the company, has power.”
“So we’re chasing power?”
“Holding on to it,” he drawls. “But you don’t have to make my mistakes. Be braver than I was, Nico.”
“Even if it costs me everything?”
“What’s more important to you? Your wife or your job?”
“Alessia,” I say immediately.
“You have your answer.”
I do, and so the next morning at work, I shift tactics as I plan without fear of losing the job that I thought I sold my family’s company—which I built into a powerhouse—and my own marital freedom for.
I scrutinize approvals.
I stall sign-offs.
In meetings, I ask Cesare—politely, persistently—to explain decisions I once accepted without question.
After a meeting, Renzo confronts me. “What are you doing?”
“Working to dismantle the existing power structure,” I tell him honestly and then add, “If I lose my job or ratherwhenI lose my job, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
He gives me a measured look. “Don’t be an asshole and don’t insult me. If you lose your job, you and I can both book that ticket to Bali and enjoy a month off on the beach.”
I grin.
“Will Toni be joining us?” I ask, amused,
“Vaffanculo,” he swears and walks away.
Cesare is also noticing the changes. “Who’s next if not Fontana?” he presses every time he sees me.
He didn’t like it that I nixed Davide Fontana, but when I told him what the asshole pulled, Cesare didn’t press further. No one, including Cesare, likes a showoff who spills secrets,and Matteo’s health situation was one, told to him only because he was interviewing for an important job and only after he signed a fucking NDA, not that we were going to challenge him and make it a public issue.
Four weeks after thedebacle, as I like to call it, I get a message from Alessia.
I’m alone in my apartment, pouring a wine my wife crafted three vintages ago.
Alessia:I’m going to see Matteo this Saturday. Will you come along?
I reply immediately, autocorrect making a mess of my reply, so I have to retype several times before I can send it.
Me:Yes. I’ll come to Pietra Alta on Friday.
Alessia:Come onSaturday morning.
Subtext: You’re not welcome to spend the night here.
Me:I’ll be there.
Alessia:Thank you.
