It doesn’t.
“You will appoint Fontana,” Cesare says, cold certainty in every syllable. “Or someone of his caliber. This is non-negotiable.”
“As CEO, I alone appoint the head winemaker.”
He leans down, and I can smell the faint trace of bergamot on his lapels. Voice dropping to a low chord, he warns, “You serve at the pleasure of the board.”
“I know.”
“And I am the chairman of that board.”
I don’t look away, keeping my face expressionless. “I know.”
His eyes scour my face, hunting for the old reflex—the flicker of fear or compulsion to yield. He finds neither.
“If you force this”—he straightens—“there will be consequences.”
“I accept that.”
Cesare’s expression shifts, as if I’ve recited a foreign liturgy. “You would risk your position—overthis?”
“Yes.”
“Overher.”
I smile. “For her, Cesare, I’d risk my life.”
For the first time, I see uncertainty cross his features, and the shock of meeting resolve he cannot crush.
“Iwillfire you,” he threatens bluntly.
I wave a hand in a “go ahead” gesture. “Faccia pure, Cesare. Go right ahead!”
He turns to Renzo. “Talk sense to him.”
Renzo shakes his head. “You fire him, I walk out, too. Probably take a few people with me.”
I rise then, the decision coiled in my bones like the vine roots beneath our vineyards. “You have a good rest of your day, Duca Alighieri.”
With that—and battle lines drawn—Renzo and I walk out of the library and straight into fucking Chiara, because apparently the universe enjoys kicking me when I’m down.
“Talk to your wife,” she hisses.
“You have a wife, Renzo?” I ask, turning to him.
Renzo doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Chiara, we’ve discussed this. You go through me, not directly to Nico.”
“She won’t let me take pictures and post?—”
“You post a single picture of this funeral or the reception,” I cut in, “and I won’t just fire you, Chiara—I’ll make sure you never work as a PR professional again in your fucking life.”
With that, I storm off to find Alessia, who I know is already pissed thanks to Chiara being…well, herself.
As I head down the marble hallway, I hear Renzo snap behind me, “Matteo was like a father to her. Show some respect.”
I find Alessia speaking quietly with the caterer. The moment she sees me, she strides over and pokes my chest with one sharp finger.
It does my heart good to see she isn’t collapsed in grief—she’s furious. I’ll take fury over broken any day.
