by Jan Moran
It was madness to contemplate a new project and move across the country, his friends chided, to sell an established, popular restaurant simply because he no longer wanted to deal with the pressures of the demanding industry. He’d had no life outside the walls of his restaurant, Costa’s. He’d added experience in beer manufacturing and bottling to his resume, selling his small brewery on the Lower West side for a tidy profit, but still felt unsatisfied.
Then Bruno had come into the picture and changed everything.
Their idea started out small—a luxury winery on a thousand acres in the Napa Valley. They converted the rambling ranch style house into a bed and breakfast that hosted a dozen guests in the beginning while simultaneously working on making their wine a household name. Antonio had always loved wine, but at the time, the thought of owning a winery was intimidating.
But he’d taken the plunge and climbed into the proverbial business bed with the shrewd Bruno, packing his belongings and driving from the Big Apple to Northern California. He hadn’t felt that it was too great a leap of faith, knowing Bruno’s business acumen. Bruno, he recalled, had always paid attention to the smallest of details – his eyes always bright with intrigue. He strove to make their establishment appealing in every way to even the most finicky wine aficionados.
Slowly, they had climbed into the domestic wine spotlight, their cabernets and chardonnays outselling all other brands nationwide. They had risen to fame and fortune together, seen their winery thrive, and then, unexpectedly, Bruno had died in his sleep. A heart attack.
Before Bruno’s death, he’d taken an unexpected step. His will dictated that his half of the business wasn’t to revert to Antonio upon his death, as they had discussed, but rather to his only son: one Luca Ferrari.
Antonio had never met the boy. Bruno and his wife had split up long before his death, citing irreconcilable differences, and the boy—now a man—had grown up with his mother. According to Bruno, growing up, his son had been so consumed by his schoolwork and extra-curricular activities that he used them as an excuse to erect a wall Bruno had never managed to scale. Luca had no interest in the wine business and was dead set against following in his successful father’s footsteps. Instead, he chose to make a name for himself as a venture capitalist. In essence, half the winery had gone to a stranger.
Antonio didn’t want to disrespect his partner’s memory, but he found himself exasperated at the turn of events. The empire they had worked over four decades to build was now to be split in half? He never thought he’d see the day, thought he’d be dead and buried before the winery ever split up.
As the limousine moved towards the church hosting Bruno’s service, Antonio frowned, leafing through the papers he held. He’d had Luca Ferrari thoroughly investigated. In addition to the report, the file held a number of articles on the man and the business successes for which he’d been responsible. Ferrari was on the verge of achieving superstar level. He seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. It was whether that head had any interest in wine that concerned Antonio.
The final piece of information from the investigator—a photograph of the thirty-four-year-old man. To Antonio’s surprise, Luca was far from the pencil-necked nerd he’d originally had him pegged as. Instead, he was the very image of his father in his younger years: tall, broad-shouldered and dark-eyed, something Antonio supposed all the women found attractive nowadays. His late wife, Elenora, bless her soul, had sworn that it was these exact features that had drawn her to her husband—along with his humor and kindness.
Antonio began to concoct a scheme in his clever mind.
Bruno, whatever his reasoning, had willed his half of the business to his son, possibly to mend the rift between father and son. It would be up to Antonio to bring the young man into the fold. Of course, getting Luca to sell would be his primary goal. But if that didn’t work, what better solution than to win Luca to his side by introducing him to Alessia?
The very thought of his quiet, brilliant, beautiful daughter made Antonio’s heart swell with pride. She’d taken to the wine business like a fish to water. From the moment she was able to walk, Alessia had been skipping around the grape vines and squealing as he chased her through the gardens, beloved by the staff of the property’s hotel and grounds.
Alessia and Elenora had spent many days sitting under the expansive lemon trees, laughing and talking. At other times, Alessia followed closely at her father’s heels and learned the ins and outs of the empire he and Bruno had built. Alessia was shy, but sharp as a whip when it came to the business and unafraid to take risks. Making her manager of the vineyard was one of the best decisions Antonio had ever made.
Elenora’s death had hit Alessia hard. She’d always been close to her mother, and ever since she passed away two years ago, his bright-eyed daughter hadn’t been the same. Perhaps what she needed was a man in her life. Given all the time she spent tucked away in the winery’s office, Antonio hadn’t seen her make an effort to work on her personal life.
Alessia was a hard worker, but hard work didn’t bring one everything in life! He couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like without Elenora at his side. It was his greatest wish to see Alessia happy with a man who spoiled her senseless. Although he selfishly didn’t want to lose her, he wanted grandchildren, at least three, bouncing on his knee before he went to meet his maker.
So if Bruno had wanted to play hardball, Antonio would play.
A fond smile spread across his lips as Antonio stared through the car window at the immense, ornate church where Bruno’s body currently rested. The man couldn’t be modest, even in death.
“Let’s meet this son of yours, Bruno,” he murmured, low and contemplative, “and measure his mettle, shall we?”
Chapter 1
“These look amazing, Flavia.” Leaning over the breakfast buffet piled high with fresh-baked goods, Alessia Costa inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of blueberries and cinnamon. Though she had always been of the opinion that her mother made the best blueberry scones, Flavia, the chef for the vineyard, came in a close second.
“Well, don’t just stand there sniffing at them, dearie.” The portly woman’s heavy Scottish brogue turned her words into a lilting song as her brown eyes sparkled with mirth. “Have one while they’re hot. The first guest won’t be down for ages.”
With a small smile, Alessia selected a large scone from the basket and took a bite. As always, Flavia didn’t disappoint. “This is sinful, Flavia. You spoil me.”
“That’s because you work too hard, darling.” The baker poked Alessia’s flat stomach. “If no one reminded you, I doubt you’d eat at all.”
“That’s not true,” Alessia said in her defense, holding up the scone as evidence. “I had a cinnamon roll for breakfast yesterday.”
Flavia arched a brow. “And since then?”
Alessia opened her mouth to tell Flavia what she’d had for dinner the previous night before recalling that she hadn’t eaten dinner. Or indeed lunch. Swallowing her denial, she merely sighed, shaking her head. “All right, fine. You win.”
“Sweet Lord, girl. You need a bit more meat on your bones. If your father knew how little you were eating, he’d be upset.” Taking hold of Alessia’s arm, Flavia maneuvered her into nearby chair, seating her at one of the elegantly set tables in the dining room. “You sit right here, and I’ll bring you a plate. You’re to eat all of it. Do you understand?”
Alessia began to protest. “Flavia, I have a meeting with a distributer in an hour, and then I’m supposed to do a walking tour with some new investors—” Her mouth snapped shut at the severe look on Flavia’s face.
“Every. Last. Bite. Lassie.”
She’d forgotten how intimidating Flavia could be when she tried. “I suppose I have time for breakfast first.”
Flavia’s wide smile reappeared. “That’s the ticket. You wait right here.” Turning her back on her employer, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a bemused Alessia sitting at the ta
ble.
She supposed she could spare twenty minutes for breakfast. It was getting a bit old, running on coffee and the occasional bagel.
As she waited for Flavia to bring her meal, she watched the sun rise through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the dining room. It was one of her favorite places, the sheer beauty of it something she never tired of. The sky lightened as the sun shone its rose-colored rays down on row after row of ripe California grapes, swelling in preparation for the wine they would create.
The gardens, meticulously tended, stretched out before the hotel in a series of rose hedges, lemon trees, and large, open ponds stocked with a variety of fish. Beyond the hotel itself was the fermenting house for the grapes, where the barrels of wine slowly aged into some of the best in the country. People came from all over the world to take tours of the winery and plant, taking bottles of Costa and Ferrari back to their homes to spread the word about their delicious quality.
Alessia watched as members of the staff lovingly tended the grapes, testing them for ripeness and color. They would check the plump fruits each day to ensure they were maturing properly. She liked to sneak down and check them for herself whenever she could. The many different varieties—sweet, tart, and bitter—thrilled her like nothing else. Knowing that they would go into wines enjoyed by people she’d never even met had always given her little shivers of excitement.
The winery was her life. Second to nothing else. She’d grown up here, between her loving parents and the family business, and couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Her mother had passed here, in the comfort of the place she had known and loved since she’d first laid eyes on it.
Alessia missed her more than words could say. It was her mother who’d encouraged her love of the vineyard—the grapes, the wine, and the business that came with them. She had supported her husband ceaselessly in his every venture and hadn’t hesitated to move with him from New York to California. Elenora Costa had been a strong and beautiful woman, and when she passed, she’d left Alessia wondering if she could ever fill the amazing woman’s shoes.
She took in her reflection in the mirror hanging over the massive fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. While many people thought that she looked more like her mother, Alessia believed she favored her father more. She had his aquamarine eyes, high forehead, and full lips. From her mother, she had inherited a slim build and lush, dark brown hair, usually styled in a chignon at the base of her neck. She’d never had any illusions that she was overly pretty. She was far too shy for that. Instead, when men attempted to speak with her, she did her best to divert their attention to the winery, which she hardly ever left, except on winery-related business.
It seemed as if anything was easier than emotional entanglement. Alessia had watched too many of her friends have their hearts broken by men who couldn’t care less. It seemed to her that men were callous, selfish creatures, more interested in getting laid than forming an actual emotional connection. While she supposed she couldn’t begrudge them the former trait—she herself sometimes found the longing for intimacy almost unbearable—the latter she found inexcusable.
And so she’d had only a few short-term relationships, despite the fact that she was approaching thirty in another three years, and she’d never brought a man home to meet her parents. None had ever even come close to being someone she wanted to introduce to them. Even her childish belief that sex was something grandiose and all-encompassing had been shattered, and when she did find the courage to go home with a man, she now knew to keep her expectations fairly low.
That way, she was never disappointed.
As it was, however, she was far too busy with the winery to worry about men. Today alone, she had a full schedule of meetings, and she looked forward to every one of them. She would enjoy every bite of her decadent breakfast without a shred of guilt, and then she would busy herself with her appointments for the day. If she was lucky, her father would return from San Francisco and they could have a glass of wine together in the evening.
When she remembered the eccentric Bruno Ferrari, she could only smile fondly. He’d been a character, and he and her father had built the empire that was Costa and Ferrari together. While she’d never been very close to Bruno, he’d always been kind to her. He never forgot her birthday and often gave her candy when she was a child; when she blossomed into adulthood, he’d sent flowers.
He’d been a good man, and she regretted not being able to attend his funeral. However, she was needed here. Her father, she was sure, would deliver her condolences to Bruno’s family. His ex-wife would be there, she supposed, despite the ugliness with which Alessia had heard they’d split after the birth of their son. And the son himself? Who knew. He was a bit of a mysterious figure. Alessia hoped that Luca Ferrari had had the decency to come to his father’s funeral, however estranged they’d been.
“Here we are, m’love.”
She was pulled from her thoughts by Flavia setting a steaming plate of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and hash browns in front of her. At the sight of the food, Alessia’s mouth watered. She’d finished her scone in four bites and was absolutely starving. Flavia knew her better than she knew herself.
“Thank you, Flavia.” She savored the first bite and, for the moment, thought only of appeasing her empty stomach before starting her busy day.
Chapter 2
Sunny California
The fact that his father so enjoyed Napa Valley had always perplexed Luca Ferrari. Yes, they had nice weather going for them, but what else was there? Compared to the hustle and bustle of New York, California seemed boring.
Luca lived in a fast-paced world. Eat or be eaten. He’d waded through the proverbial muck of sweat and tears to get his venture capital business where it was today, and he was proud to say he was one of those who’d been able to make it in the Big Apple. Of course, he’d had his mother and his college buddies to encourage him when he was at his lowest.
They were there when he’d quit his job as a stockbroker and was barely making ends meet, and when he finally opened his first office in a shack that was basically a fire-code violation waiting to happen. Now the business had twelve locations in four states and was growing exponentially every year.
He’d left his business and all his duties back in New York, in response to a single sheet of paper. Glancing down at the document before him, Luca sighed.
He hadn’t gone to the funeral. Somehow, it hadn’t felt right. He hadn’t known his father in life, and he didn’t want it to look like he was trying to leech off the old man’s success in death. He didn’t need to. He’d always hoped that one day he might reach his father’s level of success, and that day had finally come.
Luca had told himself early on that he would never attempt to coast on his father’s wealth. Of course, Father had sent money when it was needed—he never seemed to object—but actually making an appearance? Being present in Luca’s life? That was something Bruno Ferrari had never bothered with. Luca’s mother, Selena Ferrari, had always said that her ex-husband’s greatest weakness was that he never had time for anyone unattached to his business goals.
Luca had grown up without a father, or even a father figure. He’d taught himself to play sports, gone on his first fishing trip as an adult with his business partners, and when he’d signed his first big contract, it was his mother he contacted first. Bruno had always been a distant, unreachable enigma, one Luca accepted as beyond his realm of understanding.
Until he died.
Luca had been surprised when an attorney showed up on his doorstep to inform him that the father who hadn’t been able to spare him a moment in life had thought of him before he died. And not only thought of him. Willed him half of a damn business empire.
His first impulse had been to sell it. He knew nothing about the wine business and didn’t need to be reminded of the man who’d broken his mother’s heart and turned his back on his only child. However, after some serious thought, he decided it wasn’t in his best
interests to be so hasty.
His issues with his father aside, the vineyard was a viable business with a healthy bottom line. If he had time, he might be willing to learn about the wine industry, or at least pay someone to do it for him. In any event, he owed it to himself to at least visit the place before he got rid of it. Finally, there was the simple fact that Luca loved wine.
He always had. It had never been something he’d expected his father to know or care about, and deep down, he’d always wondered what Costa and Ferrari wines tasted like. He’d never been able to bring himself to drink any. As much as he loved his cabernets and merlots, he stubbornly refused to support a man who had only supported his son with cash.
And yet here he was, seated in a café in San Francisco as he contemplated the two-hour drive to the country address of his father’s legacy. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d come all this way chasing dreams. His father’s partner, Antonio Costa, had already offered to buy out his half of the business, take the matter out of his hands entirely. If he was smart, he would have taken the offer without even leaving New York.
However, curiosity had brought him three thousand miles, searching for the reasoning behind his father’s decision. They’d never been close, and he wondered if Bruno had even known he liked wine. Part of him wondered if his father hadn’t just set it all up as a big joke to ridicule him even in death. He wouldn’t put it past the old man.
He owed it to himself, at least, to show up at the winery and make an assessment. If Costa wanted to buy him out, Luca should see first what he would be giving up. That, of course, meant that he would have to deal directly with the man. He’d never met him. His mother had not approved of the partnership between Antonio Costa and his father; it had taken away from the time he could have spent with his wife and son. Not long after they went into business together, the marriage had fallen apart.