PROLOGUE : BEFORE THE STORM
ALESSIA'S POV
My phone started buzzing while I was in the office arguing with Luca about label designs. I ignored the first call. Then the second. By the third, he looked at me like, seriously?
I didn’t answer. A text came in right after.
GIANNI: Signorina Rossi, your father requests your presence in Naples. Immediately.
Just like that, the peace I’d built in Florence cracked. I stared at the message, hoping I had read it wrong.
“Are you okay?” Luca asked.
“Yeah. Just spam messages,” I lied, I wasn’t good at lying, though. He doesn’t look convinced but decided to drop it.
Luca, my business partner, had been with me since the beginning since I walked away from my father’s empire with a dream about making wine. He helped me find this space, taught me the difference between Chianti and Sangiovese when I thought they were the same thing, and never once asked about the armed men who showed up that first month looking for Don Rossi’s daughter. People think being a Don’s daughter means luxury, security, and private jets. Sure. Also, bodyguards, curfews, and silence when you demand an answer. The winery was my sanctuary, my escape from the world I left behind. I had built Bella Vita Wine from scratch, pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into every bottle.
My phone buzzed. Again. I ignored it, but the persistent ringing eventually broke through our discussion. “Sorry, I need to…” I trailed off, grabbed my jacket, and slipped out the back door. The warm sunlight and fresh air did little to calm my racing thoughts.
The streets of Florence were packed with tourists taking photos of literally everything, buildings, pigeons, and cobblestones that looked exactly like every other cobblestone in Italy. The place was calm as always, warm colours, slow traffic. Three years here had made me believe I could stay out of my family’s world forever..
As evening fell, I found myself at home, staring at the same text message. My best friend Chiara arrived with takeout and a bottle of champagne that definitely cost more than she should have spent.
“Okay, so,” she said, kicking off her shoes and dropping onto my couch, “you know that guy from the tasting event? The one with the nice hair?"
“What about him.” I asked, trying to act neutral.
“He asked about you.”
I paused mid-bite. “Why?”
“Because you’re hot and terrifying, which is apparently his type.” she said.
“OH.” That was all I said while in deep thought.
“Alessia, you can’t die alone surrounded by wine bottles.”
“Bella vita wine is my passion for now” I said randomly.
She threw a pillow at my head. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on an actual date?”
“What does an actual date look like.”
“Dinner. Conversation. The possibility of a second date that doesn’t end with you finding an excuse to leave early.”
I thought about it. “Two years ago?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I was busy building a business.”
“You were busy hiding from life, Alessia.”
The words hit harder than she probably meant them to. Chiara didn’t know the whole story. She only knew I left home and that my family was “complicated.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I said finally. “I was just being… selective. "
“Selective is going on three dates before deciding someone’s not for you. You’re doing something else entirely.”
I wanted to argue, but my phone buzzed on the counter, loud enough that we both heard it.
Chiara glanced over. “You gonna get that?”
“Nope.”
She studied me for a moment, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "You’ve been weird since i came. What's really going on
I hesitated, but she knew me too well. “I got a message from my father,” I admitted.
Her expression turned serious. “And?” she asked carefully.
“He wants me in Naples.”
She went quiet for a second. Then she shrugged, like she was brushing it off. “You’ve been here three years. Whatever that is… it doesn’t get to run your life anymore."
Maybe she meant it as comfort, but that didn’t ease the knots tied in my stomach. We chatted for a bit
Later, after she left and the apartment was quiet, I stood in the dark, listening to Florence hum outside my window. That was when I picked up my phone.
Two new messages.
All from Gianni, my father’s right-hand man.
GIANNI: The Don insists. A car will collect you at dawn.
GIANNI: This is not a request, Signorina. There are matters that require your immediate attention.
I read them twice. Then I opened another bottle of wine, one from my latest wine edition Brunello I’d been saving and poured myself a glass.
I stood at the window, looking out at Florence. The city lights came on one by one, warm and golden against the dark. Somewhere out there, people were having dinner, falling in love, living lives that didn’t include armed guards or blood money.
I wanted that life so badly I had walked away from everything to get it.
