A Death in Tuscany

PrologueIt took a long time for him to reach this decision. Standing now, as he was, hands resting on the stone wall around this loggia, “his porch,” peering out at the vines his grandfather had tended for so many years. “How will they fare?” he asked the wind that tickled his nose and rustled the leaves of grapevines heavy with fruit. “How will the vines prosper without Nonno Filippo to talk to them?” The breeze brought the scent of evening flowers, sagebrush, and roasted meat to his nose. Could it be from as far away as Siena, lit now by the flickering lights of sunset, or from as close as the grill at the outdoor patio where his grape pickers gathered at this time of year? Or could the scent be stirred by his memories, a beckoning to his youth, a reminder of what life was like before he left this storied land? The decision. It would become the most important moment of his life, but it took a lifetime of moments to reach it. After a childhood in the wine country of Italy, he had grown up in America, adopted its culture and accepted its passions, but he never forgot the passions of the Old World. He never forgot the lessons he learned from his grandfather, his nonno, as the Italians say, whose mastery of wine was itself a mastery of life. The decision. It didn't involve only him, Phil Trantino, the heir to the family's wine estate. It involved everyone related by blood or sweat to the land that bore this fruit. The decision. He knew from the beginning what it would be. Shaking his head at this moment, staring out at the vines, he accepted his fate. Then he smiled, because this was what he was born for.