"Too much pressure," Luca said to the worker, a man that looked to be in his early thirties, with thin brown hair and the look of someone who has known labor all his life.
His voice was calm but firm as he adjusted the press himself.
"You'll bruise the skins. It changes the taste."
The worker nodded quickly, stepping back.
Luca didn't raise his voice, he didn't need to.
Authority followed him naturally, earned, not demanded.
The winery was alive long before the rest of the estate stirred.
Morning light spilled across rows of ripening grapes, their deep violet skins glistening under a thin layer of dew. The air carried the rich, intoxicating scent of crushed fruit and fermenting sweetness.
Inside, the rhythm of work had already begun.
Barrels lined the vast processing hall, stacked with precision, their aged wood absorbing years of history. Steel vats hummed quietly as workers moved with practiced coordination, sorting, pressing, monitoring. There was no wasted motion, no unnecessary conversation, only discipline.
At the center of it all stood Luca.
His presence didn't dominate loudly, it controlled silently.
Dressed simply in a black shirt and black trousers, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the tension in his forearms, he moved through the space with calculated ease. His gaze lingered where it needed to, catching the smallest inefficiencies, the slightest deviations. A nod here. A quiet correction there.
Nothing escaped him.
From a distance, a man approached, older, his posture slightly bent but his eyes sharp with experience.
"Signor Luca," he greeted.
Luca turned slightly. "Matteo Rinaldi."
Matteo had worked the vineyards longer than Luca had been alive. His loyalty wasn't declared, it was proven, year after year, harvest after harvest.
"The southern batch is ready for inspection," Matteo said.
Luca nodded. "I'll come."
Before moving, his gaze drifted briefly toward the far end of the vineyard, toward the estate beyond it.
Just for a second.
Then he turned back to work.
Meanwhile, in their bedroom, Chiara woke up to absence. The space beside her was already cold, the sheets undisturbed except for the faint imprint he had left behind.
For a moment, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around her. Then she exhaled softly and sat up, she stretched and rubbed her eyes. The estate felt different in the morning. Less suffocating, perhaps, but no less watchful.
She dressed quickly, her movements absentminded, her thoughts elsewhere.
When she was done, she went out in search of Luca.
It didn't take long to realize where he would be, the winery.
The corridor was quiet as she made her way through it, her steps steady, her mind focused.
She was about to cross the threshold when she suddenly heard footsteps behind her.
"Looking for someone?"
Chiara slowed down before she turned.
Isabella stood a few steps behind her, perfectly composed as always. Her presence filled the space deliberately.
"I'm not lost," Chiara replied evenly.
Isabella smiled faintly.
"No," she said. "You seem very certain of where you belong these days." She was staring daggers at Chiara.
Chiara held her gaze. "I go where I choose."
A small pause.
Then Isabella stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
"Is that what you think this is?" she asked, her voice lowering. "Choice?"
Chiara didn't answer.
Isabella's eyes flickered briefly over her, assessing, measuring, dismissing and resenting all at once.
"You must feel very accomplished," she continued. "Walking into a family that was never yours and... rearranging things."
"I didn't take anything from you," Chiara said.
Isabella's smile sharpened slightly.
"No?"
Another step closer.
"Because from where I stand," she murmured, "it looks like you took what was already promised to me."
The tension between them thickened, pressing into the silence. Chiara didn't step back.
"He made his choice," she said quietly.
"Yes," Isabella replied. "And men are often... shortsighted."
Chiara opened her mouth to say something but Isabella's movement stopped her.
The glint of metal caught the light just as quickly as it caught Chiara's skin. Quick and precise.
Chiara felt a sharp sting on her right upper arm immediately. She let out a gasp and her body tensed as the pain registered, her hand instinctively moving to her arm where a thin line of red surfaced almost instantly.
For a fraction of a second, everything stilled.
Then Isabella inhaled sharply, her expression shifting with flawless speed, her hands flew to her mouth.
"Oh" she said, her voice laced with sudden concern. "That was a mistake." But Chiara was sure she saw something that looked like amusement cross her face before it disappeard quickly.
"Chiara."
Luca's voice cut through the corridor like something solid. He was by her side within seconds.
His gaze moved first to the blood, then to Chiara.
Then back to Isabella.
"What happened?" He asked with a calmness that screamed dangerous.
Isabella's composure faltered just enough to seem real.
"I..." she began, her hand lowering slightly, the small blade now visible in her hand but harmless in appearance. "It slipped. I didn't mean to.. " Her voice trembled. Perfectly.
"I was just..."
Luca stepped forward, positioning himself between them without hesitation.
"You were holding a knife in a hallway," he said, his tone dangerously even.
"It was an accident," Isabella insisted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears now. "I would never"
"That's enough." Luca's words came sharper this time.
Chiara stepped forward slightly, her voice soft but steady.
"It's not deep," she said.
Luca didn't look at her immediately, his focus was still on Isabella.
He was clearly holding back something that threatened to surface.
"It's fine," Chiara added and gently tugged on his shirt. That was what pulled him away.
His gaze returned to her, scanning the wound again, his jaw tightening at the sight of it.
Then, without another word, he took her hand.
"Come with me."
Isabella gritted her teeth as angry tears rushed to her eyes. She quickly wiped them.
"I've been too lenient with her, I guess it's time to kick her out of the way and take what belongs to me. Luca, you're mine and no one else's." She said, staring coldly at their retreating backs.
Their room felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was the tension that followed them inside.
Luca moved quickly, controlled but purposeful, gathering what he needed. Cloth. Alcohol. Bandages.
"Sit," he said.
Chiara obeyed, watching him as he worked. He knelt slightly in front of her, his movements precise as he cleaned the cut.
The sting made her flinch slightly. His hands paused.
"Does it hurt?"
"A little."
His jaw tightened again. Silence settled between them for a moment, filled only by the quiet rhythm of his movements.
"They're trying to provoke you," Chiara said finally.
Luca didn't respond. She watched him, the way his focus remained on her arm but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"You know that," she continued softly. "If you react, they win."
He exhaled slowly.
"I know."
"Then don't give them what they want."
His hands stilled for just a second before continuing.
"They hurt you." He said with a calm voice that did so little to conceal the turmoil inside him.
Chiara's gaze softened slightly.
"It's not the first time someone's tried to."
"That doesn't make it acceptable."
"No," she agreed. "But it makes it predictable."
A long pause.
"If they ever try to hurt you again" Luca began, his voice tightening despite himself.
She tilted her head slightly. "What?"
He looked up at her then. And whatever restraint he had been holding onto, it showed clearly.
"I won't hold back." The words were quiet, but absolute.
Chiara held his gaze, something shifting in her expression. He finished wrapping her arm, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin as he secured the bandage.
Neither of them pulled away immediately, instead they let the moment stretch.
His hand remained on her arm a second longer than necessary. Her breath slowed.
Their eyes met and held. Something unspoken passed between them, it was undeniable.
Luca's gaze dropped briefly to her lips then returned to her eyes. The space between them felt smaller than it was.
Chiara felt it, the tightening in her chest, the unfamiliar warmth curling low in her stomach, the quiet anticipation of something she didn't fully understand but couldn't ignore.
For a moment, She thought he would close the distance. That he would let go of whatever was holding him back.
But suddenly, something in his expression changed.
He stood abruptly, stepping away as though the space itself had become necessary.
"I have to get back to the winery," he said, his voice steady again.
And just like that, the moment dissolved. Chiara blinked slightly, still seated, still feeling the echo of what had almost happened.
"Right," she murmured.
He didn't look at her for long before turning toward the door.
But Chiara saw an expression on his face before he turned. An expression she didn't fully understand.
Then he was gone.
In the winery, the work continued. But Luca's focus wasn't as sharp as before, his mind was elsewhere.
He almost messed up and it irritated him so much.
He couldn't let himself give in to these feelings that always threaten to take over him whenever he's with her. She was already vulnerable.
Already surrounded by forces she didn't fully understand.
Crossing that line now wouldn't be control, it would be taking advantage of her. And that, he refused to become. Besides, she didn't even know him at all, even though she thought she did. He had done horrible things with his hands and he felt like they weren't worthy to touch her.
Being an heir to a Mafia empire came with a lot of responsibilities. He didn't have a childhood like every other child, he was always reminded that he needed to be strong to lead a whole empire or else their opponents would crush them and rule the empire.
He had always tried to be in his father's good side, but he always fell short. His father never seemed to notice or even appreciate his efforts.
Then one day, his father arrived from a trip with a young, lanky, blue eyed boy whom he introduced as Marco, his older half-brother. From that day, the course of Luca's life changed. Nothing he did was ever right in his father's eyes, but Marco was the perfect son. Marco trained and mastered the art of archery and shooting, he went on hunts in the woods with his father and shared drinks with him after dinner while Luca always followed his mother to her bedchamber where she read bedtime stories for him.
"Mama, I want to learn how to shoot the gun and arrow," he suddenly said, one night after his mom had tucked him to bed. His mother was surprised but pleased. She didn't want to raise a weak son in an empire filled with people that won't hesitate to kill and destroy just to get what they want. She had lived long enough in this villa to know that power is not negotiated, but earned. Don Vittorio de Rossi didn't get to this level of power by negotiating, instead he took.
Elena got one of the Don's guards that was assigned to protect Luca to train him secretly. Luca learned very fast and before long, he was sneaking out to hunt with his guards.
He mastered the art of archery and when he fired a shot, he never missed.
Thinking about it now as he stood in the middle of the winery, he couldn't help the small smile that played on his lips. He owed everything to his mother. And the woman who has brought so much light in his life, Chiara.
He never thought he would be capable of loving anyone else properly but the moment he laid eyes on her in that small diner in a tiny town in New York, he knew he could never let her go.
"Boss," a voice called behind him.
He turned to see Emilio, one of his guards.
"There's a problem." His eyes held an expression that Luca immediately recognized as fear.
"Spill it, Emilio," he ordered.
"The Don collapsed."