Chapter 7
Allegra
“ Y ou said it had something to do with your uncle ?”
It’s an innocent sounding question and, yes, I guess I did imply that, didn’t I? Still my mood takes a nosedive—and not in a sexy, Post Malone sort of way. “Kind of?” I reply, squirming slightly at the thought. I really don’t like thinking about that period of my life. “I mean, he said he’d buy me a ticket if I wanted to visit my mother. She lives in Italy now, with my stepfather and his family. They have a winery there. In Tuscany.”
Romero rolls his eyes. “Of course, they do.”
“It sounded almost too good to be true. So of course, like an idiot, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“Why do you say that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and regarding me curiously. “That doesn’t sound idiotic at all. At eighteen? Who wouldn’t make that choice?”
“I guess. Maybe you’d have to know my family better in order to understand how really stupid it was.”
“Possibly,” he agrees. “And I admit that I don’t know your uncle well at all, but based on what I’ve observed this past summer, what you’ve told me, various claims your sisters have made; it does seem a little…out of character?”
“Perhaps,” I admit. “But…did I mention it was a one-way ticket?”
“Uh, no.” He grins back, ruefully. “You did not. I suppose that does change things, doesn’t it?” But a moment later, his expression changes. “Wait. Are you saying he sent you all the way to Europe, completely on your own, with no return ticket? Do you even speak the language? What were you supposed to do over there? How did he expect you to get back?”
“Whoa. Hold on now,” I tell him. “It wasn’t that bad. It’s not like he dropped me off on a deserted island. I was staying with family, remember? Mama could certainly have afforded to send me back, if she’d wanted, or if I’d’ve insisted. But yes, I’m sure Geno was hoping I’d stay gone for a while. I think he viewed it as an easy solution to the problem.”
“What problem was that?”
“Well, me, of course. I was always the problem. And I guess, after eight years of dealing with me, he decided he’d had enough.”
Romero’s lips tighten. He eyes me narrowly, like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how I’ll take it. My money’s on either pity, or censure, and I don’t want either.
“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” I say, rushing into speech before he can. “He had a point, after all. Not that I would have agreed, at the time.”
“What point was that?”
“Well, I’d just turned eighteen, as you pointed out. But I was not yet twenty-one. So the law was going to treat me like an adult, even though a lot of what I was doing, or wanted to do still wasn’t legal. Or should I not be telling you this?”
He shakes his head. “You’re fine. That was years ago. So, unless you ‘killed a man in Reno,’ you’re in the clear.”
“Good to know,” I reply solemnly. “And I will neither confirm nor deny said Reno-cide.”
His lips quirk. “Noted.”
“Anyway, the reason my uncle was so triggered was because my cousin Leo actually did get into some kind of legal trouble when he was about that age. He’s the oldest of the cousins. I think Geno feared there’d be a repeat performance, so he tended to overreact with the rest of us. Or at least that’s how he was with me and my sisters.”
“So did he kill a man in Reno?”
“Who Leo?” I shake my head. “God, no. Can you imagine?” I sip my wine and laugh at the idea until I realize he isn’t laughing with me. “Are you serious right now?”
“I don’t know,” he says in a politely neutral cop voice that immediately grates on my nerves. “You tell me.”
“I just did,” I snap in response, bristling with family loyalty as I rise to my cousin’s defense. “Of course, he didn’t.” Although, to be honest, I’m responding on instinct. I don’t actually know what kind of trouble Leo had gotten into. I remember the tears, and the raised voices, and the parade of cop cars coming and going down Belmonte’s wide drive, but if I ever knew the details, I’ve forgotten them now.
In all likelihood, that was one of those family secrets—like the ones my cousins and I had talked about earlier. Given my age at the time, I was probably shielded from the drama. But it’s also possible that I just didn’t care. My own life was chaotic enough to keep me wrapped up in my own concerns—especially after my father died.
That hit me hard. It changed everything. Not just for me, of course. We were all affected. And I’m not saying it was a relief when Mama finally up and ran away with Sergio. But, in retrospect, given her own behavior at the time and my outsized feelings of culpability, it kind of was.
“Anyway,” I continue, determined to wrap up the conversation, which has drifted so far off course, I can barely remember where we were headed. “Long story short. My grandmother was against my going. She and my uncle argued about it, but in the end…what can I say? I hadn’t seen my mother in several years, at that point, and…I really wanted to go.”
But that’s another memory I’d rather not revisit. Sitting cross-legged on the porch, right below the open window, straining to hear what was being said. The rapid patter of their voices—speaking in Italian, too quickly and too quietly, for me to easily interpret their words. My uncle’s anger. My grandmother’s pain. My own, deep-set certainty that I would never stop messing up, that I would always find a way to hurt the people I cared about most.
And all at once, I’m blinking back tears, crying for the grief-stricken teenager I no longer am.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” Romero asks, his voice concerned as he reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t. I just… I guess I wish now that I’d chosen otherwise. Because that was the last time I ever saw my grandmother. And…and she’s gone now and I… hate that our last words to one another in person were spoken in anger.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. The words are trite and standard, but he sounds sincere, as though he too has known grief, and can recognize it in others.
But I don’t deserve his sympathy. Not for this. “It was my own fault,” I say, slipping my hand away, attempting to shrug it off. “I could have done things differently, come back sooner, not gone at all, but…I didn’t, so...”
“So, were you with your mom all this time?” he asks, clearly hoping to shift our conversation into a more positive direction. “That must have been nice?”
“Oh. No.” I shake my head. “Nonna was right about that. That didn’t work out. At. All. I clashed with my new stepfamily almost immediately. And Mama…well, she’ll never change. But I guess there are some lessons you need to learn for yourself.” It’s not that my mother is intentionally cruel or uncaring. But she’s incapable of being the mother that I wanted her to be. “I was only there for about a month before I decided I’d be better off on my own.”
I nod to myself as I take another sip of wine. I’m pleased with the way that sounds—not traumatic at all. If only the reality had been the same...
In the beginning, Mama had seemed thrilled to have me there. As had Sergio. And yes, it went to my head. How could it not?
Suddenly, after years of being ignored, I was being showered with gifts, lavished with attention, heaped with praise. And I was all too willing to forgive and forget. Who cared that my mother had made the decision to move halfway around the world, to leave me and my sisters behind? Or that she’d been emotionally absent for most of our lives? She was doting on me now and I was there for it.
And maybe it was inevitable that Sergio’s children by his previous marriage—Bettina, Massimo, and Elettra—would resent the shit out of me. But I also know my behavior didn’t help.
On the other hand, it wasn’t all my fault, either. See, no one ever troubled to guard their tongues when I was present, because it was well-established that I couldn’t speak Italian worth un cavolo , as the Italians would say. But I’d grown up eavesdropping. And just because I struggled to find the words necessary to speak Italian, with any kind of fluidity, that didn’t mean I couldn’t understand a lot of what was being said. And what I quickly learned was that while my stepfamily didn’t like me very much, they absolutely loathed my mother.
La opportunista was one of their nicknames for her: the opportunist. Which, sad to say, they weren’t completely wrong about. The three of them (six if you counted the spouses, seven if you added in my new step-grandmama) spoke openly about what they could do to prevent Mama from gaining control of their family’s businesses and finances. How they might use me to somehow drive a wedge between Mama and Sergio. What none of us knew, at that point (well, Mama knew, and Sergio of course) was that that ship had already sailed.
But I was young, ignorant, reckless, hot tempered, and firmly on my mother’s side. And I, too, could concoct elaborate plots, and avenge supposed wrongs, and embark on wrong-headed missions.
Having made up my mind that I would prove that my mother was not the only gold-digging, cheat within the Di Stefano family circle, I set my sights on the tomato.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
What you need to know is that we were all living together, at the time—albeit in a mansion so large that it made the Belmonte estate look like a condo. And, when I say all, I mean Mama and Sergio; Sergio’s widowed mother, Dona Lucia; Massimo and his wife (who were expecting their first child); Bettina, her husband (and their three daughters). and Elletra and her boyfriend, Timoteo. Or Tomato, as I liked to call him—as much for the sound of his name as for his very round face. Which, yes, had a pronounced, and unfortunate tendency to grow red whenever he got excited or annoyed. Or, for example, when someone purposely, and repeatedly mispronounced his name.
And while I’m not particularly proud about what happened next, I don’t think it should have surprised anyone, either.
As I’ve said, the family did not like me. Timoteo was the only member of my generation, who did not look on me with disdain. And, yes, I quickly realized that he was a total cascamorto (Italian for flirt). Of course, I did! He complimented my appearance and said outrageously romantic things. He tried to help me with my Italian—even after I’d intentionally butchered his name. And he attempted to proposition me whenever Elettra was out of earshot.
And, yes, I should have heeded the warning. But I was lonely—Mama and Sergio having quickly grown tired of the novelty of having a gauche American relative constantly underfoot—and Timoteo was kind.
And so one thing led to another, as those things usually do, and it didn’t take long before he and I were discovered passionately limonare, which…doesn’t translate into anything sensible, so don’t even worry about it.
My mother was very understanding when I tried to apologize. “No, no. Don’t be silly,” she said, brushing my explanations aside. “Really, when you think about it, you did us all a favor.”
“I think so, too,” I answered meekly. “Maybe it’s better for Elettra to find out now what he’s like, before she marries him.”
“Oh, we all know what he’s like. And Sergio was never going to allow his daughter to marry that man, anyway.” Mama waved a hand dismissively. “But now he has an excuse, and someone else to be the bad guy.”
“Me,” I guessed, feeling sour. Because I really should have seen the writing on the wall. I should have known what was coming next. “So, I guess I should leave?”
“Well, of course,” my mother said. “That’s inevitable. But it’s been lovely having you here and getting to know you again. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I replied. “We all have.” Then I add, impulsively, “Come back to Napa with me! You don’t have to stay here. They all hate you. You have to know that!”
“Oh, I do.” Her eyes danced with amusement as she shot me that grin—the one that’s so terrifyingly like my own. “Of course, I know that. It’s hilarious, isn’t it?”
“What? No! How is that funny? They think you’re here to steal their inheritance, that all you care about is getting your hands on Sergio’s money.”
“I know,” she repeated, patiently. “And that’s why it’s funny. He and I have no illusions. He married me to maintain control, to keep them from ousting him . They don’t know it yet, but he’s put nearly everything they care so much about in my name. They won’t get a penny if they try to act against us.”
I gaped at her as she smiled serenely. “But…”
“So, you see,” she continued. “I have no reason to ever go back to Napa. Why would I? Just so I can argue with my brother? No. I have everything I could ever want right here.”
But she wouldn’t have me, and she wouldn’t have my sisters, and I guess I should already have known how little that mattered to her.
“So where did you go?” the deputy asks, shaking me from my stupor.
“What?”
“Afterwards. If you didn’t stay with your mother, and you didn’t come home…?”
“Oh. No, of course I couldn’t go home, at that point. If I didn’t even stay for the summer? Then everyone would have known that I was wrong, and Nonna was right, and that Geno had played us all; so…I stayed.”
“Stayed where?” he asks, looking confused. “And how? You couldn’t work there, could you? How’d you support yourself.”
I shrug. “Oh, everywhere. Just Europe in general. I moved around a lot. And as it happens, I have dual citizenship through my dad, so I never have to worry about visas, and working anywhere in the EU isn’t a problem, either. So...”
“Lucky.”
“I know. I’m not sure if Geno realized that was the case. Or maybe that was part of what he was counting on? Anyway, who knows? Maybe I’ll get around to asking him sometime.”
“So, what kind of work did you do?”
“Different things. Whatever sounded interesting. The first job I got was at a winery. The timing was perfect; it was getting close to the end of summer, and I knew vineyards can always use extra hands during harvest. Also, as you’ve pointed out, I can sound knowledgeable enough in the short term, so getting hired wasn’t all that difficult.”
Romero frowns. “I meant that as a compliment,” he says in protest. “I don’t know why you’re twisting it into some sort of criticism.”
“Because it works either way, doesn’t it?” I ask. “And anyway, harvesting grapes is harder than you might think—especially since summer in some of these places is so much hotter than it is in Napa. So, I decided I’d try my hand at other things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I worked in hostels for a while—I’d stay for a few weeks at a time, and then I’d move on. That was great, because it meant I got to travel a lot. I could go wherever I wanted to go, and basically stay there for free. I managed to save a ton of money. And if I didn’t get along with someone—a boss, or my co-workers, or whoever—I could be gone before it became a problem.”
“Did that happen a lot?”
I feel myself blush. “Maybe. At first. Not so much later on. And it honed my customer service and hospitality skills, which comes in surprisingly handy running a tasting room. I worked for several tour companies, too: leading all sorts of tours—walking tours, bike tours, ghost walks, pub crawls. Those were probably the most fun—short shifts, big tips, no supervisors looking over your shoulder, everyone loves you.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Yeah. It was,” I say, as I’m hit by a wave of nostalgia. Running my own show, having everyone love me, that was the dream right there. I sure don’t have that now, and I miss it. “Eventually, I got hired to work on a cruise ship. That’s what I was doing when I got the call about my grandmother.”
“And now you’re back here.”
“Yep. Trying to help my sisters get Caparelli up and running—much to my uncle’s dismay.”
“Yeah. So I’ve noticed. What’s up with that, anyway?”
I shrug again. “Who the hell knows? I guess he was hoping we’d fold, that we’d decide it was too much work and put everything back in his hands.”
“And what about your cousins?”
“What about them?”
“Well, you all seemed to be getting along earlier tonight. Weren’t they also dismayed?”
“Good question,” I mutter. “I’m not altogether certain. I mean, they claim that they understand what Nonna was trying to accomplish, that it was her decision, and that they all wish us luck. But I guess I’m skeptical by nature, or something, because I’m finding that a little hard to believe. But, apparently, they’ve been really supportive so far, so...I dunno maybe I’m wrong.”
“Well, maybe. Or maybe not.”
I frown at that. “What?”
He leans in close, lowering his voice to say, “Don’t look now, but your fan club appears to be looking pretty annoyed, at the moment.” He tilts his head toward the table where my cousins are seated. “So, if it’s not you they’re annoyed with, should I be concerned that it’s me?”
I immediately turn to look—which he should have known I’d do. I mean, that whole, ‘don’t look now,’ thing never works, does it? I give my cousins a little wave and a thumbs up—eliciting eye rolls and head shakes in response—before turning back to grin at my dinner companion. “I think they’re just being protective. Which, honestly? Is kind of nice for a change.”
“If you say so.”
“Well yeah,” I reply, in annoyance. “I just did, didn’t I?”
He shrugs in response. “What can I say? Maybe I’m skeptical, too, but those expressions don’t exactly say ‘protective’ to me. They look more like a prelude to violence.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” I tell him. Then, hearing the echo of my mother’s lack of interest in that response, I lean in close. “They’re just concerned, that’s all. They didn’t want me to come over here to talk to you.” I stop, for a moment, to reconsider. “Actually, that’s not completely true. Gianni’s the one who suggested I talk to you. It was the other two who didn’t like the idea. But that’s just because they all think you have a grudge against the family. So, are they right?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? I’m not exactly sure what you—or they—mean by that,” he tells me. “I know I ended up wasting a lot of time, this summer, following up on mostly bogus claims about your sisters’ winery not being in compliance. And then even more time following up on charges that they had leveled against your uncle. And that wasn’t fun either, but?—”
“What do you mean ‘my sisters’ winery’?” I interrupt, as all my insecurities are triggered. “Caparelli is my winery, too, you know.”