Chapter 2 — A Stranger’s Welcome

Chloe

Chloe stepped onto the gravel path, her sneakers crunching softly as she took in the vineyard spread before her. The fading evening light suffused the hills with warm gold, turning the tangled rows of vines into a sprawling mosaic of shadow and sunlight. The villa loomed behind her, a weathered specter of grandeur, its crumbling facade a quiet reminder of how far it had fallen. She tugged her light jacket tighter around her shoulders as a cool breeze swept in, carrying with it the bittersweet tang of grapes and damp earth.

She crouched beside a vine, brushing her fingers over its gnarled, knotted wood. It felt ancient, as though it had endured generations of storms and seasons, stubbornly holding its ground. A flash of green at its base—a tiny sprig fighting its way into the world—caught her attention. The resilience stirred something unexpected in her, a pang somewhere between admiration and unease. Was this what her father had poured his energy into, leaving her with questions she couldn’t answer? Of all the things she could have inherited, why this? She didn’t know the first thing about vineyards, let alone what it would take to save this one.

A faint sound broke through her thoughts—the crunch of approaching footsteps on gravel. Chloe straightened, her hand falling away from the vine as her pulse quickened. She turned, squinting against the amber glow of the setting sun, and saw a man striding toward her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his silhouette cutting a sharp figure against the golden light. His tailored shirt and dark trousers contrasted with the rugged lines of the vineyard, and as he stepped closer, she noted the wavy dark hair that fell just so and the sharp cheekbones that seemed almost sculpted. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, and the intensity of his gaze was enough to unsettle her.

“Signorina Bennett, I presume?” His voice was deep, smooth yet clipped, with an accent that curled around the edges of the words like a well-practiced melody. There was no warmth in his tone—only a measured authority that made her feel as though she were being sized up.

Chloe blinked, caught off guard by the force of his presence. “Yes, I’m Chloe,” she replied cautiously. “And you are?”

“Luca Vittori,” he said, his name rolling off his tongue with a practiced ease. “I own the estate bordering your vineyard. I came to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

Her stomach tightened. “Rumors?” she asked, her voice edging into defensiveness.

“That you were here to sell,” he said, his words dropping like stones between them. “I thought I should meet the woman who plans to rid herself of her father’s legacy before she’s even finished unpacking.”

The sting of his accusation was immediate, and Chloe’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall inviting you to interrogate me,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she’d intended. “This is my family’s property—not a public forum.”

Luca’s expression remained impassive, his gaze steady. “Your father cared deeply about this vineyard,” he said, his tone unyielding. “Selling it would undo everything he worked for.”

His words struck something raw inside her, and she felt her defenses rise. “You didn’t know my father,” she shot back, her voice laced with a mix of anger and uncertainty. “And if you think you can guilt me into anything, you’re wasting your time.”

“I knew him better than you realize,” Luca said evenly, his blue eyes never leaving hers. “Enough to know he wouldn’t want the vineyard passed off to the highest bidder.”

Chloe crossed her arms, her fingers curling into her sleeves as she tried to hold her ground. “Well, forgive me if I don’t take advice from someone who barges onto my property uninvited,” she said, her tone biting.

His lips quirked slightly—not quite a smirk, but close. “Forgive me,” he replied, though the word carried more calculation than sincerity. “I thought you might appreciate hearing from someone who understands the weight of what’s been left to you.”

Chloe’s jaw tightened. “What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice tinged with challenge.

Luca gestured toward the vines, his movements smooth and deliberate, as if every action had been considered beforehand. “This land isn’t just a vineyard,” he said. “It’s history. It’s sacrifice. It’s a living thing that requires care and respect. You can’t simply approach it like a commodity to be traded.”

“Is that how you see me?” Chloe countered, her indignation rising. “Some clueless American who couldn’t possibly grasp the ‘great weight of tradition’ here?”

Luca’s silence was more telling than any response, his gaze cutting into her with unnerving precision.

Chloe straightened her shoulders, determined not to let him shake her. “Look, Mr. Vittori—”

“Luca,” he corrected, his voice softening just enough to make the moment feel deliberate.

“Fine. Luca,” she said, her tone still firm. “I don’t need you to lecture me about what this place means. I came here to figure that out for myself. And you don’t get to decide how I go about it.”

A flicker of something—was it respect? Frustration?—flickered across his face before it disappeared behind the stoic mask he seemed to wear so well. For a moment, the weight of the evening air pressed between them, the vineyard around them silent except for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“Very well,” Luca said finally, his tone measured but less sharp. “But if you truly want to understand this place, curiosity alone won’t be enough. The vineyard doesn’t wait for anyone to figure out their intentions. It demands commitment.”

His words settled over Chloe like the twilight descending around them, heavy and inescapable. Before she could respond, Luca turned, his steps purposeful as he strode toward the edge of the property. She watched his retreating figure, her mind a storm of unanswered questions and simmering doubts.

Who was this man, really? And what did he know about her father that she didn’t?

The air grew cooler as the sun dipped below the hills, the sky shifting into hues of amber and indigo. Chloe wrapped her arms around herself, staring out over the vineyard as the cicadas’ hum grew louder in the shadows. Despite the sting of Luca’s words, a part of her couldn’t help but feel he was right. This land wasn’t just an inheritance—it was a legacy. And legacies, she suspected, were rarely simple.

With a sigh, she turned back toward the villa, her footsteps crunching against the gravel. The vines swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves catching the last light of the day. For the first time, the enormity of what lay ahead pressed down on her, a weight she hadn’t entirely prepared for.

When she reached the villa’s threshold, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. The vineyard stretched endlessly into the encroaching darkness, its wild beauty both daunting and strangely magnetic. Shaking her head, Chloe stepped inside, letting the heavy wooden door close behind her with a faint thud. Upstairs, the villa was quiet, its dimly lit corridors bathed in the faint glow of a single lamp she’d left on earlier.

Her steps slowed as she entered the study. The locked drawer gleamed faintly in the low light, its brass handle catching her attention. Chloe knelt in front of it, running her fingers over the cool metal. Luca’s words echoed in her mind, mingling with her father’s absence and the endless questions it had left behind.

Whatever secrets her father had hidden here, she would find them. And as much as Luca’s accusations had stung, she couldn’t shake the truth in what he’d said. If she wanted to understand this place—and her father—it would take more than curiosity. It would take commitment.

And maybe, just maybe, it would take faith.