That's Amore

Chapter 30

The long dining hall of Villa delle Rosa glowed with lamplight, the table stretched like a river of wood beneath gleaming glass and porcelain. Silver forks caught the flicker of candles, bottles of wine gleamed dark and deep, and the air smelled of roasted lamb, rosemary, and garlic simmered with oil. Outside, the night sang with cicadas, but inside, the only music was the low murmur of voices — until Alessandro’s arrived, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Giuliano.”

The name landed heavily. The eldest Moretti leaned forward, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the table. His brows knit, his gaze stern, fixed on the son who sat opposite him. Around them, forks hesitated, conversations faltered. Even the candles seemed to burn lower.

“You have been distracted,” Alessandro said, his voice rich but edged with steel. “The vines wait, yet you wander. The vats fill, yet you linger. Do you think the land tends itself?”

Giuliano did not flinch. His jaw tightened, his hands steady on the table, but his eyes remained on his father. “I tend the land. Every day. Every night. But I am not a machine, Father. I am a man.”

The silence that followed was thick. Renato cleared his throat softly, glancing at Sofia, who shifted uncomfortably, one hand at her belly. Cousins looked down at their plates, knives slicing too carefully, too slowly. Isabella sat frozen, the lamb cooling untouched on her plate, her heart pounding.

Alessandro’s gaze sharpened. “A man proves himself by labour, not excuses. You carry my name. You carry this vineyard. And yet you allow yourself to be led astray.”

His eyes flicked toward Isabella then, pointed, searing. The meaning was clear. The air seemed to snap around her. Her cheeks burned, but she did not lower her gaze. She lifted her chin, her chest rising, refusing to shrink into invisibility.

Giuliano’s voice dropped, quiet but resolute. “Do not speak of her as if she were a shadow. She is not your burden to measure.”

The words struck like lightning. The table stirred — a cousin gasped, silver clinked against a plate, Sofia pressed a hand to her lips. Alessandro’s face hardened, his voice rumbling deeper.

“You dare speak against me? In my house? In front of her?”

Giuliano leaned forward, his eyes burning. “In this house, perhaps. But the vineyard is not only yours, Father. It belongs to all of us. And I will not let fear — or your disapproval — strip me of what I know to be true.”

Alessandro’s fist came down hard, rattling the glasses, sloshing wine across the tablecloth. “And what is true, Giuliano? That you waste yourself on distractions? That you forget the blood in your veins for the sake of—”

“—for the sake of love,” Giuliano cut in, his voice fierce, ringing against the stone walls.

The word hung in the air, shocking, undeniable. Isabella’s breath caught, her heart seizing. Her eyes stung with sudden tears, not only at his defiance but at his courage to speak it aloud, in front of the one man who sought to silence it.

Alessandro’s lips pressed into a line, his face pale with anger. But he did not speak again. He sat back heavily, the weight of his silence more oppressive than thunder.

The meal carried on in fragments — knives scraping, wine poured too quickly, voices hushed and tense. Yet Isabella felt something shift, like a fault line breaking. Giuliano had said the word. He had thrown it into the light, where it could not be taken back.

Her hand slid into her lap, trembling, closing around her grandmother’s letter tucked in her pocket. Love will root you more deeply than fear ever could. The words pulsed through her like blood.

And though the dinner ended in silence, though Alessandro’s shadow still loomed over the hall, Isabella knew something had changed forever. The truth had been spoken, and like wine spilt across linen, it could not be undone.