Blood & Vines

When my father says “just show your face for a bit,” what he actually means is “pull through no matter how uncomfortable it gets.” And that’s exactly how it feels.

I’m standing in the middle of the room, a glass of wine in my hand, pretending to listen. I keep having to stop myself from rolling my eyes constantly because honestly, I have absolutely no idea what I’m even doing here. Someone is talking about a delivery, something about quantities and time frames, but I checked out a long time ago. I couldn’t care less about my family’s business. I just nod at the right moments, smile when it’s expected and desperately hope that no one notices that I have absolutely no idea what this is even about. Not that I would want to know – I honestly don’t care at all.

The conversations are all the same. Too smooth, too polite, and at the same time there’s something underneath that I can’t quite grasp. It’s as if everyone here is having two conversations – one out loud and one that only exists between glances and only the “inner circle” understands what’s being said between the lines. And I definitely do not belong to the “inner circle.”

I take another sip of my wine, even though I’ve definitely already had enough. Or maybe exactly because of that. My head feels pleasantly light, my thoughts a little slower and it becomes easier not to constantly think about how out of place I actually feel.

“Valentina, is everything okay?”

I startle slightly, turn halfway toward Matteo and nod immediately. “Yeah, of course.”

“You seem so quiet.”

I shrug lightly and lift my glass a little. “I’m just enjoying the wine.”

That seems to be enough of an answer for him. It always is.

He says something else, but I’m already not really listening again. Instead, my gaze wanders through the room and lingers on faces I know and faces I don’t. And suddenly I notice how I’m slowly but surely losing any desire to keep up the fake smile, the listening and this feeling that I’m just going along with everything because I’m the daughter of the powerful Lorenzo Corvino.

I finish my wine without really thinking about how I look doing it and place the empty glass on the nearest tray being carried past me.

“I’m going outside for a moment,” I murmur without really waiting to see if anyone reacts. No one does anyway because they’re all already back in their boring conversations.

Outside, I immediately feel better. I breathe in the fresh night air, close my eyes and smile as the cool breeze instantly wraps around my bare arms. I immediately notice the scent of rain and fresh oranges and enjoy this small moment just for myself.

The voices from the hall are only faintly audible now, as if they no longer fully belong to me.

“Okay,” I murmur quietly to myself, more to sort my thoughts. “That’s it.” I should probably just call a taxi and leave, that would be the most sensible thing to do in my condition. But I don’t.

Instead, I just start walking. Without a destination, I follow the gravel path; away from the house, away from the light that fades a little more with every step. My shoes make a soft sound on the ground, which is oddly calming, even though I struggle to keep my balance on the gravel in my narrow heels. I would probably manage that better – and definitely more elegantly – if I were sober.

I don’t even bother watching where I’m going, I just follow the darkness between the vines that line up to my left and right until I eventually stop because I realize I’ve gone far enough.

It’s finally quiet here. Really quiet.

I lean lightly against one of the wooden posts, look up at the dark sky and notice how my head spins just a little. “Maybe that really was one glass too many,” I murmur with a quiet laugh and close my eyes for a moment. But at least – for the first time that evening – I actually feel like myself out here. No fake mask that I only wear when I’m seen with my family because they expect me to fit into their serious, composed business world.

I don’t know how long I stand there. Maybe a few seconds, but it could also be a few minutes.

Long enough for my head to settle a little again and for my balance to somewhat return. I push myself off the post, brush a strand of hair out of my face and am just seriously considering heading back when I hear an unexpected sound.

Voices.

Quiet, muffled, unfamiliar voices.

I automatically freeze. At first, I think I’m imagining it. Maybe it’s the wind moving through the vines. But then I hear them again. This time they’re closer and much deeper than before. It’s definitely several men.

I turn my head slightly, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. What immediately irritates me is that the voices aren’t coming from the house, but from further down – down here there are only vines and then the sea.

There shouldn’t be anyone out here. At least no one except me, who is escaping from this event. I stay still for another moment, trying to decide what to do next.

Then I do exactly what you’re probably not supposed to do in a situation like this: I move closer.

Slowly and carefully, more out of curiosity than any good reason, I sneak nearer and nearer. My heels crunch softly on the gravel, so I automatically shift more of my weight onto the front of my feet to make less noise. It works only moderately well.

Gradually, the voices become clearer. The men aren’t speaking loudly, but they’re definitely tense. I can’t immediately understand the words, only the tone. Short, clipped, definitely no small talk and not a single laugh. So clearly a completely different atmosphere than inside.

I stop between two rows, lean slightly to the side and try to make something out. I see a black car with tinted windows and three men standing next to it.

One of them is opening the trunk, two others are standing beside him. They speak quietly to each other, but not the way people talk about wine. Not about prices or vintages or delivery times. This sounds… different.

“That doesn’t work like this,” one of them says. The other replies something I don’t quite catch; just that short, annoyed exhale afterward. I frown.

What doesn’t work?

What could possibly not work in a perfectly normal wine delivery? The quantity? I mean… what else could be happening here?

I’m just about to step back because I’m slowly getting the feeling that I really don’t belong here, when one of the men opens a crate. My gaze automatically locks onto it.

I can’t really see much, just that they’re not wine bottles – or at least not wine bottles like I know them. Everything looks… off. Too controlled, too compact, too securely and neatly packed. And definitely far too many men for just wine.

I narrow my eyes slightly.

Okay… maybe just a different packaging.

Yeah, that must be it. It’s probably just some special type of grape or a very specific, ridiculously expensive vintage.

I really should go. I’m already halfway turned away when the mood suddenly shifts.

“That wasn’t what we agreed on,” one of the men says more sharply now. The other takes a step closer.

“Then get used to it.”

For a moment, no one says anything and that’s exactly what makes it so incredibly uncomfortable. I feel my stomach tighten slightly.

Okay, no. Seriously. I’m leaving now.

I take a step back – and stop. Not because I want to, but because something in the atmosphere has suddenly changed, something that’s hard to explain.

The men aren’t talking anymore, no one is moving hectically and yet everything suddenly feels… more focused. As if the attention has shifted to something else.

It takes me a moment to understand why – and then I see him.

He stands a little apart. He must have been there the whole time and I simply didn’t notice him, which is honestly the most unsettling part of this entire situation.

He doesn’t say a single word and barely moves. And yet his mere presence is enough to make everyone else fall silent. Not relaxed or at ease – just completely still.

My gaze automatically lingers on him, as if he pulls me in without any effort. And in that exact moment, he lifts his head and looks directly at me.

For a second, nothing happens – until his icy gaze hits me and suddenly my heartbeat feels far too loud.

Fuck.