Chapter 142: Fruits of Our Labor

Dinner had answered several questions Giovanni hadn’t known he had.

The next morning brought him back to the ones he was supposed to ask as the new owner.

Giovanni stood in the vineyard’s tasting room with a glass in hand while Stefano Moretti poured a small measure from one of the bottles.

Apparently, inheriting a vineyard didn’t mean he could simply look through the financial reports, confirm money was coming in, and call it a day.

He had to drink too.

A terrible burden.

"This one sells particularly well locally," Moretti explained.

Giovanni lifted the tulip-shaped glass, took in the aroma, then tried a small sip.

He knew enough about wine to embarrass neither himself nor the vineyard, although he wasn’t about to pretend he possessed Moretti’s experience. The wine was dry and balanced, with enough character to distinguish it from something produced solely for volume.

Giovanni looked at the bottle.

The label was restrained and traditional. More importantly, the Mercer name wasn’t plastered across it in enormous letters, which he appreciated.

"How old is the label?"

"The design has changed over the years, but Alessandro preferred to keep it recognizable."

There was his grandfather again.

Even dead, the man apparently had opinions about everything.

Giovanni turned the bottle slightly in his hand. "And where does most of this go?"

That was enough to move them from tasting wine to discussing how the vineyard actually made money.

Moretti brought him into the adjoining office, where the sales reports were already waiting.

Most of the wine remained in Italy, sold through longstanding relationships with restaurants, wine shops, and regional distributors. Direct sales from the estate brought in additional income, while tourism helped during the busier months.

"Good," Giovanni said.

Moretti glanced at him. "You sound relieved."

"I would’ve been concerned if your business model depended on people accidentally finding us."

Moretti laughed. "Alessandro would’ve been concerned too."

The vineyard also exported some of its production, although on a smaller scale.

That interested Giovanni.

"So we can export."

"Yes."

"But we haven’t pushed it."

"No."

"Why?"

Moretti leaned back. "Because producing more wine is not necessarily the same as producing more good wine."

Giovanni looked at him.

That was probably the most vineyard-manager answer he’d heard since arriving.

Moretti smiled. "We can increase production within reason. Alessandro simply never believed selling more bottles was worth sacrificing quality."

That, Giovanni, understood.

"I’m not interested in turning this into supermarket wine."

"Good. Because I would advise against it."

Nothing about the answer felt confrontational. Moretti had simply spent enough years working these vines to know when growth started becoming compromise.

"But I am interested in knowing whether we’re leaving good opportunities untouched," Giovanni said. "Find out how much we can realistically increase without affecting quality and where there’s demand for it."

Moretti nodded.

"Don’t change anything yet. I want to know what we can do before we decide what we should do."

"Yes, Signor Mercer."

Giovanni glanced at the bottle again.

There was another possibility.

"I own two restaurants," he said. "One of them is Matteo’s."

Moretti’s expression softened at the name.

Giovanni tapped the label lightly with one finger.

He wasn’t interested in turning his restaurants into advertisements for his vineyard. If the wine weren’t suitable for the menu, being family-owned wouldn’t magically make it so.

But if it was?

"Send samples to Matteo’s. I’ll have the sommelier and chef evaluate them properly."

Moretti raised an eyebrow. "You already tasted them."

"I own the vineyard now. That makes me biased."

The older man laughed.

"If they think any of the wines belong on the list, we’ll serve them. Same standards as any other supplier."

"And if they don’t?"

"Then you can blame my sommelier."

Moretti laughed again.

By the time Giovanni left the vineyard, he knew enough to be satisfied that Alessandro hadn’t simply left him a beautiful piece of land.

He’d left him a profitable one.

Apparently, being CEO of Mercer Group wasn’t enough. Giovanni also had to inherit businesses on another continent.

He supposed there were worse problems to have.

The villa presented a different question.

Later that afternoon, Giovanni sat across from Lorenzo Bellini with another collection of reports between them.

This time, the problem was easy enough to understand.

The villa did extremely well during the busiest travel months. The quieter months were another matter.

"What are locals using the property for?" Giovanni asked.

"Weekend stays. Family celebrations. Occasionally weddings and private events. We receive Italian guests from outside the region as well."

"And you want more reasons for people to come when tourism slows."

Bellini smiled. "Exactly."

Small receptions, private dinners, and other events could help fill some of those quieter periods. Bellini wasn’t suggesting that they transform the estate into a dedicated event venue. A few modest improvements to the grounds would be enough.

"Weddings?" Giovanni asked.

"Small ones. The property isn’t suited for very large events, but we’ve hosted receptions."

Giovanni nodded, then something occurred to him.

He and Bellini had met only recently. The man knew who Giovanni was and why he’d come to Tuscany, but very little about his personal life.

"I should probably mention that I’m engaged."

Bellini smiled. "Congratulations."

"My fiancé is a man."

There was a brief pause as Bellini absorbed the unexpected information.

Then his smile returned just as easily.

"Then congratulations to both of you."

Giovanni’s mouth twitched.

Well, that took care of that.

Bellini returned to the business without making anything more of it, explaining that he wouldn’t recommend extensive renovations. The villa didn’t need to become something entirely different just to attract more guests.

Unfortunately, the word wedding had apparently decided to stay with Giovanni.

His gaze drifted toward the windows, and for one completely unproductive moment, he pictured Alexander standing somewhere out there with him, the Tuscan countryside stretching behind them and wine from the vineyard being served at their reception.

It was surprisingly easy to picture.

They hadn’t even discussed where they would hold one yet.

Then again, Giovanni wasn’t in any particular hurry to force that conversation.

Alexander had only recently walked away from a relationship that should’ve ended in marriage. Instead, he’d been left waiting at the Bureau while the entire humiliation became public entertainment.

Now he was engaged again.

Whatever happened between them, Giovanni wanted to give Alexander enough room to arrive there on his own.

That didn’t mean Giovanni couldn’t think about it.

He pulled out his phone, took a photo of the view, and sent it to Alexander.

Found our reception venue. Unfortunately, we still have to register at the Bureau.

He put his phone down and returned his attention to Bellini.

A few minutes later, it vibrated against the table.

Why not? It’s lovely. And don’t worry. The guard at the Bureau knows me very well. Haha.

Giovanni stared at the message.

Of course he did.

Alexander had spent enough time waiting outside that damned Bureau on what should’ve been his wedding day to become practically unforgettable.

Still, Alexander could joke about it now, and that had to count for something.

Giovanni glanced outside again, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Apparently, Alexander’s imagination was perfectly willing to go there with him.

The villa wouldn’t be a bad place for their reception.

Not bad at all.

"What would you change?" Giovanni asked, setting his phone aside.

"Very little at first," Bellini said. "Some improvements to the outdoor areas. We could also work with local businesses for things we don’t provide ourselves. Food, transportation, tours."

"And the vineyard?"

Bellini smiled.

Of course.

Guests at the villa could visit the vineyard for tastings with a fee, while private events could serve wine produced on the estate. It was an obvious connection between two businesses that already shared the same family and property.

"You’ve discussed this with Moretti before."

"Many times."

"And?"

"We didn’t own either property."

Fair point.

They’d had ideas. They simply hadn’t had the authority to act on them while ownership remained unresolved.

"Put together a proposal," Giovanni said. "Keep it reasonable. Show me what you’d change, what it would cost, and what we actually stand to gain from it."

Bellini nodded.

"And coordinate with Moretti where it makes sense."

"I understand."

Giovanni closed the report.

More bookings and additional sales sounded good on paper, but every new activity came with a cost. Events meant additional staff and upkeep. Bringing more visitors to the vineyard meant having people receive them, serve them, and clean up after them. Even selling more bottles meant producing, storing, and moving them.

There was no point adding ten new ways to make money if they created eleven new ways to spend it.

"If we do something new, I want it to add value," Giovanni said. "Not just more work and overhead."

"Of course."

"I don’t mind spending money if it earns its way back. But I don’t want either business becoming busier just for the sake of being busier."

Bellini nodded slowly. "Then I’ll include the operating costs and what we realistically expect each proposal to bring in."

"Good."

Giovanni looked at him again.

"And Lorenzo?"

"Yes?"

"Don’t make every proposal something you think I’ll approve."

Bellini paused.

"Show me what you would do if this were yours."

The older man considered that, then smiled.

"I may give you a very long report."

Giovanni stood. "I own companies. I’m accustomed to suffering."

Bellini laughed.

Giovanni left him to it.

He’d come to Tuscany expecting to settle an inheritance.

Instead, he’d found a vineyard carrying decades of his grandfather’s decisions and a villa with its own history, both still earning money long after Alessandro was gone.

Apparently, Giovanni Mercer wasn’t merely a CEO anymore.

He was also an heir.

And somewhere between figuring out what to do with everything he’d inherited, he’d found himself looking across the Tuscan countryside and imagining Alexander beside him.

For now, that was one possibility Giovanni didn’t need a report to explore.