The man who once stood toe-to-toe with my father in the wine business is now a bitter, broken version of himself, drowning in his own failures.

I consider walking away, but he beats me to it.

"Marchetti."

"Silvano."

His bloodshot eyes narrow. He takes a slow swig from his bottle before laughing bitterly. "Come to gloat? Now that my vineyard’s dead and gone?"

“I don’t have time for this.”

"You lot think you're untouchable. It’s only gotten worse since your mother’s gone."

I freeze.

Silvano stumbles toward me, reeking of alcohol and resentment.

"This spot was ours, you know. Before your family ruined everything. My land. My business. My life. All better off without you.”

I don’t let my expression crack. He wants a reaction. Instead, I decide to make my move.

"You need money, don’t you? Sell me the land. I’ll pay more than anyone else will."

For a moment, he actually seems to be considering it.

Then his face twists with anger. A snarl forms on his lips, and he throws the bottle of alcohol against the tree, shattering it into smithereens.

He lunges at me, grabbing my collar. “Over my dead body. That land will forever remain in my ownership. You can try to pry it out of me from my cold, dead hands.”

I shove him off, but before I can retaliate, a hand pulls me back.

"Papa, basta! Enough!" It’s Mattia, his son.

He looks exhausted, like he’s been dealing with this for too long.

“That bastard thinks that he can just—”

“Papa, stop.” Mattia takes him to the side, stopping only for a second to turn to me. "Marchetti, just go. You’re making it worse."

I hold up my hands, backing away. "Tell him to reconsider."

I walk off, irritation buzzing under my skin. And just when I think my day couldn’t get any worse.

My phone buzzes. I glance down, expecting another text from one of the lawyers.

Layla:

Forgetting something?

I frown.

Then, an image attachment.

I open it. And my breath catches.

Layla. Standing outside my apartment.

Makeup done. Hair curled. Lacy bra barely visible beneath her top.