Page 24 of Que Será, Syrah

“Which would be a lot easier to accept if his decisions were even half as good as he thinks they are,” Gianni says—earning himself some serious side-eyes from both brothers. Although I notice they don’t disagree.

Leo sighs. “Look, we’ve talked about this. And no, the winery isn’t in trouble—yet. But some of Pops actions this summer have put us in a pretty bad position—with the community, the Sheriff’s Department, the Commissioner’s Office, the Vintner’s Association…”

“Not to mention the ABC,” Vitto agrees.

“The problem,” Leo continues. “Or one of them, anyway—is that Belmonte was never supposed to be Geno’s responsibility. He wasn’t groomed for it. He doesn’t have a degree in Enology or Viticulture—or anything else that would’ve helped him. He took over because he had to. And he started making all the decisions because, at the time, there was no one more capable—or willing—to make them.

“I think it’s more habit now than anything else. But since that business with Nonna’s will…it’s like he’s lost confidence. Like he thinks he has to prove himself all over again.”

I almost ask Leo what he’s talking about. Who was supposed to be responsible for running the family business if it wasn’t Geno? But then I remember. My Uncle Leo—Mama’s older brother who no one ever talks about. He died when we were all just kids, so long ago that I can’t be sure, from this distance, whether the shadowy figure from my memories is him, or someone else.

“And I get it, you know? He feels like he’s being disrespected,” Leo (that’s Cousin Leo, obvs—not my uncle’s ghost) says now. “He thinks we should all be more appreciative of the fact that he supported the entire family for all these years, that he’s the one who’s kept the business going. It also doesn’t help that none of us realized, until recently, that he didn’t always make the best decisions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vitto grumbles.

“Okay fine. But still—it’s only in the last few months that we’ve spoken up about it.”

Gianni shakes his head. “Look. I’m not saying you’re wrong, Lee, but…what’s the reality? Is it that he always made such bad decisions, and we just failed to notice, or is this chronic lapse in judgment something new?”

“Shit. Is this the senile thing again?” Leo scowls at him. “Because I still think that’s ageist on your part.”

“It’s only ageism if I’m wrong,” Gianni shoots back. He slants a look in my direction and then says, “And, not for nothing but, given all the other shit he’s been pulling, I can’t be the only one who finds it strange that Dad hasn’t really leaned into the idea that Nonna wasn’t of sound mind either when she made her will.”

My mouth drops open. “What? No!”

Leo and Vitto say nothing. Gianni studies their expression and then nods—as though they’d confirmed his suspicions. “Uh-huh. Exactly. So, what I’m thinking is that maybe he is losing it—and he knows it—and he’s trying not to draw attention to that fact. Which is what would happen if he started pointing that particular finger in someone else’s direction. You know?”

“What the what?” Vitto glances at me and Leo and says, “Do either of you understand what he just said?”

Leo sighs. “I think what he means is that people in glass houses might wanna think twice before they start throwing stones.”

“Exactly,” Gianni agrees. “Especially if he’s afraid we’re gonna turn around and do the same to him. Which we absolutely should, if that’s the case.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know about the rest of what you just said, Gee, but Geno has to realize no one’s going to take that claim seriously. How long was Nonna supposed to be incompetent? She put her plan for Caparelli in place years ago—I think someone would have noticed if she’d been losing it for the past ten years.”

Three heads swivel in my direction. Three sets of eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What did you say?”

“Ten…years? Where’d that come from?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait wait. Are you saying you knew about this? Before the will was read?”

Uh-oh. Did I just say the quiet part out loud? “Uh…maybe? I mean, I didn’t know exactly what was in her will, but she’d talked about it. Didn’t she?”

“Not to us!”

“Let’s just be clear, okay? You’re saying you weren’t surprised to learn she’d left Caparelli to you and your sisters.”

“Not completely, no.”

“And it never occurred to you to…I dunno…tell any of us?”

“Yeah. For real! What the fuck, Legs?”

They’re not being particularly quiet. I glance around and notice that at least a few people at nearby tables appear to be listening in on our conversation.

I lean in and lower my voice. “Who did you want me to tell?” I whisper-shout. “I was out of the country until just recently, in case nobody happened to notice. How should I know what conversations you all did or didn’t have while I was gone? I figured it was just one of those things that everyone knew, but no one wanted to talk about.”

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