Page 50 of My Dark Fairy Tale
“They’re trying to commit fraud,” Guinevere told me, her face lit with the kind of enthusiasm I’d previously only seen targeted at Italian cultural phenomena and history. “Erasmo and I noticed that they have been disputing shipments for the last six months. Product allegedly arriving broken. Bottles were corked, and a crate here or there had gone missing. Isacco told me it’s company policy to refund based on these claims without any kind of investigation. Which makes sense from a customer-relations perspective, but not when it becomes a pattern of taking advantage of the winery.”
She sucked in a deep breath, as excited as a child on their birthday. “Zhang-Liu Importsisreceiving the product, and it seems to be in fine condition.”
“But how can you verify that?” Imelda asked, rounding her desk to see what Guinevere, Isacco, and Erasmo had spread out across the table and three different computer screens. I followed, hands behind my back, expression blank as I processed this new information.
“Here,” Guinevere said, pointing at a list of numbers in an Excel sheet on the screen. “When we noticed the claims, I looked through the financial logs between your two companies. If they were experiencing that many issues with the winery, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t make more purchases from you, but their imports have increased during that term. So I thought,Why?”
“And then she did something I do not understand,” Erasmo, who was in his late seventies, admitted with a wince.
Guinevere laughed, lightly placing her hand on his arm as if they were old friends. “It’s something we do at my father’s firm to assess financial risk when investing in a company. I applied the same principles to Zhang-Liu, and on paper, their business is booming. China is the eighth-largest importer of wine, with the numbers only continuingto grow, and Zhang-Liu is the second-biggest high-end-market wine company in the country.”
“So the only feasible conclusion is that they have received our product every time they have said they have not or that something is wrong with a shipment and they are profiting off of it,” I surmised, the cold words clicking against my teeth like chips of ice.
“Yes,” Guinevere agreed with a sympathetic nod, the brightness of new discovery fading from her eyes as she realized the very real implications. “I’m afraid they’re swindling you.”
I did not laugh, but there was something about the combination of shrewd intelligence and sweetness in her gaze that made me want to.
“Well, for the first time in years, I am happy to be proven wrong,cerbiatta,” I confessed, pulling Guinevere up from the chair. She came willingly, stepping to my side as if the space had been tailor made for her. “Thank you for lending your expertise.”
The smile she gifted me was soft, small only because it was almost shy, as if accepting praise from me was too much happiness to bear. “Thank you for letting me check it out.”
“I will not hesitate next time,” I quipped. “Though I do hope there will never be a next time.”
I slanted Imelda a look, and she nodded over Guinevere’s head. We would be dealing with this transgression by Zhang-Liumyway. The odds were high that they were doing the same thing to countless suppliers in the country, but they’d picked the wrong winery when they chose Fattoria Casa Luna to steal from.
By the time I was done with them, they would not exist to do so anymore.
“Well, that is done, then. Shall we go inside and try the wine?” I suggested mildly, but Imelda knew there was no more information I wanted to discuss in front of polite company, so she quickly took Guinevere’s other arm to lead her back to the tasting rooms.
“Oh! Okay, well,ciao, Isacco e Erasmo!” Guinevere called over her shoulder as she was ushered from the room. When we were in thehall with the door closed behind us, she peered up at me with flushed cheeks. “What are you going to do about everything?”
Raze their company to the ground and cut out the CEO’s tongue so he never tells another lie again.
“I will pursue justice through the proper authorities,” I said calmly.
The only authority wasme, but I did not need to clarify that for her.
“I’m sorry, Raffa,” she said, leaning heavily into my side in a gesture of comfort. “I hope I haven’t ruined your day.”
“Far from that,” I assured her, staring down into that beautiful, almost angelic face and wondering how such a creature could not only exist but also be so drawn into my orbit. “You have saved it. And now, you will distract me by drinking some of our very fine wine with me.”
We were crossing the main lobby when a familiar sight made me pause midstep.
“Leo?”
My best friend turned from speaking animatedly to that Britishstronzo, Wyatt, to stare at me stupidly for half a beat before collecting himself with a wide grin.
“Raffa!” He walked toward me with his arms open, slapping them over my shoulders to press his cheek to mine in greeting. “Fratello mio, what brings you to the vines today?”
“I could ask the same of you. You should be minding the house, no?” I asked, trying to keep the edge from my tone because Guinevere was behind my shoulder, watching the entire exchange with keen eyes.
Leo had opened his mouth to answer when a shrill feminine squeal pierced the air.
“Raffa!”
I had one second to brace myself before my sister Delfina was in my arms, pressing kisses to both my cheeks. When she was done, she cupped my face in her hands to study me thoroughly.
“Why do you look so content when we have not seen you in weeks?” she demanded in rapid Italian.
