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Chapter Five – Lives Before the Vines
Elena sat on the villa's terrace that evening, laptop open, though the glowing screen blurred in front of her. The hum of cicadas filled the warm air, and in the distance, the vines stretched like dark rivers under the moonlight.
But her thoughts weren't here. They were thousands of miles away—back in New York.
She had left behind a corner office, a buzzing team of assistants, and a calendar so packed that dinner was often a protein bar between subway stops. For years, she had fought her way up the ladder of a prestigious fashion marketing firm, surviving on coffee, wit, and a refusal to show weakness.
It hadn't been glamorous, no matter what outsiders thought. The long nights blurred into each other, deadlines hanging over her like storm clouds. Still, it had been hers. Her escape from grief, her shield against the hollow ache of losing her parents too young.
And then there was Daniel.
She clenched her jaw at the thought of him. They had been together two years, and she had thought—foolishly—that maybe, just maybe, he saw her as more than a convenient accessory. But when the promotion she'd earned went to him instead, and he hadn't even blinked, she realized the truth.
Daniel had never loved her. He had loved her ambition, her drive—until it threatened his own.
Elena snapped her laptop shut, shoving the memory aside. New York had taught her to survive. But Tuscany… Tuscany was forcing her to live.
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Down in the south field, Luca leaned against the hood of his old truck, a cigarette dangling unlit from his fingers. He rarely smoked anymore, but the habit lingered when his mind grew heavy.
He thought of his childhood—days spent running between rows of vines, chasing the laughter of his friends, the smell of earth in his clothes. His father had been a laborer here, strong and kind, until illness took him too soon. His mother followed years later, her body broken by grief and poverty.
By sixteen, Luca had been alone. Nonna Rosa had taken him in, giving him work, food, and a reason to wake each morning. She hadn't just been an employer; she had been the closest thing to family.
And he had vowed never to let her down.
Yet here he was, ten years later, fighting to protect her legacy against men like Moretti. Fighting against time, against droughts, against debts. The vineyard wasn't just soil and vines—it was proof that he hadn't wasted the second chance life had given him.
And now, it was tied to Elena Rossi.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He remembered her as a teenager, all city polish even then, rolling her eyes at the workers' rough jokes, scribbling dreams in a leather-bound notebook. She had been untouchable, a girl destined for a bigger stage.
So why was she here now, muddy boots and fire in her eyes, ready to fight beside him?
He didn't know. And it unsettled him more than poison in the soil ever could.
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Later that night, they crossed paths in the villa kitchen. Elena was pouring herself a glass of wine, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. Luca had come in for water, his shirt damp from a late patrol of the fields.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
"Couldn't stop thinking," he replied simply.
She hesitated, then lifted her glass slightly. "To sleepless nights, then."
He smirked faintly but didn't toast. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching her in silence.
"You really had a life in New York," he said at last. "Big city, big job. Why stay here and fight?"
Her throat tightened. "Because if I don't, I'll feel like I abandoned her again." She traced the rim of her glass. "I couldn't save my parents. But maybe I can save this."
The honesty surprised her. She hadn't planned to share so much. But Luca's gaze was steady, unjudging, and she found herself adding quietly: "And maybe… I'm tired of running."
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.
Then Luca spoke, his tone rougher than usual. "I stayed because I had nothing else. No city waiting for me. No office. Just this land." His hand flexed against the counter. "It saved me when I had no one. And I'll fight for it until I have nothing left."
Their eyes met—hers bright with unspoken pain, his shadowed with old scars.
Two lives, worlds apart. Yet in that moment, standing under the dim kitchen light with wine between them, Elena felt a strange tether pulling them together.
Not love. Not yet. But something dangerous. Something undeniable.
She raised her glass again, her voice steadier. "Then here's to fighting for it. Together."
This time, Luca clinked his water bottle against her glass.
And for the first time, neither of them felt quite so alone.