City of Lust (Half-breed Book 5) Page 8

  Non-fermentable sugars. Something about how they can be added during barrel aging. I knew that some grape varieties had higher sugar content, and that the percentage of fructose to glucose increased as the fruit became overripe, but all this stuff about Xylose, Arabinos, and Rhamnose was new. I could feel the sugars in the grapes. I could feel the differences between them, but outside of the basics, I didn’t know what they were called or which was which. And I certainly didn’t know about the impact of fructose levels on the time to ferment, or how they played a part in a stuck fermentation.

  Bladder presses to keep from breaking the grape seeds and avoid lending an overly bitter taste to the wine. Exposure of must to grape skins and how that related to type, style, and the balance between color and off flavors. Leo promised to tell us all about different naturally occurring enzymes and the role they played in breaking down sugars as well as the finer points of color, flavor, and aroma after lunch.

  The confidence I’d had in the vineyard was long gone. For the first time in my life, something was hard. I’d soared through school. I’d been thrilled at winning the internship at DiMarche. I was smart, capable, a talented half-elf who’d wowed everyone she’d ever worked with.

  And I was in way over my head. The only thing keeping me from fleeing after lunch and never coming back was the thought of how mortifying it would be to face Irix and tell him that I’d failed.

  I’d never failed before. Never. This was going to be the most difficult thing I’d ever done, but I was determined that I wouldn’t fail at this.

  I pushed my chair back and headed to the kitchen for lunch, realizing with a sinking heart that I probably would fail. But at least I’d fail knowing that I gave it my best.

  Chapter 10

  By our afternoon break my mind was whirling with all the facts the presenters had thrown at us. Phenolic compounds like the anthocyanins found in skins and how they affected color depending on the specific pH of the wine. Esters like the norisoprenoids that were desirable in Chardonnay, Syrah, and pinot noir, and the mercaptans which were undesirable in everything, giving the wine a rotten-cabbage aroma. How Polyphenols bind to proteins, and all the different small and large polymers. Methoxpryazines. Mercaptans. Carboxylic acid. Monoethyl succinate. Butyl esters.

  Yeah. I was on the edge of tears.

  Okay, some of it wasn’t so bad. The presentation on regional specific varietals was intriguing, especially the type of Muscat grape that only grew in this region, and its applications. The current enologist had made a lovely dry red Moscato as well as a grappa, from the spent grapes, and one element of our final test would be to come up with a recipe that would use this year’s harvest and possibly other estate-grown grapes. We’d be judged on our reasons for our recipe along with our knowledge of grapes and wine and production. That, in addition to an exam—both written and oral, would determine who would be offered the two-year apprenticeship at the winery with their enologist.

  It was an incredible opportunity. These apprenticeship contests only came around once every five years and admission to the seminar was by invitation only. I was still excited at the prospect, even after the barrage of chemistry this afternoon.

  I could do this. That was the affirmation, the pep talk that I kept reciting in my head even as I panicked over this afternoon’s lecture. I kept reminding myself that I had the edge, because I was a half-elf. I could sense flavors and chemical structures in the wines and plants that were beyond human abilities.

  I could win this. Maybe. If I studied hard, came up with a good recipe, and if all the other attendees dropped out and went home, I could win this.

  As I chatted with Eva and the other participants, my already weakened confidence faltered and sank. Every one of the others came from families of enologists or winery owners and they had all been creating wine recipes and working in both wineries and vineyards since they were children. They told their stories, then turned to me, expectantly.

  “I…uh, well, I’m a botanist. I just graduated from college this year and finished a summer internship at DiMarche Winery.”

  “They’re huge,” a blond guy named Eskel said. “How long has your family been with them?”

  “They’re not. I got the internship through an application process. I grew up in Maryland, and the internship was the first time I’d even been in California.” First time I’d ever been at a winery either, aside from those weekend things with bands and tastings.

  “Ah. So your family owns one of the smaller wineries? There are some amazing boutique wines coming out of the east coast lately,” Eva said.

  “No, my family isn’t involved in vintnering,” I confessed, wondering whether to tell them about my human mother who’d been a homemaker and a bookkeeper, and my human father who’d been a construction superintendent, or freak them all out by telling them about my elven and succubus parents. “I’m a botanist and I became interested in all this through my internship.”

  All this. Sheesh, I sounded like an idiot.

  “So you have no experience at all except for a few months this past summer sterilizing tanks, pulling weeds, and conducting pre-scripted wine tastings for drunken tourists?” Celio sneered. I winced, remembering that his family owned a small specialty wine operation in Northern Spain, and that he’d spent the last three years as a sommelier in France.

  “No, not really. But I have a deep understanding of plants and their chemical structure and how that plays out in the final product.”

  Lame. Even if I did confess to my half-elven parentage and wow them with my special abilities, I still came across as an inexperienced fool who’d luckily stumbled into this opportunity. I saw the look on their faces, including Eva’s. They were all wondering what strings my family had pulled to get me here—or who I’d screwed to get this opportunity.

  I was so outclassed. I had no chance of winning this, but it was an honor to even have been invited. I don’t know what clout Matthieu had here, but clearly somebody had pulled some strings for me to be included. Winning would be an incredible long shot. Heck, even passing these exams would be an incredible long shot, but I was thrilled to be here, learning and making contacts that would be useful if I decided I wanted to continue a career in the wine industry as opposed to the non-profit work with Jordan in New Orleans.

  At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. In reality, it stung not being the big fish in the little pond. It was embarrassing having the others look at me as if I were the weak link that didn’t even belong here. And what was worse was they were right. I didn’t belong here. Half-elf or not, I just wasn’t prepared for this sort of thing, and I’d been an arrogant fool to think myself so.

  “Well, that’s one less person that we need to worry about,” Celio laughed, turning his back to me. “Clearly there won’t be any competition from this one. I’ll bet she can’t even tell a Chardonnay from a Riesling.”

  I flushed. Yes, I could tell a Chardonnay from a Riesling, but he was right about the rest. I wasn’t really a contender for this apprenticeship. I was going to lose. But Celio’s dismissive tone and derision made me stiffen my spine. I was determined that I wouldn’t humiliate myself. I’d show this jerk that an inexperienced unknown from the U.S. could score just as high on the exams as any of them.

  And I was determined that no matter what happened, no matter if I had to study all day and night, I was going to beat Celio. Asshole.

  We’d tasted two of the winery’s signature wines at break and were on a tour of the castle when I saw a young woman standing off to the side, her black hair pulled back into a braid. She had the face that graced a million Renaissance paintings—a pale oval with softly rounded cheeks, a smooth jaw, and a classical nose. She turned to me and I felt a stab of recognition.

  Holy crap. Bianca. This was the girl from Villa Montenegro, the one who’d been kissing Daniela’s son in the gardens. I’d assumed she was a local, that her parents lived only a few towns over. Visiting her uncle on weekends suddenly took
on a whole new meaning when she lived two hours away.

  Unless she was visiting here as well? No, it was Monday. She’d be in school today. Except she wasn’t in school today. I was dying of curiosity, so I made my way through the crowd toward her.

  “Hi. I saw you at Villa Montenegro yesterday.”

  The girl started, turning dark brown eyes to mine. “Oh! You’re the woman who got engaged in front of the arches overlooking the lake.” She sighed. “That was so romantic. I hope that Ser—I hope that someday I get a proposal like that.”

  Her eyes drifted down to my ring and I lifted my hand so she could admire my newest, and most beloved, piece of jewelry.

  “You’re fiancé is very handsome, too.” She giggled. “Every woman at the villa yesterday was envisioning herself with him. I’m sure many husbands got lucky last night because of your man.”

  “Yes, Irix turns female, and male, heads everywhere he goes.” I smiled at her, thinking again that she was so classically beautiful. “Your cousin, Ilaria, gave us a quick tour. She told us you inherited the villa from your uncle?”

  Her face shadowed. “I would rather have him than all of his treasures. Uncle Guido was the only one who…really understood me.”

  What had she meant to say?

  “I’m sorry for your loss. We read in the paper that he had died unexpectedly. Heart attack?”

  That was being nosy. But before I could retract the question, she answered it.

  “No. He–”

  She looked around, and her jaw set with determination. “I’m tired of secrets. He was murdered. We have enemies, and his villa is in their territory. They warned him not to purchase it, not to trespass on what they consider theirs, but he thought these centuries-old feuds needed to end. He thought if he showed them he wanted to live beside them in peace, they would leave him alone. They didn’t. And now he is dead.”

  I caught my breath at her honesty, wondering how much of this organized crime ugliness was commonplace in Italian lives, outside the view of tourists.

  “Aren’t you scared? Won’t they target you as well? Maybe you should sell.”

  Something fierce flared deep in her dark eyes, and her chin lifted. “I will never give up my Uncle Guido’s treasures, nor will I sell the home that he still guards with his remains. And if those beasts try to take me on, they will be sorry. I want peace, but I will not hesitate to defend myself or protect what is mine. If they come at me, I will return their attack tenfold. I will meet fire with fire.”

  Holy cow this young woman should run for office. What a rousing speech.

  “Why aren’t you there now?” I asked gently.

  She blushed deep red. “Castle Abbondio belongs to my grandmother. She wanted me to come home for the week or to Milan with my great-uncle to make sure I was safe. Grandmother worried that Ilaria wasn’t strong enough to protect me, especially when she is busy with the tours and with settling the estate. She said she will allow me to return only when she or my great-uncle, Marcus, are able to be with me.”

  Poor thing. I doubted her grandmother or her great-uncle would be as indulgent as Uncle Guido had been, and she’d have few opportunities for smooching in the grotto with Daniela’s son.

  “And why aren’t you in school? Does the school year start later in the fall here than it does in the States?”

  She smiled at that. “I had tutors when I was young, but now all of my lessons are online. Once I complete the day’s assignments, I’m free to do as I wish.”

  Ah, the life of the rich and somewhat-famous.

  I notice the other attendees beginning to head back in and put out my hand, wanting to introduce myself. I’d probably never see this girl again.

  “I’m Amber Lowry. Obviously from the U.S. Obviously staying in Lake Como with my now fiancé, Irix, and driving up here for the enology seminars.”

  She took my hand. “Bianca Montenegro. You’re trying for the apprenticeship? Does your family own one of the big California vineyards? Is your father or mother an enologist there?”

  Not this again. This was where I completely humiliated myself. “No. I just graduated with a botany degree, and did a summer internship at DiMarche.”

  Her smile said it all. I had not the slightest chance of winning this thing. “Oh. How interesting.”

  I needed to get back, but I wanted to confess something first. “I’m kind of embarrassed to tell you this, but I saw you at the villa yesterday, before Irix proposed to me. I saw you down in the grotto with Sergio Sommariva.”

  Her eyes widened and she shot a finger to her mouth. “You know him? You know him?” she squeaked in alarm. “They’ll kill me. Grandmother will lock me in my room. And Sergio…my family will kill him as well. No one can know this. No one.”

  Such drama. I didn’t know what to do to convince her that every teenager had done this sort of thing. I stepped closer to her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I won’t say anything to his mother either.”

  “No!” she hissed, her eyes wild with panic. Before I could take another breath, she’d grabbed my arm and pulled me from the kitchen into a small room. “Please. Not another word while you are at the castle, or when you are near Lake Como. We have very good hearing and no one must know of this—both of our lives depend on it. My family hates the Sommarivas and they hate us. It is a blood feud. They’re the ones who killed my uncle. They don’t want us in their territory, imagine how they would feel if they knew what I was doing with one of their sons, with the heir to their family fortune?”

  Daniela’s family was into organized crime? They were the ones who’d killed Guido Montenegro? What hornet’s nest had I landed in?

  “Grandmother and my Great-Uncle Marcus will lock me away to keep me safe,” she told me. “And his mother will do the same to Sergio. There will be blood and death—more death than we’ve already had. More death than is already coming to our door.”

  Was this just a combination of teenage drama and temperamental Latin histrionics, or was she serious? “So…your family and their family are rival Mafia clans?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stupid human gang-families. If they didn’t amuse us so, we would crush them like bugs and eat them. No, we are enemies. We’ve been enemies since we were all exiled to this land. Although, I think, maybe we were not so friendly before either.”

  Sounded like organized crime to me. Maybe with a little Game of Thrones mixed in. “All right, all right.” I patted the air in front of me, trying to calm her down. For all her insistence on being quiet, her voice had risen quite loud toward the end of her dramatic statement. “As someone who is all about love—well, all about sex—I’ve got to ask, how did you meet Sergio if your families hate each other?”

  She looked around, pulling me farther toward the back wall of the house. There was a pretty view through the old leaded-glass windows of the courtyard and the tower, but I didn’t want to be distracted from what I was sure was a really juicy love story.

  “My Uncle Guido purchased Villa Montenegro years ago and set to work restoring it. The family thought he was crazy buying a house in Sommariva territory. It is like…giving them the finger, no? Grandmother told Uncle Guido he was on his own, that we would not defend him if he was attacked, and for months there was nothing. I wanted so much to see it.” She bit her lip, giving me a doe-eyed look. “I’ve never left our territory. With my grandmother as the head of our family, and me her only grandchild, this castle and all the properties in Milan would be my jewels, my treasures. I was the heir, above all of my cousins. It is my responsibility to stay here or in Milan and to begin to bond with what will eventually be mine, but instead I wanted to see more of the world, just like Uncle Guido did.”

  An heiress who was born into duties and responsibilities she never wanted. Or perhaps would want once she was allowed to go out and sow some oats and see the world a bit. “So Villa Montenegro seemed a good place to start.”

  She nodded. “It is not too far from
Milan or Bergamo, and my Uncle Guido would be there to protect me. I mean, I can protect myself,” she puffed out her chest, which was quite perky. “I know how to defend myself against attack, but it felt safe to start where I had family.”

  I completely understood. Good girl. Next step: college in Paris.

  “At first glance I was enthralled with Villa Montenegro, and my uncle often invited me there. He has always been fond of me. He had never fallen in love and married, so I was his little one. I was the child he’d never have. I was his heir.” She brushed a hand over wet eyes, sniffing. “I know some cousins were jealous, but how can I be to blame if Uncle Guido loved me enough to entrust me with his treasure after his death? I was not to blame for that.”

  No, she wasn’t. And all this made me wonder what familial jealousy had to do with the rivalry between the Montenegros and the Sommarivas.

  “After a few months of visiting, I began to venture to places outside the villa,” she continued, “always careful to keep watch for our enemies. One day I was not so careful, and a boy saw me and followed me. When he cornered me in a quiet street, I knew right away who he was and was scared. But he told me not to be frightened, that he’d been watching me and that I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” She blushed a lovely shade of rose. “He asked for one kiss, just one kiss to carry with him for the rest of his life.”

  Damn, these Italians had game. Even the teenage ones.

  “One kiss became many. And many kisses became…more.” Her blush this time was closer to magenta.

  Oh, they were totally doing it. Like monkeys. Like only horny teenagers could.

  “I know how that goes,” I reassured her. Yep, I knew exactly how that went. “So what do you plan to do? Confess to your grandmother? Run away and elope?”

  Yikes, what was I saying? Hopefully she wouldn’t take the last as a suggestion. I’d hate to be the one responsible for a European-style amber alert.