He shrugged. “Perhaps. But that’s not necessary. You have proved yourself. You wanted it so much, you started your own label. You fought for what you believed, and you have earned your chance. You will carry on the tradition of Marcelli Wines and in time pass that tradition on to the next generation and the one after that.”

Brenna didn’t know what to say. She rose and circled around the desk. Her grandfather stood and held out his arms. She stepped into his embrace.

“Marcelli is yours,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be here to watch over you, but you can start to make a few changes.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. It was too much.

“So we’ll argue a little,” he continued. “The difference is now you get to win some of the time, eh?”

“Oh, Grandpa.”

He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “This makes you happy?”

She nodded because it was still difficult to speak. There were details to be worked out. While she would be in charge of the winery, she knew it would be owned jointly by her sisters and Joe. But regardless of logistics, she would be the one shaping Marcelli Wines.

Bittersweet joy swept through her as relief mingled with pain. She finally had what she’d always wanted. She should be content…whole, even. So why did Nic have to be the first person she wanted to tell?

The rumble of several trucks interrupted Nic’s meeting with his sales managers. Despite his interest in the report being discussed, he found his attention straying to the window where the first large vehicle came into view. For several minutes he did his best to ignore the noise, but finally he was forced to excuse himself to check on what was happening.

He already knew, he told himself. Ever since his conversation with Mia, he’d been waiting for something like this. Confirmation had arrived that morning in the form of a cashier’s check for the amount Brenna owed him, plus accrued interest. The debt had been paid in full.

She’d come clean with her grandfather, and the old man had come through for her. Nic had never doubted his love and devotion, even if Brenna had questioned Lorenzo’s feelings. The Marcellis were family, and for them, the word meant something. Sacrifices were made. Acts of rebellion were explained and pardoned. In the end, no matter what, they had each other.

Nic crossed to the old fermentation building. A dozen or so men carefully loaded barrels of wine into the trucks. A man with a clipboard checked off the inventory. He saw Nic but didn’t speak to him. Nic was about to return to his office, when he heard a familiar voice. He froze.

Brenna?

He hurried toward the sound. Was she here? Could he explain?

“Brenna,” he said as he circled around one of the trucks.

Then he saw her standing beside several barrels, directing the men. Strong and sure and still not aware of him. She spoke with a firmness he recognized.

She looked tired, sad, yet beautiful. She’d always been beautiful.

“Brenna,” he repeated, and this time she heard him.

She turned and stared at him. There was no expression on her face, no way for him to gauge what she was thinking.

“Brenna, I-”

“Don’t,” she said coldly. “Don’t try weaseling your way out of all of this, Nic. I’m not interested.”

“I need to explain.”

“No, you don’t. There aren’t enough words in the world to excuse what you’ve done. There is nothing you can say to ever make me understand or forgive you.” She laughed harshly and without humor. “Big assumption on my part. That you’re here looking for absolution.”

He stepped toward her. “I am. I’m sorry. About everything.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. Not anymore. Not ever again. Take your cheap apologies somewhere else. You’ve lied to me for the last time.”

With that she walked to one of the trucks and climbed into the passenger seat. The driver had already secured the wine barrels. Now he closed the back gate, climbed into the cab, and started the engine.

Nic stood there, watching them drive away.

He waited through the rest of the loading, and when the last truck disappeared down the driveway, he stood alone in the old building.

He’d known it was over-had realized that there was no way to undo what he’d done-but until her wine had been taken away, he’d thought maybe she might be willing to listen. If he could speak with her, explain, maybe he could make her understand.

Or was that just an ego-based fantasy? In truth she was gone because he’d never been willing to acknowledge she was important to him. She’d been a means to an end, not a person. Not a woman he loved. Had loved.

Hell, who was he kidding? Brenna was as much a part of him as his fingerprints. She’d stolen his heart a lifetime ago, and he would never get it back.

He crossed to one of the chairs still in the building and touched battered wood. They’d sat in these seats, talking, arguing, rediscovering the possibilities. She shared her dreams with him, he’d relived their past. Somehow ten years after the fact, they’d made peace with what had happened before.

They’d made love in this room. They’d shared bodies and hearts, and until this moment he hadn’t known how much that meant to him. Now there were only ghosts and echoes of what could have been. He’d fallen in love and he’d been too blind to see his feelings for what they were. He’d put away the past, but had lost the future.

Even without Marcelli Wines, Wild Sea would go on. The company would grow and prosper. The Giovanni family would never want for anything. As he had wanted, Nic had created a legacy that would continue indefinitely.

He sank into the chair and rested his head in his hands. Oh, yeah, he should be damn proud. He’d created a legacy for one. There were no children to carry on the family name, no wife to come home to. He lived with a dog. At the end of the day he stood alone.

For years he’d told himself that was what he wanted. That he needed no one. But he’d been lying. He ached for Brenna. Her voice, her laughter, her touch, her grit and determination, her fearlessness, her love, gave his life purpose. He’d never loved anyone else because he’d never stopped loving her. They were a part of each other. She’d seen that, but he’d been blinded by pride and ambition. Now they were all he had to keep himself warm at night.

The fault, the blame, the responsibility was all his. There was no delegating this disaster.

For the first time Nic wondered if Salvatore had ever regretted his act of revenge. He’d exacted a price for his best friend’s betrayal. Had he ever considered the cost too high? Had Salvatore lost more than he had gained?

For nearly a hundred years the Marcellis and Giovannis had been linked. First by friendship and dreams, and later by hatred and destruction. What was that old saying? Those who do not learn from the past are destined to repeat it. Well, Nic had finally learned, even if his great-grandfather had not. Success through destruction or revenge was an empty victory, and the price was paid by generations. He couldn’t change what Salvatore had done, nor could he undo his own reckless behavior. But he could make amends. They might not win back Brenna, but they would end the feud. Maybe that was the best he could hope for.


***

Twelve-year-old Kelly, Francesca’s soon-to-be stepdaughter, bounced in her seat. “So you, like, own the whole winery?” she asked. “You’re rich?”

Mia wrinkled her nose as she threaded a bead onto the needle. “We all own it equally, but Brenna gets to run things.” She turned to Katie. “Can we fire her if her head gets too big?”

“Don’t sweat it,” Brenna told her. “I have an anti-big-head clause in my contract.”

Mia shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s going to be enough.”

Brenna smiled because Mia was trying to be funny, and if she could convince her sisters that everything was fine, maybe they’d stop hovering around her.

They were trying to be kind. She understood they were concerned about her and wanted to help. But there wasn’t anything for them to do just now. She alone could endure and recover. In time she wouldn’t hurt so much.

Francesca finished beading the piece of lace and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “Look at the bright side, Mia. If Brenna gets out of hand, we can always threaten to take over those ocean-front four acres where she’s growing her precious Pinot grapes. Imagine the views we’d have from our front windows.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Brenna growled.

Katie grinned. “Good idea. I’ll talk to Grandpa about it,” she said in a mock whisper.

Kelly glanced at Francesca’s watch. “It’s been fifteen minutes,” she said. “The cookies should be cool enough to frost. May I be excused?”

“Of course.” Francesca smiled at Kelly. “While beading lace can be pretty exciting, I know it doesn’t compare with icing cookies. Why don’t you bring us a plate of them when you’re finished.”

“Okay.”

Kelly stood and dropped her piece of lace onto the loveseat, then raced into the kitchen.

Francesca glanced toward the kitchen, then back at Brenna. She lowered her voice.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Brenna forced a smile. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to be okay. I have the winery and my family. I feel very loved and supported.” She glanced at her sisters and saw none of them looked convinced. She made an X over her heart. “I swear.”

“I should get in touch with Joe,” Mia grumbled. “He’d know what to do.”

Francesca shook her head. “Joe can’t help with the real problem.”

She exchanged a look with Katie that told Brenna the two of them had been talking about her.

Brenna sighed. “Okay. Out with it.”

Katie shrugged at Francesca. Brenna’s twin sighed.