POV: Rosalind
Luca came to the winery unannounced and found me reorganizing storage I'd already organized last week.
I was in the back room, moving crates that didn't need moving, checking inventory that was already logged, creating work to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied. The kind of nervous energy that came from knowing something was approaching but not knowing when it would arrive. Daniel's meeting was in two days. Two days until someone from his past showed up to "clear the air" while making it very clear that my winery was on their radar as leverage.
So I organized. Again.
"Mum."
I turned. Luca stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching me with that careful expression he'd inherited from his father. The one that meant he was reading a situation and calculating responses before speaking.
"You startled me," I said.
"You moved those cases last Tuesday." He nodded toward the Châteauneuf-du-Pape I'd just restacked. "Same configuration. Same rotation. I helped you."
"Did you?"
"Yes." He moved into the room, picked up the other end of a crate I'd been about to lift. "So either you forgot, or you're doing something with your hands because you can't do anything with your mind."
We lifted together. Set the crate down in the exact spot it had been five minutes earlier. Luca didn't comment on the futility of it. Just helped me perform the ritual of false productivity until the silence between us felt less like avoidance and more like shared understanding.
"Is Dad expecting trouble?" he asked finally.
I stopped moving. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because you're reorganizing storage that doesn't need it. Because he's been home every night this week checking locks. Because you both look like you're waiting for something you hope won't come." He leaned against the wall. "So I'm asking: is he expecting trouble?"
I wanted to deflect. To give him the parent-answer that said everything was fine and adults had everything under control. But Luca was twenty-one, not twelve. And the look in his eyes told me he'd already calculated the odds that I was lying.
"There's a meeting," I said carefully. "Old business that needs addressing. Your father's handling it."
"Old business that involves the winery?"
"How did you—"
"Because someone approached me again." His voice was flat. Clinical. "Different person this time. More direct. They said they could offer protection in exchange for access."
My stomach dropped. "Access to what?"
"To information. Schedules. Patterns." He pushed off the wall, hands back in his pockets. "They wanted to know Dad's movements. Where he goes. Who he meets with. Said they could make sure nothing 'unfortunate' happened to the family business if I cooperated."
"Luca—"
"I refused." His jaw tightened—Daniel's expression on a younger face. "Told them I'm not a bargaining chip. That whatever business they have is with my father, not with me. That approaching his son was a tactical error that showed weakness, not strength."
I stared at him. "You said that?"
"I did." Something flickered in his eyes. Pride, maybe. Or fear disguised as confidence. "They weren't happy about it. Suggested I reconsider. I suggested they leave before I called campus security and made their visit official record."
"Did they leave?"
"Eventually. But they made it clear this wasn't over. That refusing to help was the same as choosing a side." He looked at me. "So I'm asking you: is Dad expecting trouble? Because it feels like trouble's already here."
I moved to the door, checked the main gallery space. Empty. Locked. No one listening. When I turned back, Luca was watching me with the kind of patient understanding that made my chest ache.
"Your father has a meeting in two days," I said quietly. "Someone from his past who wants to discuss old partnerships. He doesn't want to go, but not going means they come here. To the winery. To me."
"So you're leverage."
"Yes."
"And me?"
"You're..." I stopped. Couldn't finish the sentence. Because the truth was too terrible to say out loud. That yes, Luca was leverage too. That anyone Daniel loved became a pressure point the moment someone decided to apply force.
"I'm leverage too," Luca finished for me. "That's why they approached me. That's why they're watching the winery. They're building a file of everything Dad cares about so they can threaten it if he doesn't cooperate."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for Dad's choices. They're his, not yours." He moved closer. "But I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly."
"Alright."
"Would you leave if Dad asked you to?" His eyes held mine. Serious. Searching. "If he said things were too dangerous. If he told you to go. Would you?"
The question landed heavy. Complicated. I thought about Theo's burner phone in my bag. About the map folded in my wallet. About all the exit strategies I'd quietly assembled while pretending everything was manageable.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"That's what I thought." Luca stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me—tight, protective, longer than usual. I felt his heart beating against my shoulder. Steady. Strong. When had he gotten so tall? When had he stopped being the boy who needed protecting and become the young man who was trying to protect me?
"If anything happens," he said quietly against my hair, "I already know where to go."
I pulled back to look at him. "What?"
"I have a plan. Money saved. Contacts who aren't connected to Dad's business. A place to stay that's not on any official record." His hands gripped my shoulders. "I'm telling you this so you know I'm not dependent on whatever Dad's built. So you know that if things collapse, you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"Luca—"
"I'm not asking permission. I'm not asking for approval." His voice was firm but gentle. "I'm telling you that I've prepared for the possibility that everything falls apart. And I need you to do the same. Not for Dad. Not for me. For yourself."
He kissed my forehead. Then he let me go.
"I have to get back to campus. Study group in an hour." He moved toward the door, stopped in the doorway. "Lock up early tonight, Mum. Don't stay here alone."
Then he was gone.
I stood in the storage room surrounded by perfectly organized inventory and the ghost of my son's embrace and the sudden sharp realization that Luca had quietly prepared an exit without either parent's permission.
He'd learned from both of us—Daniel's strategic thinking, my quiet contingencies—and built something neither of us had known existed. A plan that didn't require our approval or involvement. An escape route that was entirely his own.
I didn't know whether to be proud or terrified.
Maybe both.