POV: Rosalind
Luca asked me to meet him near his office instead of the winery for the first time.
The text came at noon: Can you meet me for lunch? Not the winery. There's a place near my building. 2pm?
Different. Off-pattern. The kind of message that made my stomach tighten because Luca didn't ask for lunch meetings. He showed up unannounced or didn't show up at all.
I texted back: Address?
He sent coordinates. A restaurant three blocks from the financial district. The kind of place where young professionals grabbed quick meals between meetings and no one lingered long enough to notice other people's conversations.
I arrived early. Scoped the location. Street-facing windows. Multiple exits. The kind of tactical awareness Theo had been drilling into me for weeks now.
Luca was already seated when I walked in. Not at a back booth. Not at a corner table. Right by the window where he could see the entrance and anyone walking past outside. He stood when he saw me. Kissed my cheek. But his eyes were scanning the street, tracking movement, checking for patterns.
When had my son learned to do that?
"Thanks for meeting me here," he said.
"Why here? Why not the winery?"
"Because I don't want to have this conversation in a place Dad might show up." He gestured for me to sit across from him—positioning me so my back was to the interior, his to the window. Protecting me from observation while maintaining his own sightlines.
We ordered. Coffee. Sandwiches neither of us would finish. The server left.
"Dad transferred temporary signing authority to me yesterday," Luca said quietly. "For emergencies. No explanation. Just handed me the paperwork and said I should keep it secure."
My chest tightened. "What kind of authority?"
"Operational accounts. Vendor payments. Basic business continuity." His jaw tightened—Daniel's expression on a younger face. "Not full control. Just enough to keep things running if he's... unavailable."
"Did you accept it?"
"I didn't refuse. But I haven't used it." He looked at me. "I told him I wanted to understand the context first. Why he thought emergency authority was necessary. He said it was standard succession planning."
"Do you believe him?"
"No." Luca's voice was flat. "Standard succession planning takes years. Happens gradually. With training and oversight and clear timelines. This was a folder on my desk with instructions to keep it confidential. That's not planning. That's preparation for sudden absence."
A couple at the next table laughed at something. Normal afternoon. Normal restaurant. Nothing about our conversation was normal.
"Have you talked to him about it?" I asked.
"I tried. He deflected. Said we'd discuss it later when things were less busy." Luca took a sip of coffee. "But things haven't been 'less busy' in months. They've been accelerating. More responsibility. More access. More instructions about what to do 'if something comes up.'"
"Luca—"
"Someone followed me last night."
The words dropped like stones. I went completely still.
"What?"
"Walking home from the office. Around eight. I noticed someone about half a block behind me. Maintained the same distance for two blocks. Same pace. Same turns." His voice was matter-of-fact. Clinical. "When I entered a crowded restaurant, they stopped. Stood outside for about thirty seconds. Then walked away."
"Did you see their face?"
"No. Just a figure. Male, I think. Dark clothes. Professional posture. The kind of person who knows how to follow without being obvious." He set down his coffee. "I've been thinking about it all night. Whether I imagined it. Whether it was coincidence. But the way they maintained distance—that's not accidental. That's trained."
I reached across the table and gripped his hand. Tightly. The way I used to when he was small and needed reassurance that adults could protect him from things he didn't understand.
Except I couldn't protect him from this. And we both knew it.
"You need to stay with friends for the next few weeks," I said.
"Mum—"
"Not at your apartment. Not alone. Somewhere with roommates or people who'd notice if you didn't come home." My grip tightened. "Don't tell your father where you're staying. Don't tell anyone from his office. Just find somewhere safe and varied and unpredictable."
"That sounds like you're telling me to hide."
"I'm telling you to survive." I released his hand. "Your father is preparing for something. And part of that preparation is giving you tools to continue without him. Which means he knows there's a possibility he won't be around to guide you through whatever comes next."
Luca was quiet for a long moment. The restaurant hummed around us. Forks on plates. Conversations overlapping. The espresso machine hissing in the corner.
"Dad isn't losing control," Luca said finally. "He's giving it away."
The observation landed like a diagnosis. Precise. Accurate. Terrible.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean everything he's doing—the authority transfer, the emergency access, the instructions about continuity—that's not a man scrambling to hold onto power. That's a man systematically distributing it before he loses the ability to distribute it on his terms." Luca looked at me with too much understanding in his eyes. "He's not failing. He's abdicating. And he's doing it carefully enough that we won't realize what's happening until he's already gone."