The late afternoon sun spilled golden light over the sprawling Rossetti vineyard, casting long shadows across rows of perfectly tended vines. Bianca Rossetti stood at the edge of the estate, her silhouette framed by the arched stone gate that had welcomed her family’s guests for generations. A warm breeze carried the mingling scents of ripe grapes and wild rosemary, but Bianca’s mind was far from the peaceful Sicilian landscape.

"Signora Rossetti?" came a voice from behind her.

Bianca turned to see Antonio, the vineyard’s foreman, hurrying toward her. His brow was furrowed, his shirt rolled up to his elbows and stained with the labor of the day. He held a clipboard in one hand and an anxious expression on his weathered face.

"What is it, Antonio?" she asked, her tone calm but firm.

"There’s been a delay with the shipment to Palermo," he said, gesturing to a truck parked near the main house. "The distributor claims the paperwork is incomplete."

Bianca let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing against the amulet she always wore—a small, gold medallion her mother had given her before she passed. She’d inherited the vineyard and all its burdens at twenty-three, and five years later, the weight of it still pressed heavily on her shoulders.

"I’ll handle it," she said, striding toward the house. Her black heels clicked against the stone path, a sharp counterpoint to the soft hum of cicadas.

The Rossetti villa loomed ahead, a centuries-old mansion with ivy-covered walls and terracotta roofs. Bianca pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the cool, shadowy foyer. She reached for the telephone, preparing to do battle with the distributor, but a voice stopped her mid-stride.

"Bianca, cara, always working. Do you ever take a moment to enjoy your success?"

She froze. That voice—smooth, deep, and laced with mockery—was one she hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. Slowly, she turned to see a man lounging in the doorway to the sitting room. He was tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back, and his hazel eyes glinting with mischief.

"Matteo Romano," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "What are you doing here?"

Matteo stepped into the light, his lips curving into a smile that sent a shiver down her spine. He had once been her closest friend, her confidant, and—briefly—something more. But he had left Sicily for America, disappearing without so much as a goodbye. Seeing him now, standing in her home as though no time had passed, ignited a whirlwind of emotions she had no desire to unpack.

"I heard the Rossetti vineyard was thriving," he said, spreading his arms as if to encompass the entire estate. "I had to see it for myself."

"You heard," she repeated, her eyes narrowing. "And you just decided to show up unannounced?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I’m a man of impulse."

"You’re a man of trouble," she shot back. "And I don’t have time for either."

Matteo’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes softened. "You’ve changed, Bianca. The girl who used to sneak out to watch the sunrise with me wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss an old friend."

"The girl you knew is gone," she said, her voice low. "She grew up."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Bianca held his gaze, refusing to let him see how deeply his presence unsettled her. Finally, she broke the silence.

"If you’re here for a reason, Matteo, say it. Otherwise, leave."

He stepped closer, his expression turning serious. "I am here for a reason, Bianca. I’ve come to make you an offer."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she masked her surprise. "An offer?"

"I’ve been working on a project in New York," he said. "A vineyard partnership. We’re expanding into international markets, and the Rossetti name would carry weight. I want you to join me."

Bianca laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You expect me to abandon everything I’ve worked for here to chase your dreams in America?"

"Not abandon," he said, his voice steady. "Expand. Think of the possibilities, Bianca. Your wines in restaurants across Manhattan, your name on the lips of sommeliers worldwide."

She shook her head. "This vineyard is my home, Matteo. My family’s legacy. I won’t turn it into a stepping stone for your ambitions."

"It’s more than that," he said softly. "But you’ll only see it if you let go of your fear."

"Fear?" she repeated, her temper flaring. "You think I’m afraid?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Not of me. Of change."

Bianca’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to throw him out, to slam the door on whatever tangled emotions his presence had stirred. But a small, traitorous part of her wanted to hear him out, to understand why he had returned after all these years.

"I’ll think about it," she said finally, her voice clipped.

Matteo’s smile returned, softer this time. "That’s all I ask."

As he turned and walked toward the door, Bianca watched him go, her mind racing. Matteo Romano had always been a tempest in her life, unpredictable and impossible to ignore. Now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the vineyard in shadows, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his return was the beginning of a storm she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.