Napoleon turned into the private drive with a sign above it that translated as "Welcome to the Monaco Vineyards." As he drove along, he could see long rows of grapevines that started behind the house and stretched quite a distance, actually disappearing over a low hill.
The driveway circled around in front of the house and had a parking area in the middle. He maneuvered the dark green Lamborghini he was driving into a spot easily, got out and took a good look at the house. It was rather large; three stories and approximately half a city block long. Not seeing any other structures close by, he assumed the house also contained a wine cellar and even a tasting room and store. The roof was a burnt orange color and the walls were painted white and trimmed in dark brown.
The front door opened and Antonia stood there smiling. "Antonio!" she called, "Come in!"
"Hello, Antonia," he said as he reached for her hand and kissed it. "I was just admiring your lovely home."
"Grazie. It was built by my great – great grandfather and then my great grandfather added on the retail store."
Napoleon smiled appreciatively. "It is truly magnificent. I would love for you to show me around, unless you're very hungry." He checked the Rolex on his wrist for the time. "It is almost noon, after all."
"I'm used to eating closer to one – thirty, so I'd be happy to give you a tour. We actually do that for a few weeks in November. Besides, my father and his business associate should be back soon. They are on the far side of the property in the building inspecting the machinery where the wine is actually made. I expect them back momentarily. I'd like you to meet him."
Napoleon grinned as he gave her a sideways glance. "You're not going to introduce me as someone special, like a fiancé or something?"
"You are so silly!" she giggled. "Come, let's start in the kitchen."
When they got there, there were two women preparing food, one of whom he recognized as Antonia's lunch companion from the restaurant.
"Mama! What is Papa paying a cook for if you insist on coming in here to cook?" she exclaimed as she led Napoleon closer. "Mama, this is Antonio Felice. Antonio, may I present my mother, Gina Monaco."
He stepped forward and took one of her hands in both of his. "Signora Monaco, it is such a pleasure to meet you," he said before raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. He turned a dazzling smile her way and added, "I would not have believed this is your daughter. You look like sisters!"
As he had hoped, the woman blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. "You are a dear boy to pay an older woman such a compliment! Please, sit, sit. Let's have a cup of espresso!"
Napoleon glanced at Antonia to see if it was all right. Antonia said, "We will sit down only if you join us and stop interfering with Maria! I think she knows how to make pasta!"
"You're just like your father," her mother chided, but gently. "Maria, please pour us espresso." She sat down in the chair Napoleon pulled out for her. "Grazie."
"You are most welcome," he said as he pulled out another chair for Antonia before seating himself. He saw a car crest the hill behind the house through the kitchen window. "Is that your father coming?" When the women turned to look, he discretely placed a listening device on the underside of the table.
"Yes. I told you he'd be here soon."
Napoleon sipped his espresso and engaged in small talk with Antonia and her mother. It was by fortunate chance that his seat allowed him to pay attention to them while checking out Giancarlo and his associate as they emerged from the black sedan. The man he assumed to be Antonia's father looked to be about fifty – five years old, five feet nine inches tall, slender build with dark hair anchored by silver temples. The other man was perhaps six feet two inches tall, heavier though not fat, with medium brown hair. Napoleon guessed he was in his mid to late thirties.
They disappeared from his view and he could hear a door open and close.
"Giancarlo!" Mrs. Monaco called, "Come into the kitchen and meet Antonia's friend!"
Napoleon stood up as the men entered the kitchen. "Papa, this is Antonio Felice. I met him yesterday when Mama and I were at lunch."
Napoleon extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir. Your daughter noticed the wine I was drinking and told me your vineyards produce a superior version. She consented to being my lunch companion today so she can introduce me to your product."
Giancarlo shook Napoleon's hand and then turned toward his companion. "May I introduce my business partner, Ferdinand de la Hoya."
De la Hoya looked less than pleased to meet him. He barely shook hands before turning to Antonia and saying, "I assume he is the reason you turned down my lunch invitation?"
"Among others," Antonia replied before she took hold of Napoleon's arm. "If you'll excuse us, I'm starting to get hungry and I promised Antonio a tour of the house." And with that, she used his arm to guide him out of the kitchen.
When they were out of earshot, Napoleon asked, "What was that all about, if you don't mind me asking?"
She flipped her hair in annoyance. "Ferdinand wants me and I don't want him. He's a well-educated, wealthy pig. I only tolerate him because the wine we produce for him saved us from going bankrupt."
"Is that so?" They were now in the house's study. Bookcases lined the walls, a beautifully brocaded rug covered the majority of the floor and all the seating was covered in richly textured fabrics. There were portraits of several men on the walls and Antonia stopped them in front of the newest looking one. She pointed at it.
"Yes. Years ago this man, my father's father, Dario Monaco, invested very poorly. That combined with two years of blighted crops brought the vineyard to the point of ruin. Sadly for the family, Grandfather was killed in an automobile accident almost five years ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, I loved him very much. My father took over the business and things began to turn around. The best thing he did was enter into an agreement with Ferdinand; we are the exclusive wine supplier for his three upscale restaurants in Ibiza, Barcelona and Madrid, Spain."
"That is impressive. Have you visited any of his restaurants?"
"My father has; I don't want Ferdinand to think I'm interested. I am definitely not."
Napoleon had moved closer to the painting, ostensibly to admire it, while in reality he was attaching a listening device to the back of the credenza in front of it. "I have to admit, Antonia, I find it more than a bit surprising that an attractive young woman such as yourself doesn't seem to have men pounding at the front door. There must be someone you fancy, I mean, besides me."
"My mother's right," she laughed even as her ears turned red from embarrassment, "You are certainly a charmer. There is a young man, but Papa doesn't approve of him."
"I am sorry. Forgive me for mentioning it. It's getting late; let's finish our tour and head out to lunch, all right?"
She smiled and led the way to show him the rest of the house and he was able to secrete three more devices; one in Giancarlo's office, one in the wine cellar and the last in the living room before they headed to his car for the trip into town.
She directed him to a small trattoria across the street from the San Remo Casino on the Corso degli Inglesi. He pulled in front, walked around to the passenger's side to let her out and they entered the building.
Paolo's, as the place was named, was a cool, dimly lit restaurant and bar with tile floors and heavy wooden tables and chairs. Ceiling fans slowly twirled above the tables and Napoleon could see that this was indeed a much younger crowd. "Let's sit here," Napoleon suggested. The table he indicated allowed a view of the room, the kitchen entrance, the restaurant's entrance and the sidewalk while affording them some privacy behind a column. He held out a chair for Antonia to sit.
"Thank you." When they had entered, she had waved at a few people she recognized, including a young man who looked like he wanted to approach, but didn't. "One of the reasons this place is popular is that once you've ordered your food, you are not rushed to finish it before riposo. The owners don't seat anyone between the hours of two and four, so we can eat and drink at our leisure."
A waiter arrived with water and menus and Napoleon allowed Antonia to order for them as she wanted to do the wine and food pairings. She ordered an antipasti for two, a pasta dish and a dessert and a suitable wine from her family's vineyard for each course. As the waiter walked away she said, "Now you will see what good wine from this area tastes like."
"I look forward to it. Do you mind if I ask…That young man sitting at the bar. He looked like he wanted to stop at our table. Who is he?"
"He is the one I told you my father doesn't approve of; his name is Giorgio Brunetti."
"To look at him, he seems a fine young man." Noting the wistful way that Antonia was peeking at him caused him to add, "Call him over; I'd like to meet him. He can join us if you don't mind."
"I don't mind at all," she said. Catching Giorgio's eye, she waved him over to the table. "Join us! Giorgio Brunetti, I'd like you to meet Antonio Felice."
The two men shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Antonio. Have you moved here to San Remo?"
"No, no. I live in France, just outside Nice. It's about a forty – minute drive from here. I was thinking I might want to invest money in one of the vineyards if a deal can be made."
Giorgio sat and quickly called the waiter to bring his lunch when theirs was ready. "I thought I detected a bit of a French accent. I don't think you'll have much luck in the way of investments. My family's vineyard is profitable and we intend for it to stay family – owned and Antonia's father already has a partner who's helped turn their business around." He glanced at Antonia before adding, "I had wanted to be the one to do that, but…"
Napoleon could almost feel the longing between the two and on impulse said, "Giorgio, I want to be clear about something: Antonia approached me about the wine I was drinking the other day and suggested I would much prefer her family's version. This is a friendly lunch, not a romantic one. She told me you do not have her father's permission to see her."
Giorgio's smile lit up his face. "Ah, so you are being, what do the Americans call it, a middleman?"
"I can't help it. I'm an Italian living in France; I eat, sleep and breathe romance."