Page 50 of Come Find Me Tonight

“It’s so beautiful,” Appa murmurs once we get past the neighborhoods and into the hills.

“We’re approaching Tenuta Valenti,” I say. She perks up in her seat. “Look to your left. The driveway we just passed goes to my parents’ house, but I figured I’d show you the property first.” I put the blinker on and turn off the two-lane road, approaching the official vineyard entrance. The driveways are gated, but I have a code that works for all of them.

“Wow, that’s where they grow the grapes?” Appa asks as I type in my code.

The gate swings open. “Yeah, most of the property is covered in them.” I drive down the paved path toward the buildings. “So, to the right past the pond is where the wine is made and aged. To the left is my uncle’s house.” Appa lowers her sunglasses and squints as I drive past his house. “Down that long road is my other uncle’s house, but it was formerly my grandparents’ house.”

“Who’s that?” Appa asks as we approach the stables.

I look to the side and nod. “What up, Big E?” I call out to my cousin. A horse neighs on cue. He turns and nods but returns to whatever he was doing. “My cousin. I told you about him. We’re the same age. Well, he’s two weeks older and doesn’t let me forget it. Um, he doesn’t enjoy going to Italy because his mom lives there. It’s a whole thing, but it works since someone has to stay behind to watch the property and make sure the horses stay fed. He’ll probably run the winery once Dad and my uncles retire.”

And he’s best suited for it.

My parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and Nonna are in Italy for their annual trip. Big E, or Enzo, isn’t exactly social, so he stays back to keep an eye on things. His Sicilian mother lives somewhere in Italy or Sicily, but he was raised in California by his dad and stepmom, who later adopted him. Enzo’s the black sheep. Everyone else, myself included, is loud, but he’s the quiet observer. Regardless, I get along with him the best. He was nerdy growing up, but when he turned eighteen, something changed. He started working out seriously and covered virtually every inch of his body with tattoos.

I shudder at the thought.

He dragged me along to his first tattoo appointment when we were fresh out of high school, and he got a grapevine around his bicep. The buzz of the tattoo gun and his wincing face scarred me for life.

“Does he live on property?” Appa asks before I can think too hard about the needles.

“No, he has a place closer to town. That’s his truck.” I point out the huge red Ram parked next to a couple of SUVs with dual back tires. “Anyway, let’s get settled in,” I say, driving down to my parents’ house. I roll my eyes at E’s choice of car.

For a quiet guy, he has the loudest possible truck he could find.

“Okay, what cult are you guys part of? I mean, am I a sacrifice? Or is this secretly mafia? Please don’t kill me; I won’t tell anyone.” She laughs, but I hear the nervous edge underneath it.

I furrow my brows as I glance at her. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Your uncles and parents all have mansions on property? We drove by like ten Escalades. And you have horses?”

I chuckle, shoulders rolling forward as I park in front of my parents’ home. “No cult. The wine business has been good. When my grandparents came to Napa in the late fifties, there was nothing here. And I don’t know what’s up with the Escalades. My aunt got one a few years ago, and everyone jumped on board, including my mother.” I turn the car off, and Appa opens her door and steps out, studying the property like men in suits might appear.

“You’re going to tell me your cousin isn’t a mafia don?”

I get out of the car to join her. The warm, fresh air feels nice on my skin. It always seems to be cooler in Napa than in LA, and I welcome the eighty-degree weather. “Is there even an Italian Mafia in California?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot on the driveway. “I don’t know; you tell me.”

I walk up to her and rub her shoulders. “I promise we’re just winemakers,” I say.

“So, are you guys like rich, rich?”

I turn to the trunk to get our bags and open the lid. “I never thought we were, but maybe…”

“My mom would die if she were here. My folks have a nice house, but this is another level.” I take both of our bags out, and Appa shuts it.

“You haven’t seen the tennis court or pools yet,” I tease her.

“Is there seriously a tennis court?”

“Yeah, behind my uncle’s place. Come on, let’s get inside. You’re going to burn out here.”

I brush past her with our bags in hand. She takes hers, so I can press my thumb to the fingerprint scanner by the front door. The door unlocks with a beep, and once inside, I immediately turn to the security panel on the wall to disarm the security system. I forgot how warm my parents like to keep it, so the thermostat by the kitchen is the next stop.

I turn to face Appa, who is studying the interior of my childhood home. “You grew up here?” Appa asks. It’s been renovated over the years—decorated with new furniture—but the Italian bones remain.

“Yeah, I’ll show you to my room.” I lead her upstairs, and as soon as I open the door to my childhood bedroom, I can already feel her judging my old knickknacks and posters. “Before you say anything, I was a nerd in high school.”