Page 126 of Best In Class
“Brunello.”
“You know your wine,” he murmurs.
“I told you, I go raid Lev’s cellar once in a while, and he insists on teaching me what is what and why I can’t walk out with a bottle of 2016 Masseto for an evening with friends.”
“He has a 2016 Masseto?” Dom isveryinterested.
I laugh. “You want me to steal it for us.”
“Absolutely,” he says, grinning widely. “That’ll burnLev’s ass! But who gives a shit. It’s a beautiful wine. And better be for the price tag.”
“Which is?” I ask, curious.
“About fifteen hundred dollars, give or take.”
I tilt my head. “Dom, are you drinking fifteen-hundred-dollar wine?”
He looks quizzically at me. “Not every day, but once in a while it’s nice to drink something that fantastic. Why?”
I put my hand on his. “I was thinking how you’ve come a very long way.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not about the money, you understand.”
He nods. He understands.
“You don’t flaunt it.”
“Neither do you,” he points out. “And you have a lot more than I do, or ever will.”
“And you’re okay with that.” It’s a statement. I know he is.
“Yep.”
“What happens if we’re together and you lose all your money?” I challenge.
He smiles. “Nothing, because you have enough for both of us, and a hundred others.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah.”
I blow him a kiss. “You know, Lev and I have always been conscious about how fortunate and privileged we are. It’s because Miss Abigail raised us.”
“I wanted to be like y’all,” he confesses, setting downthe wine list. “I wantedthatkind of money. But then I realized it’s not the money I was chasing, I wantedfreedomto take care of Mama and live my life the way I want. To be able to tell Tommy Minton to take his money and fuck himself.”
“I have money, but I didn’t have freedom,” I confide. “I was stuck in a bubble until I let go of my parents. Now, Lev is stuck there. Freedom has nothing to do with your bank account.”
He picks up my hand and kisses it. “How do you feel about a 2018 Il Marroneto Brunello di Montalcino?” he asks.
I shrug. I don’t know the wine or the vintage. “Good?”
He smirks. “Better than good. Il Marroneto is one of the oldest estates in Montalcino. I went there a few years back—tiny vineyard, old stone walls, and an aging room that smells like heaven and history. Alessandro Mori runs the place like it’s a cathedral.”
I arch a brow. “So, it’s not just wine. It’s a religious experience?”
“Exactly,” he says and then adds with a wink, “but with tannins.”
