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“Fonterelli puts merlot in his Barolo,” said Gianlucca calmly, intense eyes unswerving. A mischievous light flickered in the back of his pupils, he lowered his voice and said, “I’ve heard he even has 2 ares of cabernet sauvignon planted in Cannubi for…color and fruit.” The last words were whispered, almost inaudible to Allesio. “How is that possible?” shrieked Allesio. “Everyone knows Italian wine regulations allow only nebbiolo in D.O.C.G. Barolo!” Sweat gathered at his brow and on his palms. He had had a bottle of Fonterelli Barolo 1998 only the night before. It had been unusually purple for Barolo now that he thought about it and, struggling after fleeting taste-memories, he thought maybe, just maybe, there had been hints of cassis and plum. Had there been? Or had Gianlucca put the idea in his head? And the mouth-feel: was it a bit more plush than previous vintages? Allesio began to tremble with the strain of it and confusion engulfed him like darkest night. Gianlucca, like a wolf, moved closer and in the same menacing whisper said, “His desk, yesterday…an invoice…new Allier barriques, enough to fill his cellar.” Allesio gasped and covered his face with his hands as a look of fright took him. His breath sputtered out in short bursts between his fingers. Reality was rent and he struggled to steady his frayed nerves. Again, Gianlucca in his ear: “They use those in Barossa and Napa.” “Ahhhhhiiiieeeeeeeeeee NOOOOOOOOO!” screamed Allesio as he ran up to the cat walk and threw himself into the open top of the 100 year old Tini. He crashed through the cap and the violently fermenting nebbiolo opened up and swallowed him whole. Gianlucca cackled triumphantly: “One more traditionalist for the vat. Barolo will be ours!”