The Last Prosecco

The story unravels on the rolling hills where Prosecco grapes are grown; a winemaker Count, fighting to protect his territory, a half Italian half Persian police inspector who is more stubborn than a thick fog; the manager of a cement plant who on a rainy night falls in the mud forever, killed by three gunshots; and a crazy man who scrapes the rust from the tombs in the cemetery, chatting blessings.
A thriller that tells us about the lure of the land, the effervescence of bubbles, the conflict between greed and respect.
A story about the inheritance of beauty and the value of quality.
In 2010, north-east Italy began to feel a recession which nobody had expected. Only one productive sector resisted. Actually it thrived: Prosecco.
It grew like it is growing now, a double-figure growth, like the Chinese economy.
So I said to myself: why not try to tell the story of this archipelago of bubbles? Thirty rolling miles of hills, vineyards, wine casks and work.
And when you study it, when you listen, when you walk there, you discover the intricate weaving of a world: love for the land but pesticides too, wine knights but also mercenaries of greed.
So the novel, as well as the film, is a chance to insert inspector Stucky between Conegliano and Valdobbiadene, among hamlets and abbeys, with a following of wine- makers, Prosecco Brotherhoods and village oddballs. To find out who killed the manager of a cement plant on whose walls someone had written: “Dust you were and dust you will become again”.
A chance to narrate an incredible land that I love, enchanted places; and the world of wine, both symbolic and fascinating, through a detective story with a fizz, as light as helium. To remember that anyone who destroys the land destroys the future for everyone.