08

THE PROPERTY was nothing like I imagined.

Giulio was charming and funny, escorting me around the property and introducing me to the workers. We saw the famous black pigs, rare and prized in Italy, and we tasted the ham and culatello made with them. There were sheep, cows and goats that were milked to make cheese. Lemon, fig and chestnut trees dotted the hillside, but olive trees predominated here. When Giulio let me taste some Ravazzani olive oil, the number of olive trees suddenly made sense. The oil was better than anything I had in Canada, even the kind we imported from Italy.

I couldn't stop asking the staff questions, and Giulio translated as needed. Workers seemed proud of their connection to the Ravazzani family, many following in the footsteps of previous generations who worked here. I wanted to ask if they knew their boss was a kidnapper who drugged and spied on women, but I suspected Giulio wouldn't translate for me.

Our last stop was at the vineyard, where the vines stretch