Donna Leon, 2012, "My grandfather was a farmer"...

... Then the Inspector surprised him by saying, ‘My grandfather was a farmer.’
‘I thought he was Venetian,’ Brunetti said (...). 

‘Not until he was almost twenty. He came here just before the First World War. My mother’s father. His family was starving to death on a farm in Friuli, so they took the middle boy and sent him to the city to work. But he grew up on a farm. I remember, when I was a kid, he used to tell me stories about what it was like to work under a padrone. The man who owned the farm would ride over on his horse every day and count the eggs, or at least count the chickens and then demand more eggs if he didn’t get the number he thought was right.’ Vianello looked out the window of the bar at the people walking up and down the bridge. ‘Think of it: the guy owned most of the farms in the region, and he spent his time counting eggs.’ He shook his head at the thought and added, ‘He told me the only thing they could do, sometimes, was drink some of the milk while it was set out to settle overnight.’
     Caught by memory, Vianello placed his glass on the table, his sandwiches forgotten. ‘He told me he had an uncle who starved to death. They found him in his barn one morning, in the winter.’
     Brunetti, who had heard similar stories when he was a boy, asked nothing. ...

Donna Leon, 2012, Beastly things, chapter 20