But matters suddenly began taking an unexpected turn.
"Our business started going badly and the banks were at my throat. So I tried to get out of it the wrong way," Marcello says. The "wrong way" meant avoiding paying taxes and cooking the company books before absconding to Brazil and Africa. He eventually decided to turn himself in and in 2000 was handed a five-year prison sentence.
Having spent 20 months locked up in a 4m,3m cell with a fellow inmate, Marcello is now out on parole. Yet he has chosen to return to prison, of his own free will.
"When I first arrived here it felt terrible. I had lost all of my self-confidence and felt very depressed," he says.
"But I decided to come back. You see, I've been through it all, so I reckon I could help others get over the trauma as well."
Marcello is one of the key elements in a small miracle taking place in Italy. The other is Rodolfo Craia, an agronomist employed by Italy's state prison system. Together, they have turned Velletri prison into the first ever Italian wine-making prison.
Wine production this year is expected to amount to 55,000 bottles, including a surprisingly good red barrique -- a superior quality wine that has been allowed to ferment in oak casks -- and a highly acclaimed beaujolais.
The prison's winery, equipped with state of the art machinery, currently employs two other inmates and uses grapes growing in 3.5 hectares of nearby vineyards.
Until recently, the wine was only consumed by prison staff, a few magistrates and a couple of friends. But this year, Marcello and Rodolfo plan to sell it to wine bars across Italy, with the help of a local co-operative.
"Our objective is not to make money, but to train and rehabilitate our inmates," Rodolfo points out.
Built in 1991, the Casa Circondariale di Velletri -- as the bureaucrats like to call it -- is situated right in the heart of Rome's wine district, not far from where Frascati DOCs are produced. From its turrets, vineyards spread as far as the eye can see.
The prison used to be just like any other penal institution in Italy: overcrowded, understaffed and infinitely gloomy. But today, an entirely new atmosphere surrounds its confines. It is one of enthusiasm and delight; hope and pride.
Grapevines can be seen climbing up the white prison walls while olive groves help hide the window bars from sight. Strawberries and lemon trees thrive in modern greenhouses built where only a drab cement courtyard once stood.
Coming up with such a far-reaching project, Rodolfo concedes, was not easy.
"I faced enormous problems, particularly from the prison guards. When I started planting the first trees, they were shouting at me, `What do you think you are doing? This is a prison. It's not supposed to be pretty.'"
Rodolfo, backed by then governor Vincenzo Magri, was adamant that he should brave the prevailing attitudes and managed to persuade authorities to build a farm and a brand new winery costing US$472,000, financed entirely by the state.
Then Marcello entered the scene.
"Marcello's arrival was a stroke of pure luck," Rodolfo recalls. "When I saw on the registry that an enologist had entered the prison I called him up immediately and asked him to help me make a decent bottle of wine."
Marcello was equally enthusiastic about the project. "For me, it was an opportunity to get out my cell and breathe some fresh air," he says.
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