Perfect Match (Vice Club Nights #2)

1. Gio

Chapter one

Gio

Six Months Earlier

Naples, Italy

A hot poker stabbing me in the eye would be far better than having to endure another moment of my father’s furious looks. I can almost feel his anger crawling across the polished wood conference table and gnawing away at my bones. But then, most of what I’ve done throughout my life has been a disappointment to him, so I’m running low on give-a-fucks today.

My father may be chairman of the board of Barbieri Corporation, the parent company for our two subsidiaries, Barbieri Foods and Barbieri Wines, but as CEO of Barbieri Wines, that doesn’t mean I have to agree with him.

I roll my chair closer to the table and sit up straighter, then turn my gaze to my brother Antonio, who is sitting directly across from me. He’s a friendly face in a room full of suits stuck in the traditional Italian ways of doing business, as they often like to remind my brother and me.

But today we’ve had a win for modernization. Antonio has just been voted by the board as the new CEO of Barbieri Foods, replacing my seventy-five-year-old great-uncle who should have retired ten years ago. Instead, he clung to the top role that had him oversee the worst sales results in thirty years this last year.

Expansion may be possible now with my brother and I in the two most powerful positions in the group—after my father’s chairman role, of course. Which I’d guess is the primary reason for the deep frown currently etched into his heavy brow. This is probably the first time he’s been on the wrong side of a board vote, and maybe he recognizes the tides are changing. The power he’s wielded for many years is slowly slipping through his fingers. My father may be a narcissistic, mean bastard, but he’s not a fool.

A subtle smirk paints Antonio’s features, and it’s one that only my father and I, who know him best, would recognize.

My head aches from the strain of arguments over the last three hours. A total shitstorm that, along with little sleep over the last forty-eight hours, has left me drained. Endless cups of coffee are no replacement for food, even if I do love a long black more than I should. And the four walls are beginning to close in on me, even if one of those walls is a floor-to-ceiling window with a spectacular view across the Bay of Naples to Sorrento. I need to escape.

A couple of hours is all I need to grab a proper meal, breathe in some fresh air, and decompress. I send my brother a look for support as I draw the attention of the five men with a tap of my pen on the table.

“This seems like a good point to take a break. Mr. Chairman, could we resume in two hours?”

A murmur of agreement around the group leaves my father no choice but to agree with my suggestion. The scrape and shuffle of movement is split by my father’s booming command, “Giovanni and Antonio, could you please stay.”

Fuck, we were so close to escape. I move to stand near the window, my back to the view.

Antonio pulls out his cell and taps out a short message, then places it facedown on the table before turning to face our father. We can both play the role of a dutiful son when we need to.

He glares first at me and then my brother, and I’m reminded of the times we were summoned to his home office as young boys.

After he’s kept us waiting for a couple of beats, having been assured of our undivided attention, he says, “I’m not happy with what just happened. You should have told me of your plans.”

Ha, as if we’d be foolish enough to give him the chance to change the board’s votes from Antonio to his weak-willed cousin. I lean back against the window frame, crossing my arms over my chest.

He continues, “But I think I can make this work. You boys need to just follow my lead.”

Neither my brother nor I react to his suggestion. My father’s obsessive desire for power and control no longer has the ability to surprise me, but it always leaves me wondering how it’s possible that I share the same DNA as this man.

I push off from the window and walk back to the table, bracing my hands on the back of my chair. “Sorry, father. I can’t promise that. However, what I will do is guarantee you and the board that I will always make my decisions based on what is best for the business.”

If my father were a cartoon character, there would be puffs of steam billowing from his ears.

Antonio stands. “I agree with Gio, Mr. Chairman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner reservation.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” I tell him, and when we reach the door, I turn my head back to my father, who is still sitting at the head of the conference table. “Father, I’ll see you later.”

We walk side by side to the hotel elevator.

“Fuck, that was intense … And immensely satisfying,” Ant admits. He’s my younger brother by fifteen months, and from an early age, we learned to have each other’s back when it came to dealing with our father.

I swing my arm around his shoulders in a side hug. “Congratulations, bro. It’s good to hear you’ve no regrets.”

“What, are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had in a meeting in a long time.”

The elevator ding rings through the empty corridor as the doors open and we step in. “Do you want to go for a drink?”

“Sorry, I’m meeting Lucia for dinner. I’m flying back to Florence tonight, so it’s our only chance to catch up. You can join us if you want?” he offers.

“No, it’s okay. You guys will want to catch up, and honestly, I think I need some quiet time alone. I’ll go grab one of Emilio’s excellent pizzas.” I leave Ant in the lobby on his way to the bar while I exit the hotel.

It’s only a short walk to my cousin Emilio’s restaurant down by the water. And as I walk, I pop a couple of chewable Advil tablets into my mouth, hoping to alleviate my throbbing headache.

The final item on the board meeting agenda is my proposal to enter the discovery phase for a multimillion-dollar deal with a new global distributor. I’m sure I’ll get pushback from my father and his cronies, but if we want to grow the business, these big decisions are what’s needed.

For weeks, I’ve been working with the lawyers to cut the list of potential vendors down to two. But when I spoke to my father earlier in the week, that wasn’t good enough for him. He wants his friend’s company added to the shortlist, even though they fall a long way short of meeting our current needs.

A heavy sigh leaves my lungs as I drop into a chair at the first empty table. A few more lungfuls of the fresh sea breeze, and I’m already starting to feel better. I drop my head into my hands and massage my fingers through my hair. It’s been a long week. No, make that a long month in Italy. This visit has been longer than usual, and I’m looking forward to returning to Manhattan.

I lift my head again and pull my Ray-Bans from my suit pocket. Sunlight glints across the azure waters of the Mediterranean like sequins sprinkled from the heavens. Not that there is a cloud in the paler blue early afternoon sky. My cousin Emilio’s pizza restaurant is one of my favorites. Small and quiet, and the view across the Bay of Naples is stunning. I breathe in the fresh, salty air and lose myself to the musical ring of rigging slapping against the metal masts as the little sailing boats sway in the slight swell.

As I lean farther back in the wrought iron chair, it tips onto two legs, and I draw in another deep breath, releasing it along with the last squeeze of tension from my shoulders.

Emilio appears, blocking my view, placing a bottle of cold water on the table.

“One look at you and I have to say, walking away from the business was the best decision I ever made.”

I guess my exhaustion is more obvious than I thought. He turns over the glass, fills it, and places it in front of me.

“Not helping. But it’s good to see you, man.” I look down at the glass of water. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than this.”

“A bottle or glass of red?”

“Better make it just a glass, as the meeting isn’t done for the day.”

He wanders off, shaking his head.

Emilio never wanted the pressure of the family business, much preferring to run his own small pizzeria with his wife. I can see the appeal. And whenever I’m in Naples on family business, I always make it a priority to visit. There’s something about sitting here overlooking the harbor, eating pizza and drinking a glass of wine from our family vineyards, that reminds me of carefree summers. I may have been born in Manhattan and love a deep-pan pizza as much as any New Yorker, but my heart beats with the passion of an Italian.

The family ties to Italy have always been strong, especially for my father, who spent nine months of the year here rather than with his American wife and four sons in Manhattan. Then every summer, my mother would pack us up and fly us all to Italy to spend the break cruising the Amalfi coast or staying in the family villa perched on a headland overlooking the Mediterranean. There was no summer camp, but we didn’t mind because instead, we spent idyllic, fun-filled days with our Italian cousins or family friends.

My eyes close behind my sunglasses as I try to remember those happy days.

The last ten years of my life have been anything but fun. A playboy lifestyle is something my brothers and I could all have been accused of in our early twenties. In fact, it was almost encouraged by our father. But by twenty-four, those expectations changed dramatically. At least they did for Ant and me as the two eldest boys. We were the ones expected to take over the family business, like my father before us. Groomed and molded into his image. A man, even then, we barely knew.

Emilio’s voice jolts me from my reverie and my eyes pop open. “Here’s your wine. And have you decided what you would like to eat?”

“ Grazie mille . But no food yet.” The ball of stress in my gut has taken away my appetite.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” His grin is broad as he disappears again, and my gaze wanders to the nearby tables.

The restaurant is relatively busy. A few young families, some couples obviously on dates, and two elderly ladies who are smiling at me. I smile back. But then I see her . A beautiful young woman sitting alone. She glows gold as the final rays of the sunset spotlight her table, while the rest are now doused in shadow.

I don’t know why she captures my attention the way she does. Maybe it’s the light? Or is it the sweep of bare shoulder where her T-shirt has slipped off? Or the bundle of silky brown hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head, with curling strands escaping to frame her pretty face?

She leans forward with concentrated effort as she writes in a notebook.

Maybe it’s that. It’s unusual to see people writing rather than skimming their fingers over phone screens, posting on social media, or taking Insta-worthy selfies from different angles that are still basically all the same. I see a lot of tourists doing that and, honestly, I don’t get it. When I get to escape from work for a vacation, the last thing I want to do is spend that precious time on my phone.

I glance down at my cell phone sitting on the table, silent. I switched it to mute the moment I stepped outside the meeting. Switching off is one of the ways I keep my sanity in the crazy world of business—or, more appropriately, the crazy world of my family.

The woman raises her head, her hand sweeping back her hair with the graceful movement of a ballerina. Maybe that’s it—she’s a dancer. Her straight posture, long, elegant neck, and slim build have me imagining her gliding effortlessly across a stage.

I can only see her profile as she stares out toward the boats. She raises the pen to rest on the pillow of her gloss-free, full lower lip. She’s a natural beauty, requiring no adornment other than a simple white T-shirt, jeans, and white kicks. Plain gold studs adorn her ears—the only jewelry I can see from this angle.

There is nothing about her that screams to be noticed, yet I can’t look away.

I gesture for my cousin. “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking at my untouched glass of wine.

“Nothing.” I pick it up and take a sip. “See, delicious as always. But that girl over there?” I tilt my head in her general direction. “Do you know if she’s here alone?” I ask in a low voice so only he can hear.

“Victoria, the Australian girl?”

My guess was an American tourist, but Australian makes sense too.

“She’s here alone, the same as last night.”

Never have I been more grateful to my cousin and his friendly nature than at this moment. He has the unique ability to make his customers feel so comfortable that they open up to him about their entire life stories in some cases.

“Could you ask her if she would like to join me for dinner or a drink?”

“ Prego , cousin. But please, she is a nice girl.”

I can’t help the faint smile. “Emilio, you forget I’m the gentleman, not the playboy of the family.”