Perfect Match (Vice Club Nights #2)

15. Gio

Chapter fifteen

Gio

One Month Later

T his is crazy! I’ve never been this hung up on a woman before. And it’s even crazier when I think about how little time we’ve spent together. I’ve missed Tori from the moment she boarded the train, and that is a new feeling for me. We’re continuing to keep in touch, but with her traveling and me busier than ever, the texts are brief, and it’s often days between calls.

It’s not long now, and I’ll be flying to meet Tori in Paris. Sadly, I’ll only be able to spare twenty-four hours, but hopefully when I’m in Manhattan shortly after for a brief visit, my time will be more flexible. I just finished telling Ryan and Hunter on our monthly Zoom call that I hoped to be able to catch up with them at the club soon, and it’s no coincidence that it’s about the time that Tori is due to arrive there.

Lost in thought, I continue to stare unseeing out the passenger window. I’d much rather have continued the lighthearted banter with my friends and business partners than be on my way to meet my father. But I’ve been summoned. My shoulders slump lower into the seat’s soft leather. I really don’t have the energy for another of his twisted mind games.

But when my father issues a demand to see me, or any one of his children, none of us have the balls or grit to disobey. It’s especially difficult when I’ve been a resident in Florence these last couple of months, so the excuse of time zone differences is out of the question.

Driving through the narrow streets to a soundtrack of honking horns is slow going until we cross the Arno River and the road opens up to the tranquility of the hills. My father’s villa hugs one of those hills overlooking the historic city. It’s a beautiful part of the countryside, yet one I’m never keen to visit.

Sooner than I’d have liked, we are turning in through the iron gates and passing beneath rows of tall cypress trees that line the drive. I’ve never lived in this house, so I don’t see it as a home, and like any other visitor, I tap the thick metal ring against the solid wood front door.

The housekeeper is obviously expecting me, as almost immediately the door swings open, and I’m led along the polished marble hallway to my father’s office.

“Father,” I say in greeting as I enter his inner sanctum. As a child, I hated visiting him in his office—wherever it was in the world—because it usually meant I was in trouble. I still don’t like it all that much, even though it’s no longer fear that drives my emotions.

“Son,” he replies, looking up from the massive solid desk. “This is a nice surprise.”

I grit my teeth, holding back the biting response that springs to my lips. My mother’s words, “You should respect your father,” still ring in my ears, even though she’s been gone for more than ten years. I never could understand how such a beautiful, kind woman could end up with a man like my father.

“I was told you wanted to see me urgently, and I wouldn’t dare ignore one of your demands.” My words drip sarcasm that my father’s narcissistic nature won’t allow him to notice.

I move to stand behind one of the two chairs facing him and rest my hands on the back of it.

“Sit down,” he commands, and I note the lack of pleasantries. His gruff voice no longer has the ability to make me jump to do his bidding.

“I’d rather stand, as I can’t stay for long,” I reply in a firm tone, and my grasp on the chair tightens.

His brow furrows into deep crevices. “I expected you would stay for dinner.”

I guess my visit wasn’t the surprise he suggested after all .

“Sorry, I can’t. I have plans for dinner in the city.”

“A woman?”

“No, Father. Antonio and a couple of business acquaintances.” It’s only a half-truth. I’ll be meeting Antonio for a debrief over drinks. It usually takes a few after one of my father’s urgent meetings. I only mentioned business acquaintances because I knew it would piss him off. And I’m right when his frown deepens.

He doesn’t give two fucks about me or my brothers. With him, it’s always business. My father’s personality traits that made businessmen fear him, politicians court his favor, and women compete to share his bed, made him a terrible role model and father to his four sons.

Over time, we’ve all come to dislike him in varying measures. For me as the oldest, I cling to my mother’s words. But surely now as adults, it should be a case of respect earning respect.

“Why don’t you tell me why you wanted to see me, and then I can be on my way.” I steel my features to remain neutral, something that in recent months has become harder and harder to do.

His eyes turn glacial. My brothers and I all inherited his unique blue-gray gaze, but thankfully, none of us mastered the icy glare that is trained on me now. I stare him down, and his gaze drops to the desk.

When he looks back up, a fissure of fear forms a fault line in my confidence.

“This won’t take long.” He leans back in his oversized black leather chair, pretending a casualness that defies his forced smile and dead eyes. “Franco Romano and I have decided that it’s time for you to announce your engagement to his daughter, Lucia.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, and any thoughts of tempering my anger fly out the window.

“It has always been understood that you would both marry as the eldest in the families.” His voice is ominously serious.

“By who? Not me or, I suspect, Lucia. I remember it being joked about when we were kids. But it was just a joke. We’re not carrying on some outdated tradition of arranged marriages between families to guarantee power of the empire. This is a ridiculous idea.”

“Son, it’s time you settled down and stopped living the life of a playboy. You will never be taken seriously in business if you aren’t seen to be a family man.”

“When the fuck would I have time to be a playboy? No, forget that. Actually, forget this whole conversation. I am not marrying Lucia Romano for some fucked-up family pact that you and Franco have concocted.”

“Skipping off to Capri for a day with some unknown woman is not how the CEO of Barbieri should be behaving.” How did he find out about Tori? I don’t know, and honestly, at this point, I don’t care. She’s none of his business. I’ve put up with a lot of my father’s shit over the years, but this is going too far. I won’t allow myself or Lucia to be dragged into some power play between two stupid old men.

“There will be no engagement between Lucia and me. When and if I decide to marry, the woman will be of my choosing, and it will be for love, not business.” I turn to go.

“You might want to rethink that after you read through this contract.” He shoves a pile of stapled papers across his desk toward me.

What the fuck is he talking about? A contract.

“What kind of contract?” I ask, but based on the number of pages, I suspect I’m not going to like the answer.

“This is a contract with a default clause that could leave the family no longer the majority shareholder of the Barbieri Corporation.”

“Why would you have signed a contract like that?”

His face has turned a deep red, and his hands are clenched fists on the desk. I’ve never seen him this angry, and it worries me more than his usual stony indifference.

“I did what I needed to do to save the company,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. “And now it’s time for you to do the same.”

I’ve no idea what any of this means. And without another word, I snatch up the document that seems to hold the answers and storm out of the room. I can’t remain in my father’s presence without fear that I’ll say something I’ll later regret. Anger courses through my veins, fueling my steps out of the house and into my waiting car.

“Take me back to the hotel,” I growl at the driver, instantly hating how I’m beginning to sound like my father. “Please,” I add. I’ve made it a point to always treat the people who work for me well, and just because I’m pissed off after that meeting, my standards shouldn’t change.

Antonio has remained in Florence this month and is waiting for me to join him in his suite across the hall from mine. I need to speak to my brother before my father does. He and Lucia are close—not just family friends close but best friends. They always have been, ever since we were kids, and I need to find out if he’s heard anything. Our two families have been friends for as far back as I can remember. The Romano family villa on Capri is where we spent a lot of our summer days. It was always more welcoming than our own family villa next door. Lucia—along with her younger brother, Dante, and my brothers—was part of our summer gang as teenagers, and they’ve remained good friends long after. But I never saw Lucia as anything more than a friend, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same. If anything, if she had to choose a Barbieri brother, it would be Antonio, certainly not me.

As the car zips through the Florentine traffic, I message Ant.

Me: I’m done and on my way back. I need to speak to you urgently.

Three dots instantly appear.

Antonio: I thought you were having dinner with daddy dearest tonight.

Antonio’s nickname for my father reminds me of the scorn he feels for the man whose DNA we share. I look out the window to estimate how much farther it is to the hotel.

Me: Not anymore. I’ll be there in fifteen.

I’ve been imagining any number of scenarios on the drive back, but none of them would be a reason for me to have to marry Lucia. The wad of papers on the seat beside me holds the answers, but they remain unopened until I can go through them with Ant.

After a sharp rap on Antonio’s door, it swings open, and my brother stands eye to eye with me.

“What’s our father done this time?”

“Gone too far,” I grumble, the anger from earlier still coursing through my veins as I follow him into the suite, which is a mirror image of mine. On the coffee table in the sitting room is a glass of whiskey, and he moves to the kitchen to bring one over for me, along with the bottle. He can obviously see that this conversation is going to need more than one standard measure.

Forcefully, I throw the contract on the table between us.

“What’s that?” my brother asks, eyeing me with trepidation before he settles into an adjacent chair.

I snatch up my glass and gulp down half of the liquid, welcoming the burn down my throat. If I was unhappy about my father’s suggestion, Ant is going to be furious.

“Our father is trying to force me into an arranged marriage. And that is the contract that apparently explains why the fuck I need to do it to save the company.” I stare at the offending document, disdain creasing my brow.

“Marry who?” Ant asks, his voice ominously low, like he already knows who I’m going to say.

Raising my gaze, I hold his stare as I say the one name that I know will land a blow to his heart. “Lucia.”

“There is no fucking way you’re marrying Lucia,” he growls threateningly. I always suspected he saw her as more than a friend; now I know it.

“Ant, I have no intention of marrying her.” I snatch up the contract from the coffee table and start pulling the staple apart with my fingers to separate the pages. “But first we need to understand what this contract is before we can do anything about that.”

He jumps up from his chair and begins pacing like a caged tiger. “Does Lucia know?”

“I don’t know, bro. You can call her as soon as we’ve read through this. Now pour me another glass and sit down.”

We spend the next couple of hours going through the contract page by page. It’s a familiar exercise for us, as this is what we do with business contracts. Like me, Antonio has a corporate-law degree. However, what’s immediately different from the beginning is the stakes are much higher.

As I read each page, I pass it to Ant, and when I’ve finished the last one, I drop forward, elbows on my knees and head in my hands.

“That’s fucking insane,” Ant growls, the page fluttering to the untidy pile on the coffee table. The words hang in the air between us, and I’ve nothing to add.

The contract is dated nearly twenty years ago and appears to be valid, even if fucked up. It’s signed by my father and Franco, with the family firm of solicitors as witnesses. And it’s like my father said: if the head of the Barbieri Corporation doesn’t marry Franco’s daughter, Lucia, then the majority ownership of the company will be passed to the Romano family.

I pick up the last couple of pages, searching for the paragraph that mentioned the trigger for the contract to be executed. That’s it: either party can decide for the contract to be actioned, given the listed provisions have been met. And a quick reread confirms there is nothing in the list that could stop this trainwreck.

“Why now?” I wonder aloud, and Ant raises his gaze to meet mine. His eyes are gray and dull, all fight gone from them. “Do you think it has anything to do with the forensic audit we requested?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe? I just can’t understand why our father would have even signed a contract like this. We know he can be an asshole, but he would never have done anything to put his precious company in jeopardy.”

I’m trying to recall anything unusual that was happening at the time the contract was signed. It was the summer I turned fourteen; Ant would have been eleven.

“Fuck, this was around the time Dad moved his base to Florence, leaving us in New York. Remember?”

Ant takes the page I’m holding out to him, glances at the date, and then looks back up, his mouth aghast.

“Maybe Lucia knows more. Can you call her?”

“She’s in London doing fashion week, so we won’t be able to meet her unless we go there.” He sighs heavily. “I’ll call her tonight, but I can’t believe she knows anything about this because she’s never mentioned it.”

Standing, I carry my glass into the kitchen and place it on the sink. “I’ll see you in the office early tomorrow morning, and you can update me.” Then, not waiting for his agreement, I leave.

Back in my own suite, I sit in the darkness, staring out through the window, the lit roof of the Duomo just visible in the distance. What sort of a mess has my father put us in?

Whatever it is, there appears to be no quick fix, so there’s no way I can meet Tori in Paris. I pull out my cell to send her a text, canceling the planned visit with some bullshit excuse about a meeting I have to attend.

Then, dragging my body from the chair, I go to bed. And for the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about Tori.