Chapter 26
FRANKIE
“No matter what happens in there, promise that you’ll trust me,” Dante says.
We’re heading down to the Bellanti offices the next morning, and my arm is linked with his. That arm might be the only solid thing anchoring me right now.
The Bellanti lawyers have finished reviewing the divorce paperwork and contract that Rico presented to us, and we’re meeting up with him to settle this once and for all.
I’m cautiously optimistic, but I’m also a bundle of nerves.
I also can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something Dante isn’t sharing with me, but I don’t press. I do trust him, and I tell him so.
He kisses the top of my head. “Good. We’re going to get through this. I promise.”
And just like that, I believe him. We are going to get through this. Together.
I take a deep breath and admire the view of the vineyard as we step outside and onto the gravel path that leads to the offices. The day is young, but the air is crisp and the sun is bright and it’s clearly going to be a gorgeous one. Maybe it’s an omen. Suddenly, I feel confident.
Which lasts about as long as it takes to enter the Bellanti offices, where we’re met by a smiling Rico. Does he have an ace up his sleeve, or is he just happy to be getting the payoff he’s been dreaming of? I’m sure it’s thrilling for him to know he’s about to become a millionaire.
The smile evaporates from my face, and the day seems a lot less bright.
Raising the steaming mug that’s in his hand, Rico says, “Ruby made me coffee. She said we are meeting in the conference room. Now?”
Other than Ruby, the offices are empty of employees. It’s early, just a few minutes after eight o’clock. Dante thought it would be best to get this meeting over with before the rest of the staff arrived so they wouldn’t ask questions.
He inclines his head and gestures for Rico to follow us down the long hallway. I grind my teeth and try to pretend the scumbag isn’t inches away from me. I’d like nothing more than to punch that stupid grin right off his face.
Once we get to the conference room, Rico takes the seat at the head of the table and slouches in the chair with the smug posture of a man who owns the place.
No doubt, he believes he’s about to come into a windfall.
How presumptuous. Especially considering the fact that Marco is sitting in the chair beside him, wearing a bespoke suit and a menacing expression.
I know he’s probably here purely for show, and maybe to keep Rico in line, but I’m glad to have his support.
Dante pulls out a chair for me on the other end of the table and sits next to me. We clasp hands and I make myself take a slow, deep breath.
“So. Should we begin?” Rico says eagerly, smoothing his tie.
Typical Rico, trying to take control of the situation. But no matter. It’s obvious that Dante’s the one in charge—since everyone in the room is looking at him, waiting for him to get the ball rolling.
Just then, Armani appears in the doorway and leans against it.
I see him shake his head at Dante, who responds with a slight nod.
I have no idea what it means, but it comforts me.
Marco’s gaze gets even more hard and focused, a slight smile on his face, and Rico looks between the three brothers and suddenly sits upright.
“Let’s get started,” Dante says, his voice steely.
Clearing his throat nervously, Rico pulls his copy of the divorce papers out of his jacket and slides them across the table toward me and Dante, just out of reach.
“If you can just give me my check, I will sign off on the divorce and be on my way. That is best for everyone, you see?” Rico babbles.
“I have always dreamed of buying a villa on the island of Sardinia. Getting a boat, too, and fishing every day. Swordfish and snapper. Maybe I will open a restaurant on the beach! How lucky I am, to have married into such a rich family.”
His gloating is unbearable. But as he blathers on about all his plans for the money, I start to realize that the reason he must have left me in the first place wasn’t because he couldn’t take care of me—it was because I couldn’t take care of him.
It all makes sense now. After we got married, he started pressing me about us buying a house together, and asking how much money I thought my father would send as a “wedding gift” for our new home.
When I finally confessed that my family was broke, Rico had acted like it made no difference to him.
But sure enough…he’d skipped out on me, just days later.
Jesus. He’d only married me because he thought he was marrying into wealth. Generational wealth. American vineyard family wealth. And when things didn’t pan out, he left me alone in a foreign country.
Until he suddenly shows up again, exploiting me again, coincidentally popping up in my hometown the moment my fortunes have reversed. Likely thanks to stalking me on social media.
Rico’s done talking, apparently. I haven’t been paying attention, but he’s staring at me as if expecting some kind of response. He glances at Dante. “Do you need to go get your checkbook, or…?”
Dante gives my hand a squeeze and slowly stands up. He reaches for the divorce papers on the table, picks them up, and then—right in front of Rico’s eyes—rips the papers down the middle. Then he places them back on the table.
I’m not sure who’s more shocked—me, or Rico.
Has Dante been lying to me? Does he not want me at all? Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe I’m not worth the price…
“What was that for? I am going to have to get new copies made!” Rico looks like he’s about to stand from his seat, but Armani stops him with a firm hand on his arm.
Dante coolly says, “Your marriage to Frankie wasn’t recorded in any Ufficio dello Stato Civile anywhere in Italy. Nor were any marriage certificates filed with any government, US or Italian. You two were never, ever married. Not legally, anyway.”
“What?” I whisper, my heart stuttering in my chest.
“That’s a lie,” Rico says. “I have the documents—”
“You have jack shit,” Marco cuts in, grinning.
“And you are legally entitled to precisely nothing,” Armani adds.
Rico’s eyes dart from Bellanti to Bellanti. “This is a bluff. The marriage is legal. I can get you the papers,” he insists, his voice pitching higher with panic.
Dante doesn’t even blink. “You’re welcome to try, but falsifying marriage documents is a crime. In your country and mine. My legal team would, of course, be happy to prosecute you to the full extent of the law.”
I rack my brain, recalling our quick, cheap ceremony. The “priest” that Rico hired from the village…an elderly man who barely spoke outside of asking us to recite our vows…I never questioned whether he was ordained or not.
Rico had staged the entire thing from the very beginning.
The dilapidated country church that he thought would be so quaint. The paperwork I signed after the ceremony—it was in Italian, and I skimmed it, but I hadn’t actually given it a thorough read. I just assumed it had been a legal standard marriage certificate.
How the hell could I have been so stupid?
“You’re lying!” Rico fumes. “What kind of game is this?”
Dante shrugs. “You tell us.”
“I married her in a church,” Rico insists, getting belligerent. “With a priest present! It was legal!”
Marco stands and crosses his arms over his chest, looking like he’s ready to crack some skulls. Rico glances up, and seeing Marco looming over him seems to set him off even more.
“Listen to me,” Rico says. “I did not want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice. I have photos of Francesca…compromising photos, that it would be a shame for anyone to see if I were to post them on the—”
Before he can even finish, Marco is dragging him out of his seat and planting a fist in his jaw, knocking Rico to the floor.
He tries to scramble to his feet, but Marco and Armani grab him first, lifting him up and slamming him back down in the chair.
He tries to wriggle out of their grasp, but their iron grips stay locked on his shoulders.
It’s all too much. My face is hot. I feel like I might pass out.
Dante kneels beside me and takes my hand. “Frankie, did you know about the photographs?” His voice is soft, tender. Like I’ve been injured and he’s tending to me.
I shake my head. “No. If he took any, it wasn’t with my permission.”
With a nod, Dante stands again. “What you’re threatening to do is another crime, Correa.
I think you’re lying about those photos, but if you aren’t, and they should somehow find their way onto the Internet, there is no country you can hide in where I will not find you—and end you.
It’s time for you to leave California. Never come back. ”
Rico isn’t given a chance to argue. Marco and Armani just pick him up like a rag doll and drag him out the door. His sputtering and cursing echo down the hall until suddenly, it’s quiet.
Dante sits down next to me again, reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a new document.
“What is that?” I murmur as he sets it on the conference table in front of me.
“It’s a marriage settlement. Read it. It ensures that if Correa, or your father, or anyone else ever tries to come after the Abbott Winery or any of its assets, the law has them wrapped up firmly with the Bellanti family holdings.”
Dante waits patiently while I pore over the contract, my finger following along with every sentence, my heart flooding in my chest as I slowly parse the legal verbiage.
Another marriage for us. A fresh start. A chance at a real union this time.
No matter my sisters’ or my marital status, no one can take over the winery.
And speaking of my sisters, he’s worked in a profit-sharing clause regarding the Abbott portion of the wine sales.
Which means that even though Charlie still has her job, her income won’t have to rely solely on getting contracted for large events; she’ll have steady money coming in from her cut of the profits.
So will Livvie—and she won’t have to give up on her horses or her Olympic dreams, either.
Because the land transfer includes the Abbott stables.
I have to wait until the tears swimming in my eyes clear to find the signature line on the last page. Looking at Dante, I ask, “Are you sure about this?”
He smiles. “I meant it when I said any price.” He takes a pen from his breast pocket and holds it out to me. “Be mine, Frankie. For real this time.”
I take the pen and glance away from him just long enough to sign my name on the dotted line before throwing myself in his arms.
I’m so glad that my husband—my real husband—always comes through.