Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
Antonio Andrea Gallo stalked down a South West London street towards an almost offensively bland building in Wandsworth, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu.
With his mobile phone glued to his ear and his eye assessing every single person on the street for nefarious intent, he tried to find the patience to not shout at his lawyer.
‘This is what I pay your extortionate fees for, Simon,’ he growled into the phone.
‘It’s never happened before,’ the Englishman replied apologetically. If it hadn’t been for Simon’s obvious confusion, Antonio would have suspected that the man was on the take.
‘Well, it’s happening now.’
‘It’s highly irregular, sir. Highly. Is there maybe something you haven’t told me?’
Only the fact that the words were forced through a significant amount of discomfort allowed Antonio to excuse the man for even suggesting that it was somehow his fault.
‘I have told you everything,’ he bit out.
‘Then I don’t know why Mr Justice Carmondy overruled our appeal. The divorce should have been granted before it could be put before him.’
They had fought the summons as hard as possible, convinced that the judge would give up long before now on a matter such as this. But he hadn’t. Which was why, reluctantly and without any other option, Antonio was here.
‘What does he want?’ he demanded. ‘Money?’
‘No. And don’t try to offer him any. The English courts are different to what you’re used to,’ his lawyer warned.
‘Everyone wants something, Simon,’ Antonio insisted, speaking from experience.
He checked his watch. He didn’t have time for this.
He’d flown to the closest private airfield that morning and needed to be back in Italy later that afternoon.
The fallout from the reading of his grandfather’s will had sent so many ripples into an already turbulent pool that if he hadn’t already been dead, Antonio would have willingly murdered the man.
‘The only thing he seems to want is to see you and Mrs Gallo—’
‘Don’t call her that,’ Antonio snapped down the phone.
‘You and Ms McKellen in his chambers to discuss reconciliation.’
‘Reconciliation? I haven’t seen the woman since the day we married, six years ago!’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t say that to the judge! If he thinks you tried to game the system—’
‘I wasn’t trying to game the system, I was trying to game my grandfather ,’ Antonio growled, just as he arrived at the unassuming concrete steps leading to the Wandsworth Courts where Simon, who had been waiting for him, put away his phone.
Antonio took a moment to glare between the tall bespectacled man and the court, as if that alone might bend them to his will. And when that didn’t work, he turned and marched up the steps to fix this himself, stopping only when Simon didn’t immediately follow behind.
‘We’re waiting for Ms McKellen,’ Simon said in response to Antonio’s raised brow.
Antonio glanced at his watch. There was still some time before their court appointment, but not for Antonio.
‘I plan to have this resolved before she even gets here,’ he said, continuing up the steps with determination.
The judge, however, had other plans and made him wait.
First, outside his chambers, in a hallway where he was subjected to the curiosity of nearly every single passerby, as if he were some rare breed on display.
Which, he conceded, was probably true, seeing as he doubted that many billionaires lived in this small London borough.
Antonio caught glimpses of the pale, balding man behind the desk every time someone entered and left the room. And each time they made adversarial eye contact to the point where Antonio firmly believed the judge was purposely wasting his time.
And then, even after Antonio and Simon had been ‘invited’ into the judge’s office, they were made to wait as he sifted through various batches of paperwork. As someone who personally abhorred the stuff, Antonio should have felt some sympathy for him.
Should have. But didn’t. Because this entire farce was a waste of his time.
‘No Mrs Gallo?’ the judge asked without preamble.
‘She is on her way, Your Honour,’ Simon answered.
The judge turned to glare at Antonio. A glare that Antonio was more than happy to hold for as long as it took.
After all, he’d been practically raised by his grandfather—a man who had entwined authority and intent into a near lethal combination.
Antonio had been the only person, ever, to defy Gio Gallo’s commands and remain unscathed.
But it seemed the old man had had the last laugh after all.
‘You didn’t come together?’ the judge asked, peering over the top of his reading glasses.
‘They have been separated for some time, Your Honour,’ Simon replied for him.
The judge raised his eyebrow, as if he’d hoped to catch him out.
Antonio nearly laughed. He ate men like this for breakfast. Daily.
After Antonio’s marriage to Ivy, his grandfather had actually believed that cutting Antonio off would bring him running back home. But instead it had freed him, and he’d flourished. He’d started his own company and that company had thrived. And so had the people Antonio did care for.
His mother. His cousin, Maria.
And now, aged twenty-nine, Antonio was the billionaire CEO of a multinational brokerage company. Alessina International was completely his, no investors, no board of directors, no meddling.
No one to bow to.
Eventually he’d reconciled, albeit grudgingly, with his grandfather.
He’d won the man’s respect, Antonio knew that.
Which was why he hadn’t expected the other man’s last move.
But he should have. Antonio had grown complacent, believing Gio’s age had tempered him.
He’d been wrong. Instead, Gio had plotted the future of his grandchildren and that of his company, Gallo Group, to an almost Machiavellian level.
And as a consequence, he needed to divorce Ivy and marry Maria in order to meet the terms of Gio Gallo’s last will and testament.
He would do this one last thing, for his cousin. And then he’d be done.
‘Your Honour—’ Simon started.
‘Do you know what I dislike most about billionaires?’ the judge asked, cutting him off.
Antonio wrestled with the urge to roll his eyes.
Under any other circumstances, he would have laid down his terms, and an unhealthy amount of money, and walked off without another wasted second.
But Simon was right, England was different.
And while this particular judge didn’t appear to want money, he clearly wanted to run him through the mill.
And if that was what it took to get the divorce? He’d do it.
‘It’s the assumption that your wants and needs are superior to those of others.’
Having met a good number of billionaires, frankly, Antonio was of a similar opinion.
Not that he’d admit such a thing to the man currently hellbent on ruining his day.
He chose to nod sagely, which served only to irritate the older man.
Really, the resemblance between the judge and his grandfather was striking.
There was a timid knock on the door to the cramped office, which did nothing to stop the judge mid-tirade.
With half an ear on the judge, who was now compiling a list of faults of not only his wealth but his generation, Antonio glanced as the door pushed open and Ivy McKellen nudged her way into the room.
He half turned to greet her, when Carmondy expounded yet another unfounded objection to Antonio’s apparent crimes, recalling his attention. From the corner of his eye, Antonio caught a glimpse of long, rich auburn hair.
He didn’t remember that. In his lesser travelled memories, her hair was always swept back in a small efficient knot, as she shot him a conspiratorial smile, sharing her amusement with him at her Italian boss’s increasingly outrageous but utterly harmless behaviour.
She’d been far too bright to be stuck serving customers who’d leered at her, keeping them at bay with a quick putdown that was gentle enough to soften the blow, but firm enough that they didn’t get back up again.
She’d impressed him. And that had been hard to do at that point in his life.
Undoubtably beautiful, she’d kept him at arm’s length which, utterly without ego, was an unusual experience for him.
And then had come the day he’d found her on a break, crying behind the café, and convinced her to tell him what was wrong.
The shameful confession of financial struggle, the desire to protect a sibling, the frustration at the heavy burden…
the shame . Oh, Ivy had spoken obliquely, but he’d understood enough.
And it had reminded him of his mother. Crying when she didn’t think Antonio could hear her, struggling in the aftermath of her husband’s desertion, all because of him.
Ivy, like his mother, was giving everything to protect her family.
And just like that, he’d known. He’d known that she might be the only person who would go through with his mad scheme to win his freedom from his grandfather’s pressure to marry his cousin.
Ivy would agree because of her brother and her integrity meant she wouldn’t betray their deal.
And, in exchange, the money he would give her would allow her to radically change her life. It had been the perfect arrangement.
Until now.
Ivy shifted uncomfortably on her feet, and Antonio stared at his lawyer until Simon stood, gesturing for Ivy to take his seat.
The judge continued to drone on about resources and invaluable time but Antonio couldn’t focus as Ivy hooked the russet waterfall behind her ear.
Antonio, who had always been sensitive to stimulation, took in all of her at once.
Delicate. Detailed. Fine .