Chapter 16
FRANKIE
Rico is in the passenger seat, tapping an excited drumbeat on the dash with his fingers. Mere inches away, I’m trying my best not to kill him. I don’t know what I ever saw in this asshole.
I picked him up in Vallejo on my way north from San Francisco, and now I have to drop Livvie off at school. After that, Rico and I will go see Dante at the Bellanti offices. That is, if I don’t strangle Rico first.
I glance in the rearview mirror at Livvie in the back seat. She’s staring out the window, headphones in, a slight crease between her brows as she pretends to ignore me and Rico. God, I never wanted these two parts of my world to meet.
Yet seeing my precious little sister and the scumbag I married sitting in a car together only steels my resolve further. I remind myself that Rico Correa is an inconvenience that I need to get around. Livvie, on the other hand, is what really matters—even if it means losing something to Rico.
Tossing and turning in bed last night, I mulled over my (admittedly limited) options.
In the end, I decided it made the most sense to just get as much for the vineyard as I can from the Bellantis, dump half the profits on Rico, and then tell him I never want to see him again.
With any luck, the money will be enough to get him to sign divorce papers and go back to Italy without a fight.
He sure as hell won’t agree to a divorce before he lines his pockets, I know that much.
I just wish there was another way out of this.
It kills me to think about selling the vineyard, but my sisters and I are survivors.
We can do a pretty decent amount of surviving with a couple million dollars.
I know the vineyard is worth at least that, and the Bellantis know it, too.
Especially since I’ve already proven the viability of combining our grapes, given the popularity of the upcoming blended chianti.
So that’s that. It is what it is. Family heritage is one thing, but living family members is something immeasurably more important.
And if the Bellantis are going to make a mint off my family’s property, the least they can do is compensate us fairly. Even if Dante’s an asshole about it, I have to believe he’ll be fair in the end. Armani will urge him to do the right thing, and I’m pretty sure Marco will, too.
We pull up to the curb at Napa High and drop Livvie off. She leans forward between the seats and says, “Thanks, Frankie. And good luck with your meeting.”
“I’m gonna need it,” I tell her, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head.
Her door barely shuts before Rico starts talking.
“So. Let’s go over my plan.” He makes a final drumroll with his fingers on the dash and ends with a flourish of air guitar. “I have it all figured out.”
I grip the wheel tighter as I pull out of the parking lot. “Okay…”
“We need to present a united front, you see. Convince the Bellantis that we have decided to make a go of the winery. If they think we are not willing to let go, it will drive up the price.”
The thought of playing the happy wife with Rico has zero appeal to me.
“Why don’t we just put an offer on the table and say we’re firm on it?” I suggest.
Rico looks over with a frown. “Frankie. We have to play hard to get. The more we resist selling, the higher the price will go. Can you imagine what they might offer if they think we are going to keep it? They would not just be losing the vines, they would have a rival next door.”
“You’re right,” I say. I hate that I agree with him on this.
The Bellantis have already invested quite a bit in the Abbott vineyards.
Not only that, but rolling out the specialty blend from our mutual grapes was very costly.
Canceling all those orders might be committing retail suicide with the vendors, not to mention destroying all the goodwill that’s been built up.
And Armani would have a public relations nightmare on his hands.
“I will do all the talking,” Rico says smoothly.
“We’re fifty-fifty owners,” I remind him, annoyed. “Plus, I know Dante a lot better than you do. He’s not the kind of man who—”
“I know what kind of man he is. He will appreciate talking da uomo a uomo.”
Man to man. Right. I roll my eyes at the expression. Rico just grins beside me.
Minutes later, I turn into the gates of the Bellanti estate. I pass the offices and continue down the drive to the main house. I’m hoping it’s far enough away from the eyes of curious employees…and malicious ones named Jessica.
I park on the side of the house and quickly get out of the car, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Rico goes on ahead, as if he knows exactly where he’s going. I used to think his swagger indicated confidence. Now I just think it makes him look like a dumbass.
“Wrong door, Rico. That’s the kitchen,” I call to him. “Follow me.”
Gesturing to the front door, I walk over without waiting for him.
When I ring the bell, the door opens with a welcoming smile from the housekeeper that falters a bit at the sight of Rico.
I pause just over the threshold and smooth my hands over my pencil skirt and fitted jacket, which I’m wearing with a light blue blouse beneath.
My outfit doesn’t scream wealth the way it did when I was a Bellanti, but it’s the best I could do and I’m going to own it.
“Nice place,” Rico says. The housekeeper just nods.
We’re shown down the hall, to the dining room. Everyone else is already gathered there and waiting—Marco, Dante, and Armani seated on one side of the table and goddamned Jessica standing behind Dante with her tablet poised to take notes.
Dante’s eyes sweep over me, dark and impassive. I’m glad I can’t read his mind. I can only imagine what’s going through his head as his gaze turns to Rico.
Armani clears his throat and gestures at the empty chairs on the other side of the table. “Please, take a seat. Coffee?”
“No thank you,” I murmur at the same time Rico says, “Of course.”
Alain appears out of nowhere and deposits a steaming cup in front of Rico, who takes his sweet time mixing in cream and sugar while everybody waits for him to finish clanging his spoon around in the cup. He takes a long slurp, and I try not to squirm in my seat. I’ve never felt so awkward.
“I would like to get right to the point,” Rico announces, setting his cup down. “We have decided we are keeping the winery.”
Armani flicks an eyebrow. “You’re…keeping the winery.” It’s obvious he’s shocked.
Rico leans back in his chair. I almost expect him to kick back and cross his ankles on the tabletop. “We have it all planned out. We will fill all the outstanding orders right away, then have the grapes picked, get them pressed, and start expanding promotions to get more sales.”
It’s taking everything in me to not cringe. When it comes to vinification, or even simply running a business, Rico has no idea what he’s talking about, and it’s obvious.
He’s completely ignorant about choosing the right grapes, primary and secondary fermentation, racking, aging, and blending.
Even if it were possible to rush Abbott grapes to pressing right away, good wine takes time—and great wine takes longer.
I wouldn’t expect Abbott wines to be available in any kind of saleable quantity for eighteen months, minimum.
Before Rico can go on further about his “big plans” for the Abbott Winery, Dante smooths his tie and says, “Unfortunately, you can’t fill any outstanding orders without inventory—which the Abbotts don’t have at the moment.
It’s also a bit late in the season to harvest as many grapes as you’d need to fill all those orders.
Not to mention, Bellanti Vineyards has already harvested a good portion of the crop.
I doubt you’ll have a decent wine for…oh, I’d say eighteen to twenty-four months.
Though I suppose you could fill your backorders then.
Assuming the wine turns out well enough.
“But I doubt the vendors will still be interested in your wine by then—or now, even. If anything, they’d probably prefer refunds over having their backorders fulfilled.
Of course, you’ll have to get them to talk to you first, which will be…
a challenge. The Abbott name isn’t worth much around these parts, thanks to the way your father-in-law ran his business. ”
Dante’s cold tirade is hitting me like a knife in the gut, but every word of it is true.
Rico’s smile persists. “We will rename the winery, of course! Simple.”
I press my fingers to my temples and close my eyes. Dante and Marco chuckle quietly across the table, but it’s loud in my ears. We’ve been here all of five minutes and Rico is already fucking this up. I have to do something, fast. Steer the conversation back in the right direction.
“What Mr. Correa means to say,” I cut in, “is that we intend to begin production as soon as it’s feasible again. Sadly, yes, the purchase orders my father took on good faith will not be filled this season because the wine is not available. But we intend to—”
“The exact timing does not matter,” Rico interrupts, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “We intend to move forward with our winery. Right, cara?”
Rico has never called me “dear” before, and I find it nauseating. “Well, yes, but first we’ll have to—” I start.
“With all these plans that we have, it would take a lot to convince us to turn over our business to someone else and simply walk away,” Rico says, interrupting me again. He turns his head to look in Dante’s direction. “And by a lot, I mean a lot.”
It’s tacky and not at all subtle, the way Rico is trying to get Dante to start throwing out numbers. It’s also not going to work. Rico’s just blown our plan out of the water.
We should have done this my way from the start. Walked in here, told the Bellantis how much we’d take for the vineyard, explained that we were firm on it, and negotiated the whole thing in minutes. Instead, we’re stuck putting on this idiotic charade.
I’m fucking done with it.
“Look. I’m honestly not interested in playing games,” I try again.
“It seems like it would be most beneficial to all of us to try to get a purchase agreement for the Abbott compound on the table before we leave today. Now, given that prime acreage in Napa goes for about three to four hundred thousand per acre, on average, I think it would be fair to start—”
“My wife is speaking out of turn,” Rico says. “We do not wish to sell.”
“Actually,” I say, trying to remain calm, “as an equal stakeholder in the property—”
Suddenly, Rico pushes me back from the table with his palm against my chest. His fingers end up splayed across my breast, but rather than move his hand away, he takes the opportunity to grope me instead.
It’s so unexpected and inappropriate that all I can do is sit there, frozen, a fake smile pasted on my face. Inside, I’m screaming.
But then I see the fury in Dante’s eyes. It’s enough to spur me to action.
Clearing my throat, I remove Rico’s hand. This meeting has gone to hell, and I’m afraid that no matter what I say, Rico is going to gloss right over me.
“Okay.” I put my palms down on the table. “Can we please take five minutes?”
Dante hasn’t taken his eyes off me this entire time, but he remains silent. Armani nods toward the door.
I get up as gracefully as I can, while Rico looks at me questioningly from his seat. I tilt my head toward the hallway, indicating that he needs to follow me.
Out in the hall, I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady my stomach again. Rico comes up behind me moments later, as excited as a puppy who doesn’t understand when he’s done something wrong.
“We’re going to be millionaires!” He grabs my shoulders, massaging me as he talks, clearly turned on by how rich he thinks he’s about to be. “We are so close!”
“Rico,” I whisper. “You need to slow down in there. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t produce wine on a whim. It takes months to years to produce a quality bottle. You need to let me take the reins on this.”
“You want to know what you need to let me do?”
He runs his hands from my shoulders up to my neck and then back down, getting handsier by the second. Stepping into me, Rico presses his chest against mine. The wall is behind my back and there’s nowhere for me to go. He starts leaning in for a kiss that I can’t possibly avoid.
When Rico’s lips land on mine, I push back my disgust and tolerate it for a second or two (in case the Bellantis are watching from the other room) before I twist my face away. “Okay, that’s enough. We should go back in.”
“We were just getting started,” he says with a smile.
Sidestepping him, I straighten my suit jacket. “Like I said, let me do the talking.”
I get about two steps away before Rico grabs my arm.
“Rico—”
The next thing I know, he’s flinging me into the living room and pushing me against the wall, his tongue slithering around my mouth like it has a mind of its own. I wriggle in his grasp but he gets even rougher, biting my lip and sticking his hand up my skirt.
“What are you doing?” I manage to choke out.
“I want to fuck you right here, in the Bellantis’ house. We need to celebrate, baby.”
I try to twist away, but it’s futile.
“Stop,” I tell him, as loud as I dare. I don’t want anyone to overhear us, but I’m not going to let Rico just paw at me. “Get off.”
“I’m planning on it,” he whispers gleefully, squeezing my ass painfully hard through my underwear. “Come on, Frankie. Just a quickie.”
“No. Let me go. Now.” I pummel my fists against his chest and hiss, “I said no!”
He presses his torso into me, pinning me in place as he tugs my skirt up my thighs.
“You used to love my cock,” he’s saying. “Don’t you remember?”
My stomach convulses as I attempt one last time, with all my might, to push him away. But he’s too tall, too strong, and he seems to have completely lost any common sense. He’s running on pure lust, high on a power trip. There’s nothing I can do to stop him.
“Stop, Rico, dammit! Stop—”
Suddenly, his body goes flying backwards. I hear him hit the floor, but all I see is Dante, standing there with his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with hard breaths. Armani and Marco are behind him. All of the Bellanti brothers look ready to crack some skulls.
Rico scrambles to his feet, but doesn’t have a chance to get his bearings before Dante pushes him back, farther away from me.
“She said no,” Dante growls.
“She’s my wife,” Rico says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “She belongs to me. I can do with her what I want.”
Dante moves so his body is between me and Rico, blocking my view. Dante’s voice drops to a quiet, murderous rumble that I’ve never heard from him before.
“She told you no,” he says slowly. “You don’t touch her when she says no. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
Rico laughs, but it comes out weakly. “You can’t do anything to me, I’m—”
He’s cut off by Armani and Marco grabbing him. Taking an arm each, they march him out the door, leaving me and Dante in sudden silence.