5. Antonio
Chapter five
Antonio
One Week Later
H ow can a marriage contract dated nearly twenty years ago still be legally binding? But it is, according to our lawyers.
“Maybe we’ll just have to announce our engagement,” Gio says, dropping his head into his hands.
“Fuck no,” I yell from across the conference table. It’s been like this between us for days as we’ve gone back and forth over the contract wording.
At my outburst, Gio’s head springs back up. “There may not be a choice. And it would only be until we can figure out what to do next.” He tries to placate me, but all I can process is Gio’s suggestion that he and Lucia become engaged.
“No, I don’t fucking care about choices.
It’s not happening,” I roar, while trying to ignore the thumping of my heart.
Surely, I’m too young and healthy to have heart issues, but if the tightness in my chest keeps happening every time I think about Gio and Lucia together, I might have to visit a doctor.
Gio’s eyes narrow. “Well, maybe the decision isn’t yours to make.” His voice is calm and firm, brooking no argument.
My anger ratchets up a notch, the rage burning my cheeks.
But what can I say when I know he’s right.
It’s for him and Lucia to decide, and she’s currently ignoring my calls under the pretense of work commitments.
It also doesn’t help that she’s in another time zone, having traveled to Tokyo after London.
I need to see her so we can hash this out together, and that’s not going to happen until she’s back in Paris.
Picking up the same crumpled page of translation I’ve now read multiple times, I scan the highlighted sections.
The parties agree that the son of Armando Barbieri will, upon becoming CEO of the Barbieri Corporation, be eligible to enter into a marriage contract with the daughter of Franco Romano at a time agreed suitable by Franco Romano and Armando Barbieri.
The parties agree that if the son of Armando Barbieri refuses to abide by the terms of the contract, 51 percent ownership of the Barbieri Corporation will be signed over to Franco Romano.
My fists clench at my side, and Gio’s brows rise, daring me to react.
My brothers and I have never once physically fought; we’ve barely even raised our voices with each other.
I turn my back on him, sucking a deep, ragged breath into my lungs, and on the release, it tears through my chest like a dagger.
“Lucia won’t marry you,” I say, but my words lack confidence because I can’t know that for sure until I see her. And now it appears there’s nothing I can say that will change the trajectory Gio seems hell-bent on following.
“If she doesn’t, then we’ll lose the company.”
I spin to face him. “Is that all that matters to you? The fucking family company?”
“No, the people I love matter.”
“Lucia matters to me.”
“I know she does, and I would look after her.” A stony, expressionless mask dawns on his face.
“You fucking asshole.” It’s not Gio’s role to protect Lucia; it’s mine.
It’s always been mine. “If you go through with this, I’ll never forgive you.
” I’ll not only be unable to forgive him, but I’d have to cut them both out of my life.
Because seeing them together would be like opening the same wound over and over again.
With a heavy tread, I stalk to the door, rip it open, and leave.
I can’t look at him, be in the same room, or maybe even the same city, knowing he’s thinking about going through with this fake marriage.
And the worst part is, Lucia, through her lack of responses, seems to be prepared to do her father’s bidding.
Lucia is mine, not Gio’s . I stop suddenly halfway down the stairs. What the fuck am I thinking? She doesn’t belong to me or anyone else, and especially not my brother. I slap my palm on the brick wall. There has to be a way I can fix this.
Random ideas flood my brain, each one more impossible than the last. Talking to my father didn’t work for Gio, his number one son, so me trying would only be a waste of breath. I could speak to her father, but the man hates me, so that won’t work either.
I’ll just have to beg Lucia to try and make her father see sense.
***
New York City
Un-fucking-believable. My gaze narrows as I glare at the text message for the hundredth time.
Gio: Emergency family meeting. 7 p.m. at Leonardo’s tomorrow night.
My grip tightens around my phone, halfway to breaking it. He can fuck right off.
I’m still pissed at Gio, and until he tells me he isn’t marrying Lucia, there’s not much else I need to hear from him.
We haven’t spoken since I stormed out of the Florence office days ago, so the idea of sitting at a table with him, sharing a meal, sounds as much fun as a visit to the dentist. Yet here I am in New York, having flown overnight to make his fucking meeting.
At least we’re gathering on neutral ground, at Leo’s Midtown restaurant, and with my other brothers present as buffers, I’m not a big enough asshole to refuse the invitation.
Leo and Nico only know the bare basics of the arranged marriage, so I can enjoy watching Gio squirm as he explains the full extent of the mess.
Obviously, I couldn’t talk any sense into Gio, but maybe they can.
I arrive early and am seated at the regular table Leo sets aside for our dinners.
It’s a power-play move, for sure, and I don’t give two fucks if Gio recognizes it as one as he strides toward me shortly after.
Leaning my elbows on the white linen–covered table, I grind my teeth so hard that my jaw aches with tension.
“Antonio.” He reaches out his hand, and I ignore it. “Seriously, you’re going to leave me hanging.”
“Yep,” I snap.
I love my brother, but I love Lucia as a friend too. I refuse to stand by and watch anyone screw up her life. She’s suffered enough and deserves so much better than a loveless, arranged marriage.
He takes a seat opposite me. “Ant, you know this whole thing with Lucia was not my idea, and I’m as happy about it as you are.”
“But you’re the fucker who’s going to go through with it. You’re doing our father’s bidding like you always do. That’s so fucking weak, man.” My words are spit from my mouth like I’ve taken a bite of something foul. I don’t want to fucking hear his excuses when he can choose not to do this.
“I never said I was going to go through with it,” Gio grumbles, and the way his gaze darkens with sadness lends credence to his words.
Gio looks like shit, his hair still holding the tracks his fingers have driven through it more than once, and his shirt crumpled like it was stuffed into the bottom of a suitcase with no attempt to hide the creases.
“Have you spoken to Lucia today?” he asks, and my brows rise. Why does he care? She’s my friend, not his.
Leo appears behind me. “He lives,” he says to Gio. “What the fuck is up with you two?” Leo is the family peacemaker, and if ever we needed his intervention, it’s now.
“Gio is going to marry Lucia. And he promised me that he wouldn’t.” I’ve no remorse at throwing Gio’s betrayal in his face, outing him first to Leo, then Nico when he joins us soon after.
“Bro, why are you marrying Lucia? I thought you liked some Australian girl,” Nico asks.
“Will you all just sit the fuck down so I can explain,” Gio demands, looking everywhere but at us.
Nico takes his seat at the table, then pours four glasses of red wine from the open bottles in the center. Leo takes the last chair.
“I don’t want to marry Lucia. And Lucia doesn’t want to marry me. The problem is that if Lucia doesn’t marry a Barbieri, according to a fucked-up contract our father signed with hers, then the majority share of the Barbieri Corporation will be transferred to Romano Holdings.”
“Why the fuck are we only hearing about this now?” Leo complains.
He’s got a point. We’ve always dealt with the big stuff together. And it doesn’t get much bigger than this arranged-marriage debacle.
“Because it’s taken the last couple of weeks for my lawyers to go through the contract line by line to try to find a way out of it,” Gio admits.
“And have they?” Leo asks.
“No. It’s rock-solid,” Gio replies, his shoulders sinking.
I thought I’d enjoy watching Gio have to explain himself, but when he looks fucking miserable, it’s hard to take any pleasure in trading jabs with someone who’s given up fighting.
One thing is clear to me: the Australian girl he recently met in Italy appears to be more than a casual fling, and for the first time, I’m beginning to see that this arranged marriage with Lucia would have multiple victims.
Rock-solid . The words he used to describe the contract echo in my brain, and a red haze clouds my better judgment again. “So that means you’re going to marry her? You can screw up your life if you want, but don’t take Lucia down with you.”
“Guys. Don’t you get that this arguing is what Dad wants? You two divided. We’re brothers, and we’ve always sorted the important shit out together,” Leo pleads, echoing the same thoughts I’d had.
I begin to argue, but Leo again interjects as the voice of reason. “No, stop. I don’t want to hear it. You’re my brothers, and I love you both, but don’t make me choose sides, because I won’t. I’d rather throw you both out of my restaurant now than do that.”
Like a couple of chastised schoolboys, our gazes dip in shame. I lean my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands.
“I’m sorry, Leo,” Gio apologizes.
“G, I’m not who you should be apologizing to,” Leo says, and I remove one hand from my eyes and tilt my head in his direction. When did one of our younger brothers become more mature than us?
I’m still questioning this when Gio speaks again. “Ant, you should marry Lucia.”
My head springs up so fast a muscle twinges in my neck.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s my best friend.
” I go to stand but only get halfway when Leo’s firm hand drops on my shoulder, keeping me in place.
I fall back onto the chair, the option of least resistance.
With Leo’s hand still holding me, I glare at Gio across the table.
“I know, which is why it makes more sense that you marry her than me.” Gio’s voice is now eerily calm, like he gets when he’s about to seal a deal.
“It’s a good idea,” Leo chimes in. “But how would that work with the contract?” He removes his hand and takes the seat beside me again.
I’m free to escape this ridiculous discussion, but Gio’s eyes have narrowed, and I can almost hear the cogs whirring behind them.
All the reasons this is a bad idea wage war in my head. “But Lucia—” I try to form my thoughts into words that don’t shuffle into a sentence, before Gio interrupts my stuttering.
“As far as I know, the contract just states the head of the Barbieri Corporation, and Ant is CEO of Barbieri Foods, so head of one of the subsidiaries, just like me …”
My mind goes blank, still struggling to process the idea of me marrying Lucia. And when I realize I’ve missed the rest of what he’s said and all three matching sets of blue-gray eyes are staring at me, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Her father will never agree.”
“Her father and ours don’t need to know until it’s done,” Gio replies, swatting my words away as a mere blip in his plan.
“Are you thinking Vegas?” Nico asks, his eyes sparking with interest, and I turn my glare on him. This isn’t the kind of support I hoped for from my brothers. Because there’s no fucking way Lucia and I are having a quickie wedding in Sin City.
“I’m definitely thinking Vegas,” Gio confirms, and my stomach drops to my boots.
Luce will hate this plan. No, she’ll hate me for being a part of this plan.
Oblivious to how my mouth is now gaping like a goldfish, Gio continues, “It’s the quickest, easiest way. But nobody other than us and Lucia can know.”
Fuck, it gets worse. A secret Vegas wedding to my best friend. This is all moving too fast, and I can’t keep up.
Gio leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ll speak with Lucia tonight.”
“No,” I shout, finally finding my voice, even if it sounds like I’ve swallowed a bunch of razor blades. “I’ll speak to her.”
There’s no fucking way anyone other than me is going to ask Lucia to marry me.
If this ridiculous idea of a secret wedding in Vegas has any chance of happening, then it must be me.
Besides, I’m not willing to ruin my friendship with her by leaving it up to my brother.
My chair scrapes against the floor as I jump up from the table, having heard enough for one night.
“She’s going to hate the idea,” I say, less forcefully.
“Maybe, but when she thinks of the alternative, me—or worse, someone else her father decides will serve his purposes better—then I’m sure she’ll agree.”
“That’s crazy,” Nico says. “It’s like her father thinks he’s a Roman emperor marrying off his daughter without her consent.”
“Our parents and hers were arranged marriages, so they don’t see anything wrong with it,” I say, then draw in a deep breath and release it on a loud sigh. “So I guess I’ll ask her to marry me.”
“Don’t forget to get down on one knee,” Leo teases.
“Shut the fuck up, Leo,” I snap.
Leo laughs as he stands. “Love you too, Ant. Now get the hell out of my restaurant.”
“Ant, before you go. Nobody else can know about this until it’s done,” Gio insists, and the three of us nod in agreement. “If our father finds out that Ant and I are planning to swap places, he’ll stop us. We all know how he hates to be disobeyed.”
Lucia’s never going to agree, so there’s no point sitting around discussing it with my brothers . And I don’t realize I’ve voiced my concern until I look into their faces. My breath catches in my lungs as the full implications of what I just agreed to do hits me like a wrecking ball.
How the fuck am I supposed to ask Lucia to marry me instead of Gio? In Vegas, of all places.
“I’m leaving,” I mumble, before turning and almost running through the restaurant to escape the feeling of being squeezed into a corner.
And when I’m back in my penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, I decide there’s possibly one thing worse than proposing a secret Vegas wedding, and that’s asking Lucia to marry me over the phone.
She’s due home in a couple of days, so I won’t have long to wait. I need to get my ass to Paris.