Page 1 of Perfect Match
Prologue - Tori
Bang!The noise of the elevator door opening echoes along the hallway.
Beside me, Charli—my sister—jumps at the sound, then tilts her head toward her boyfriend, Ryan. It’s a big day for them both, as she’s moving into his apartment, and Sadie—our cousin—and I are here to help her unpack.
“Who the fuck is that?” Ryan exclaims, striding across the plush bedroom carpet before his heavy tread hits the wood flooring and pounds down the hallway. He looks ready to do battle with whoever has dared to enter his private domain.
This is the only apartment serviced by the private elevator, as the lower floors of the building hold The Vice Club, which has a different access. Ryan is the owner and manager of the exclusive sex club, and Charli works for him as a mixologist, creating unique, fancy cocktails for the wealthy clientele.
The three of us stand like mannequins in the doorway of the walk-in closet, listening.
But instead of the expected shouting, all we hear next is Ryan saying, “What the fuck are you doing here?” in a tone that’s measured and calm. A low, deep mumbled response isn’t clear, but my gut clenches at the tone of the visitor’s voice.
Please don’t let it be him.A shiver runs down my spine, but otherwise, I remain frozen in place.
The pair of heavy footsteps thump toward the living room. Charli turns toward the door, and I follow at a snail’s pace, moving robotically. Instincts I’ve learned to trust tell me the visitor is Gio—the last person on earth I want to see. Yet, I still continue to walk toward the voices.
As we near the doorway to the open-plan living area, Ryan appears, blocking our view into the room. An unspoken message passes between him and my sister before he glances at me over her shoulder. And I don’t need any words to confirm my worst fears.
My stomach drops to my boots, and when Gio appears behind him, it nearly comes all the way back up. I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump stuck in my throat.
Charli steps back in a futile attempt to block Gio from seeing me. But I see him and he sees me. A sharp pain stabs me in the region of my heart, and I worry that I might pass out right there.
Gio sways toward me with a slurred word that I guess is meant to beBella. I don’t want him to call me that. It hurts too much after he lost the right to give me a cute nickname.
Charli cuts him off before he can reach me. “Hey, buddy, how about you sit down before you fall,” she says as she swings him in the opposite direction.
Sadie’s arm wraps around my waist, and I lean into her. “Do you want to get out of here?” she asks in a low voice.
With her support, my spine stiffens with resolve. I won’t let him see what he’s done to me. And I sure as hell won’t let him inflict any more damage.
“I’m leaving,” I announce, loud and clear enough for Gio to hear too.
“Tori?” he begs, and with my arms crossed around my body, I harden my heart to the man currently slumped against the wall. His bloodshot blue-gray eyes pleading for another chance.
“Not now, Gio. If you want to speak to me, you need to sober up first.”
It’s time we sorted this mess out once and for all. Because this, right now, is not good for either of us.
I give my sister a quick hug. Then, with Sadie’s arm still hooked through mine, I walk away from Gio again.
Chapter one
Gio
Six Months Earlier
Naples, Italy
Ahot poker stabbing me in the eye would be far better than having to endure another moment of my father’s furious looks. I can almost feel his anger crawling across the polished wood conference table and gnawing away at my bones. But then, most of what I’ve done throughout my life has been a disappointment to him, so I’m running low on give-a-fucks today.
My father may be chairman of the board of Barbieri Corporation, the parent company for our two subsidiaries, Barbieri Foods and Barbieri Wines, but as CEO of Barbieri Wines, that doesn’t mean I have to agree with him.
I roll my chair closer to the table and sit up straighter, then turn my gaze to my brother Antonio, who is sitting directly across from me. He’s a friendly face in a room full of suits stuckin thetraditional Italian waysof doing business, as they often like to remind my brother and me.
But today we’ve had a win for modernization. Antonio has just been voted by the board as the new CEO of Barbieri Foods, replacing my seventy-five-year-old great-uncle who should have retired ten years ago. Instead, he clung to the top role that had him oversee the worst sales results in thirty years this last year.
Expansion may be possible now with my brother and I in the two most powerful positions in the group—after my father’s chairman role, of course. Which I’d guess is the primary reason for the deep frown currently etched into his heavy brow. This is probably the first time he’s been on the wrong side of a board vote, and maybe he recognizes the tides are changing. The power he’s wielded for many years is slowly slipping through his fingers. My father may be a narcissistic, mean bastard, but he’s not a fool.
