Page 3 of His Vow
“The audit is going to take weeks, probably even months,” he mutters as I once again look to him for guidance.
Shortly after I became CEO of the Barbieri Foods subsidiary, I discovered some rather alarming financial data and presented it to Gio. There’s no one I trust more in this world, and I knew that as the CEO of Barbieri Wines—the corporation’s other more successful subsidiary—he would know what we needed to do next.
My brother has a brilliant business mind, which is why he’s been so successful, so I’m confident he’ll come up with a solution that won’t include doing nothing.
“Surely there’s something we can do,” I prompt him.
His brow creases in concentration while the board members on the call ramble on in the background.
“Our only chance will be to get the support of other board members.” Gio glances up, a plan forming in his steely gaze. A slightly darker blue-gray shade than my own.
“Fine, but that won’t be easy when the other family members on the board have followed our father’s lead like lemmings for years.”
“Which is why we’re flying to Naples tonight like our father requested,” he says, and my gaze narrows on him. “And before the next meeting, we’ll meet with the board members individually to convince them of the cost benefit in moving to the new contract.”
“And our father?” I ask, my voice full of skepticism.
“He’ll know nothing about those meetings,” he declares. I’m glad he’s confident, because I don’t have the same level of optimism.
He flicks the unmute button. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Father? Antonio and I will meet you in your Naples office tomorrow morning, as you suggested.”
I cough out a laugh, earning me a glare from Gio. The idea that it was a suggestion is ludicrous.
“Thank you, son. I knew I could rely on you to make your brother see sense.”
Of course daddy dearest can’t resist the urge to praise Gio as the golden child while sticking another knife in my back.
It was Gio who managed to convince the board to vote me in as CEO of Barbieri Foods. If it had been up to my father, it would have been a cold day in hell before he saw me in any position of power. I don’t know what I ever did to make him hate me, but I’m fucking sure he does. With Leo and Nico, our younger brothers, the hate he directs at them can be attributed to their refusal to join the family business. Yet I did, and apparently, that still wasn’t good enough for him.
We end the call shortly after the dictator commands we be at his office at eight in the morning.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Gio says, grabbing my shoulder. “He only says that shit because he knows it’s the only control he has left over you.” With a final squeeze, he drops his arm to gather his papers strewn across the table. “Grab what you need in your office, and we’ll walk back to the hotel together.”
It only takes me a few minutes to pack up my laptop and the paper copies of the financial reports I was going through earlier this afternoon. Then we leave our Florence offices, walking past the Duomo before turning down one of the many narrow streets that fan out from the square. It’s a short stroll to our hotel on the banks of the Arno River. The Forbes Hotel chain is owned by oneof Gio’s close friends, which means that our suites across the hall from each other do not skimp on luxury.
It’s a shame I won’t be enjoying any of those perks tonight, as the call I’m overhearing between Gio and the pilot of our private jet means I’ll barely have enough time to throw some clothes in a bag before we leave for our flight to Naples.
***
Later That Week
The bundle of paper lands with a slap on the long wooden conference table, and in the strained silence, it has the same effect as a hand striking each of the board member’s faces. “Here are all the reports. We’ve done the work.”
My father doesn’t even glance at the stack of crisp white pages. “I don’t care about your reports. We are not changing distribution contracts.”
My temper flares, but I hold my tongue for once.
“Let’s vote on the proposal,” Gio says in a calm voice that defies the tension in his jaw. He hides his anger so much better than me. But have we done enough this last week in Naples to secure the votes? I fucking hope so.
Tension fills the air like a thick soupy fog as the members of the board, my brother, and I cast our votes. Two of our uncles, my father’s younger brothers, don’t look up, seemingly counting rings in the wood grain surface. We knew we would never sway them to go against our father. They’ve spent their lives following his lead. The remaining family members look around the room, seeking answers and finding some when they land on Gio. Our cousin Bruno is the only absentee, but with his grandfather holding his vote, we don’t expect it will deviate.
A personal assistant—whose, I’m not sure—circles the table, collecting the votes in an aged wooden box. Even thisperformance reeks of the old ways that thwart Gio and me at every turn. We don’t want to remove all the traditions passed down from generation to generation, but if we don’t modernize, there will be no family business to protect in the future.
The nameless young woman stops beside my father, her hand visibly shaking as the box bumps on the table in front of him. Across the polished wood, my gaze locks on Gio’s blank stare. He can mask his emotions better than me, but then again, he’s been part of this dog and pony show longer, so he has more practice.
With a tilt of my head, I glance sideways, watching as, one by one, my father pulls the white cards from the box. For fuck’s sake, he’s wringing the drama out of the moment.
One pile continues to grow, while only three cards sit in the other. Storm clouds brew in his blue-gray stare, the same unusual shade that my brothers and I share. But in his case, they have never been anything other than icy wastelands.
