Decadent. Alexx Andria

       CHAPTER ONE

      Dante

      “YOU CAME A long way for nothing. As I told your father previously, Castello di Baroni isn’t for sale, nor will it ever be.” Alessandra Baroni, sole living heir to the centuries-old Tuscan winery, wasn’t pleased. But out of courtesy, she sat stiffly through my requested meeting.

      “In my experience, everything and everyone has a price,” I returned, undeterred. I wouldn’t back down. I was leaving Italy with the deed to this historic winery, one way or another.

      The green-eyed beauty narrowed her gaze. “Your presumption that my position might change with a face-to-face was a waste of both our time. I am a busy woman, Mr. Donato. I do not have the luxury of idle conversation.”

      I took my time before saying, “For a winery steeped in tradition and generational heritage… I am surprised a woman is at the head of the business table.”

      Her eyes flashed but whatever temper flared, she kept reined in. A slow smile followed, which seemed far more dangerous. “Careful, Mr. Donato…one might accuse you of being a misogynist.”

      He’d been called worse.

      Her Italian accent flavored her impeccable English, giving an otherwise sharp rebuke an exotic flair.

      I smiled with amusement. Even with the influence of modern thinking, the wine business remained stubbornly patriarchal—particularly in Italy. The majority of wineries privileged enough to earn the right to place a Chianti Classico label on their vintage were controlled by men. That black rooster seal was an exclusive membership with rigid rules.

      The fact that Alessandra had managed to find her footing among those in the Good Ol’ Boys Club was a feat not lost on me. In another time, I might’ve enjoyed watching Alessandra square off against the old men, pressing for change, but I didn’t have the luxury of such entertainment.

      I came for business and a win.

      “My father is a stubborn man and he’s set his sights on Castello di Baroni, not that I can blame him now that I’ve made the trip. The property and the working vineyard are exquisite.” Much like Alessandra herself. “You should be proud.”

      “Flattery is a waste of your time, too. We are not selling.”

      The woman was intractable. I liked it. A flare of excitement started in my gut. It’d been a long time since I’d had a worthy adversary. Boredom had a way of dulling the edge. I’d have to be on my game with Alessandra.

      As stunning as she was—green eyes and dark hair always caught my attention—she neither flaunted nor flirted. She simply held her ground with quiet, if not annoyed, confidence.

      Definitely a worthy opponent, even if she had no idea that Donatos played to win.

      “I’m sure you’re aware my family built this very castle you call home,” I said, drawing on personal history, showing that I’d done my homework before arriving. I’d always known, in a peripheral manner, that my family’s roots were firmly planted in rich Italian soil and that at one time, we’d been premier winemakers before branching off into different fields. Since my father’s retirement, he’d been keen to return to his roots.

      Thus, his interest in the winemaking business.

      Of course, he wanted Castello di Baroni back in the family fold, seeing as this old castle had given birth to our legacy.

      If only our ancestors hadn’t sold sometime in the seventeenth century.

      “Yes, I am aware,” Alessandra said, her tone cool. “Many centuries ago. Much has happened between these old walls since your family was a part of its existence.”

      “I’m sure you can understand how my family would feel that it rightfully belongs with the Donato name.”

      “I do not.”

      I smiled. “Although I feel it’s more than the property is worth, we are prepared to double our original offer.” I jotted an exorbitant number on a piece of paper and slid it toward her, chuckling as I said, “My father is very keen to have this property back.”

      Alessandra didn’t even look at the offer as she slid the paper back toward me. “And as I already stated, numerous times, it is not for sale, no matter the amount you scribble on your little paper,” she said, her lip curling with subtle scorn. “Americans think that everything has a price—but what you have forgotten is that some things have no price. They are, indeed, priceless.”

      I disagreed. “Nothing is priceless. Everything has a price. The question is, how far is one willing to go to find it?”

      Her jade eyes darkened as her gaze narrowed. “You are an arrogant man.”