Page 3 of Wicked (Wicked Billionaires #2)
DANTE
As our private jet travels towards Rome, I rub the back of my neck, exhausted. Running my fashion empire between NYC, LA and London is starting to take its toll.
Thomas sits in the next row of seats, and he goes over endless agreements and banking details.
As I study work from new designers, both our own and our competitors, I make notes for my execs. I am in the zone and where I like to be. Right at the tip of the fashion spear.
I’m wearing my casual uniform of a black T, tailored dark blue jeans and black boots.
The jet is as I like it, silent, and as usual, we have very few crew. Just enough to get by in terms of comfort to allow for maximum focus.
I don’t understand some executives in entertainment, music, fashion, and banking who fly in their own jets and have many staff, meaning so many distractions.
Maybe they feel like rockstars. Maybe they’re just A-holes.
As I lean back in the seat, I check my watch. In another hour, we’ll land in Rome.
I go through this month’s stack of global fashion magazines in detail, then I put my notes aside. Thomas and I discuss a planned new fashion label, and he takes detailed notes. I try to focus on the big picture, and I aim to spin the fashion brand off another and develop it alone.
My aim is to create the hottest street fashion brand in the world.
Starting fashion trends is high risk but get it right and you own the market before others play copycat.
My global fashion company is on fire, and I cannot complain. The new fashion brand should, however, expand at a faster rate.
I am toying with the brand name Soul. My second option is Cloak . As in wear it over yourself. Over your spirit. Your soul. Your own character. Option three is Spirit.
As I lay out our current designs, my eyes scan fast. Our pilot walks down the aisle.
“Twenty minutes before we reach Rome, sir.”
I nod and consider informing Thomas of what I need. Screw it, why not pull the trigger early on this one?
“One last thing,” I say. “Double the budget they need. Give them the green light but watch them closely.”
Thomas makes a note on his legal pad and peers up. “And three Zooms a day while you’re in Italy?”
I think ahead. “For now. At least until I know how long I’m forced to stay.”
“What if you like being with your Italian family?”
“What if I throw you out the door?”
Thomas laughs. I do not. I’ve spent the last ten years working between NYC, LA, London, and Miami. I adore the US which is why I reside there.
I grew up in Italy, and I disliked much of it. I adore the Italian culture, the people, and the history. So much about Italy I truly love, but I left the old nation as soon as I could. I only return when needed.
Overly authoritarian parents will do that. Formal, military-like private boarding schools do not help.
An old class system, in some areas of society, does not help either. The kicker, however, is
there is way too much governmental red tape to get things done, unlike in the US. It is too hard to do business in much of Europe now.
I do not deny I was brought up on old money in Tuscany and it is a stunning Italian region. I, however, ran from it, and I made my own fortune. A fortune supposedly worth fifteen billion dollars.
It’s closer to twenty, but it’s best few know the actual details. It’s hard enough avoiding the media and gold diggers as it is.
Dating became a nightmare years back, and I’ve had too many heiresses, catwalk models and half the actresses in Hollywood chase my single bachelor billionaire ass.
Last year, I shut all dating down. Also, all screwing. It’s hard, and I’m now a ticking time bomb. I am frustrated and even angry at times, and I know I am short tempered. I’m like a lion on edge.
Considering I used to bed a woman a night, I’m likely doing okay.
As long as I avoid stunning women and I control my environments, I can keep my fierce urges under control.
Suddenly, a vision comes to me. It is primal, wet, and hot.
My hands twist around a woman’s hair. I feel myself stretch a woman from behind, then I see her eyes flash as she turns and shatters. I shake my head and fight to find control and calm.
As we streak over the Mediterranean Sea, I look down. We skim fishing villages, vineyards, Italian villas, and castles.
We then shoot over the top of a red sports car winding along the coast.
Thomas and I continue discussing our fashion plans, and I have mixed feelings about being back. I feel love and hate.
The love of my country, but the hatred of systems that could be better. And fairer, for all.
As I brief Thomas on what I need executed over the coming weeks, my chest tightens. I do not want to be here. I want to be home in New York City, where my apartment overlooks Central Park. Or my beach home in Miami with my yacht tied to my pier.
America is full of dynamic vibrant people, with dreams and drive. It feels like a place where dreams really do come true. Much of old Europe is stuck in the past.
Red tape. Bureaucracy. Outdated class systems.
I’m proud of Italian designs, and Italians have created many of the world-class clothing brands. World-class sports cars, too.
Italian designers have given a lot to the world, and as we fly towards Rome, I think of Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Botticelli, and Leonardo da Vinci.
Incredibly talented artists.
I think of modern Italian clothing brands and my competitors. Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Prada, Versace, Georgio Armani, and of the high-performance automotive brands like Ferrari, Bugatti, Ducati, Maserati, and Lamborghini.
The very best of the best.
Even if modern Italy has innovative designers and businesspeople, doing business here and in the European Union is too complex. There are endless red ink stamps, and it breaks my heart.
Maybe it’s like old Europe, and why so many left for a new world. The Land of the Free.
My art form is giving designers huge canvas and dressing the world with vibrant clothing. I love to lift people up and let them glow. To help people feel better about themselves.
I’m proud of that, even if I keep a low profile. I even hire people to keep me off the net and away from paparazzi.
As we bank around Rome, I think of my parents’ home up the coast. Their Tuscan villa is several hours drive north of Rome, on the stunning Italian coast.
I adore the region, but my parents are complex and stuck in the past. I love my sister, and I see her often overseas. We are close. The two most important women in my life are her and my Nonna, my darling grandmother.
I pull on a black sweater and black leather jacket. I then taste a new wine from the Remington Vineyard with Thomas.
The wine is solid, and I message Troy, Ryan and Chris Remington, my old friends. The Remington brothers all work in the movie industry and live in Beverly Hills. The wine will do well, and it should win more awards for them.
As we touch down and roll down the tarmac, I know it’s time.
Thomas knows me well, and he can likely sense I’m about to do something I don’t want to. “If anything happens, call! We’ll come get you.”
As I walk down the jet’s steps, I shoulder my light travel bag. Thomas crosses his arms and looks down at me on the tarmac.
“Thanks,” I say. “And don’t go bankrupting my company!”
“Already crashing,” Thomas says as I shake my head.
I hand our Italian fixer my passport and thank him in Italian. He and the customs and immigration officials work fast as my eyes skim the rented black Ferrari. The car is sleek, sexy, and curvy, just like the perfect woman.
I do not want to arrive home driven by a driver. Not here. No one can know I’ve made real money. Too much money.
My cell vibrates, and it’s a message from Lorenzo and Storm back in New York.
Good luck at home, my friend!
I sigh, wanting to be anywhere but here.
Nico, a close friend in media, has just messaged with the same. It means a lot because I keep few friends. I have little time for them. Lorenzo, Nico and I are close and always near if anyone’s in trouble.
I point the convertible Ferrari north and let her loose. We roar along the Italian coast, and I finally calm. The coastal roads towards my parents’ villa are stunning and I start to unwind. Music pumps through speakers, and the wind in my hair relaxes me.
I am soon winding through vineyards, alongside fields, and looking down on endless beaches.
As I pass villas, churches, and Tuscan castles, I leg go and smile. I let the Ferrari run, and soon the world streaks by.
Several hours later, I pull down through the gears and I slow the powerful V12. I then drive past the old vineyard, and I pull into my parents’ driveway.
The villa is large, hundreds of years old, and it is classy. It is also covered with grapevines, and it looks down over the coast.
A tennis court is on one side, and grapevines surround it. Old stables and an indoor swimming pool are down another wing. It is a stunning home with arched windows, but I sigh as I stop the car.
“Here we go.”