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“We’re lowballing it because they’re in trouble,” Marco reminded him, and Portia’s heart raced because she’d never seen Marco so invested in the company before, though of course she knew his family did rely on his insights and understanding of global financial markets and trends. It was just different to see him actually involved like this.
“As would any serious buyer,” Dante pointed out.
“Not necessarily.” Marco sipped his coffee, drained the cup. Portia studied his fingers, the way they curled around the handle, and her stomach tightened, remembering his touch on her body, her nipples. She glanced back at her tablet, skin over-heated.
They waited, in silence. Marco leaned forward, elbows on the table.
Portia couldn’t help but turn to look at him again. He was mesmerizing, magnetic. They all stared. Waited.
“You’re thinking two dimensionally,” he said. “You think that everyone approaches business in the same way you do.”
“To make money? How stupid of me,” Dante drawled.
“What about enmity?”
Portia frowned, not understanding. But Dante became very still, his body unmoving, his eyes on Marco’s. “Go on.” There was no longer a hint of humour in his voice.
“While you’ve been looking at Acto, and how to incorporate them into Santoro, I’ve been watching the market. Specifically, the Valentinos.”
Dante’s eyes shuttered closed. Portia glanced from her boss to Marco, not understanding. There was a collective movement in the room, a murmur, some cursing.
“Who are the Valentinos?” She asked quietly, so she thought no one heard her.
But Marco spoke directly to her now, eyes lancing hers, almost as if he was looking through her, rather than at her. As though she was nothing to him. Her heart lurched, making it hard to focus on what he was saying.
“Pieces of shit,” he said matter of factly.
She couldn’t look away. He was a gravity well and she was being sucked in. “Why?”
Salvatore spoke next. “Once upon a time, when our grandfathers ran the companies, they were best friends. They worked side by side, furthering each other’s interests. Then there was a deal that went bad, a setup by the Valentinos. The story is, they hit hard times and got jealous of our grandfather’s success, so they undermined him at every turn. It’s been this way ever since.”
“Like some kind of Montague Capulet style vendetta?” Portia murmured, a smile playing at the corners of her lips, because it was impossible to think of a roomful of grownups having that kind of antagonism towards a whole other family.
“Except more serious,” Marco responded, perfectly droll, but Portia was sure he was laughing too.
The room devolved into outraged conversation and conjecture once more until Dante spoke firmly, cutting through the noise. “Enough.”
Silence fell.
“So they’re freeing up cash. Why do you think that has anything to do with Acto?”
“You just heard the neat little summation of our family history, right? Does anything mean more to you right now than buying this company? How many hours have we put into this? What’s the deal already cost us? How much restructuring have you pre-emptively done to accommodate this company? And how much would it hurt us if they swooped in and took it away at the last minute?”
Dante stood, prowling to the windows, staring out. “Preposterous.”
“No, perfectly rational,” Marco contradicted. “If you’re a Valentino and you’ve sworn an oath to hate our guts.”
Portia wanted to interject again but it wasn’t her place. She could grill Dante on this later—on how adults could behave so childishly and not think it utterly absurd.
“Can they afford it?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Marco said. “I’m looking into it.”
“I need all the answers you can get me, as soon as you can.”
“I know.”
Dante nodded once.
