Still, more than a few of Arnault's investments have provoked litigation. After LVMH took a large stake in Chateau d'Yquem, makers of the world's most sought-after -- and expensive -- dessert wine, Count Alexandre de Lur Saluces, who runs the winery and with his son owns 10 percent, sued Arnault for sidestepping their talks by buying a dominant stake in the winery from his brother. The count contended that his 75-year-old brother was mentally incompetent and, furthermore, prohibited from selling by the terms of his inheritance. A French court recently ruled in favor of Arnault.

And last year, after Arnault bought a majority stake in the international retailer Duty Free Shoppers, Hong Kong billionaire Robert Miller, father of the New York socialites the Miller sisters and owner of 39 percent of the company, charged Arnault with trying to use Duty Free Shoppers for the benefit of his luxury brands. "Despite his promises," Miller charged in New York State court, "Bernard Arnault has a pattern of exploiting the assets of partially acquired companies for the benefit of LVMH with no concern for the best interests of minority shareholders." The charges were settled with a guarantee of the chain's independence. The two have since patched things up. Miller wrote a letter on Arnault's behalf to the court that's ruling on his Gucci suit, and Arnault recently hired Miller's daughter Pia Getty as a spokeswoman for LVMH's Sephora stores.

The building of Arnault's flowerlike trophy tower on East 57th Street was thorny, too. New York broker Robert Siegel, who had been assembling the site for more than a decade, found himself in a tight squeeze, since LVMH was his minority partner in the building, its tenant, and its construction lender, and also had control of the design. When the building's elaborate design went over budget by about 60 percent, LVMH as tenant refused to pay more, LVMH as builder claimed Siegel had approved the new budget, and LVMH as lender was in a position to foreclose and take control. Siegel sued. The case was later settled, and LVMH acquired the building for an undisclosed sum.

Dark, bearded, and stocky, De Sole is the visual opposite of Arnault. He was overshadowed by Tom Ford until he began his tireless, sometimes near-hysterical defense of Gucci's independence. "Gucci is one of the most profitable luxury brands in the world," he says. "Arnault is trying to steal this company."

Despite the name and accent, De Sole is an improbable chief executive for an ultra-trendy fashion house. Born in Rome, the son of a brigadier general in the Italian army, he briefly taught law in Italy before coming to the U.S. for a second degree at Harvard. Afterward, he joined the well-connected Washington firm Patton, Boggs & Blow, eventually becoming a U.S. citizen.

Because of his Italian roots, he often handled Italian clients with tax issues in the U.S. He was representing Maurizio Gucci's branch of the family when, in 1982, a family brawl erupted during a company board meeting. Maurizio's cousin Paolo was bleeding as he staggered out of the meeting, vowing revenge. He got it by releasing documents that incriminated his father, Aldo, in tax-evasion schemes. Aldo, 77 years old, served a year in prison.

During the family turmoil that followed, Maurizio badly needed a trustworthy ally. De Sole helped him take control of the company by selling 50 percent of Gucci Group to the Arab company Investcorp. Afterward, Maurizio asked De Sole to become president of Gucci's U.S. unit part-time to help settle its accounts with the Internal Revenue Service.

De Sole soon became embroiled in the family's infighting. In 1987, a lawyer for Aldo Gucci, out of jail and plotting his return, called De Sole "the guest who came for dinner and never left" and accused him of running the company to generate fees for his former firm. Patton, Boggs had billed Gucci more than $1 million in 1986.

But the family's problems went far beyond legal fees. Throughout the seventies and eighties, the company's double-G logo was plastered like graffiti on every imaginable product: There were bottles of Gucci Scotch authorized by cousin Roberto, a rival line of Gucci leatherwear designed by the black-sheep cousin Paolo, and countless key chains, watches, T-shirts, and tchotchkes authorized by the company itself under Maurizio. Meanwhile, the company was spending more than $4 million a year in a vain effort to dam a flood of fake Gucci merchandise from the East.

In 1990, Gucci hired Tom Ford, a handsome 29-year-old actor-model with a degree in interior architecture and just a few years' experience in design. Maurizio considered him "too fashion-forward," not "classic" enough, and ordered him fired.