Page 10 of One Filthy Kiss

She slides her hand away. “Perhaps he thinks that will be the only way to get your attention.” She hesitates. “When will you settle down and raise a family, Gio? If you insist on cutting us out of the business, you are going to need an heir.”

Why does the woman from the film studio pop into my head at the mention of an heir? One kiss. And then she fled as though there were flames licking at her feet. I’m curious, I tell myself. That’s all it is.

But I can still taste her, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I want to taste more.

“Don’t worry about me, Bianca. I’ll settle down when the time is right.”

Or when I can walk away from this life and protect the people I love.

“Will you come to Sicily this summer? The children barely remember that they have an uncle.”

“Perhaps.”

I never commit to anything—Bianca knows this better than anyone.

Ric signals for my attention, and I rise from the stool. I lean close and kiss my sister’s cheeks. Her makeup is flawless, and she smells good. We both wear our own suits of armor; the only difference is that mine are invisible.

“Don’tbe a stranger, Gio. Please.” Closer, I can just about see her eyes behind the sunglasses; one is darker than the other, the flesh puffy and raw, and my fists clench. “We live on the same continent, but we might as well be on different planets.”

“You know where I am.” I straighten stiffly.

My jaw is tense. I don’t want to repeat a war that our parents sacrificed their only daughter to end, but the beast that did this to her deserves his karma.

“And you’ll make some time for family this summer?”

“I’ll try.”

It’s the best I can do.

“I thought you might want to see this, boss.” Ric unlocks his phone and hands it to me as we walk back to the car.

I’m watching a video on YouTube. He knows I have little interest in social media, so I pay attention; he wants me to watch this for a reason.

It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the glare of sunshine on the screen and for the images to come into focus, and when they do, my knuckles grow white. The video was shot inside the film studio.Myfilm studio. I recognize the diner, the red seats inside the booths, the chrome stools and the narrow hallway.

And there I am, with my fist wrapped around honey-blond hair, and my tongue shoved down a stranger’s throat.

“Fuck!” This is bad.

She freaked out when she saw the kiss on the overhead screen, and it hits me like an iron-clad blow to the stomach—that she must have an overly possessive husband or boyfriend. Her own version of my brother-in-law Mario. And the thought of a man busting her lip or blacking her eye because of me makes my stomach twist.

I’m moving on autopilot. I hear the beep of the remote key. The click of the passenger door as Ric opens it. I smell the discreet vanilla air freshener when I climb into the passenger seat, as my thoughts are tearing around Los Angeles trying to find her and the kid so that I can put things right.

I don’t know who posted the video. The user has some random name created from Marvel characters, but it’s unimportant. Someone is going to experience the full force of my anger, and I know exactly who it is.

Back at the studio, I open the door and am out of the car before Ric has even killed the engine.

I barge onto set disregarding the ‘FILMING IN PROGRESS’ sign flashing above the entrance. The army of workers parts like the Red Sea for me, clearing a path towards the director’s canvas-backed seat.

He barely has a moment to register the shock on the faces of his co-workers as they follow my progress. Before he can stand and defend himself, I drag him from his seat and haul him across the room. He skids across the floor, arms raised to cover his face, legs colliding with tripods and cables, equipment being dragged along behind him.

I pick him up by the shirt collar and pin him against the wall, my lower arm pressing on his windpipe. His face turns an unhealthy shade of puce, his eyes bulging.

“Wh-what the fuck…” he chokes out.

“I want everything we shot today deleted.”

My face is so close to him that I can see the faint red lines in the whites of his eyes, smell his coffee breath, see the dandruff clinging to his scalp.