Chapter 2 Giovanni
GIOVANNI
I watch her walk away and I don’t do a damn thing to stop her.
I fucked up.
She didn’t have to call me a fucking idiot—I saw it in her eyes.
But I know she felt what I felt when we kissed. I saw that too. I saw it in the way she looked at me when she was in my arms. I’d wager every cent I possess that she was dripping wet for me at that moment even if she was fighting it all the way.
She was angry at me for kissing her in front of a studio filled with people. I get that. But seeing it replayed on the screen above our heads tipped her over the edge. It was more than anger though.
What I saw in her eyes then was fear.
She practically collected her kid and ran.
I catch the studio assistant’s eye as she passes me by. “Who was the woman with the kid?”
She instinctively glances at the exit as if they might come strolling back in with a tub of gelato in one hand and popcorn in the other. “She was a guest, sir.”
“Name?”
I don’t have time for silly games. The woman was scared because of me, and I intend to find out why and put it right. Besides, one kiss wasn’t enough. I need to know more about her to satisfy my own curiosity.
“Sorry, Mr. Sabatelli, I didn’t ask her name.” She scurries away like a mouse avoiding the prowling cat.
I linger in the same spot where she and the child were standing when I first noticed her.
It was the smile that caught my attention.
She was oblivious to her surroundings, totally invested in what was happening on the set with the kind of rapture that everyone involved in the movie industry strives for in an audience.
It’s the reason I bought the studio. I want to make people feel more than the flash of satisfaction they get from counting their chips on the roulette tables in my casinos.
That, and the fact that boredom was starting to set in.
I’ve been running the casino for so long now that I could manage it in my sleep.
I need more or I’ll stagnate. Stagnation leads to recklessness. And there is no room for recklessness in my line of business.
I stare at the screen and try to put myself in her shoes. What was she thinking when she was watching the movie scene being acted out? On whose invitation was she here to watch?
The actors kiss again, and I smile to myself. Better. Now it’s the kind of kiss that will set pulses racing.
The director calls time, and the actors head off. Perhaps, one of them will be able to tell me who she is.
Before I can speak to them, Ric, my driver, intercepts me with a message from my security team back in New York. A member of the Russian bratva has been asking for me personally—they have a proposition that I will be unable to resist.
“Tell the guys to handle it.” I’m about to move on, when I realize that Ric must’ve seen the woman and the kid leave the studio. I describe them. “Honey-blonde hair. Green eyes. British accent. The kid is strawberry-blond.”
I don’t even know why I’m giving him a description of the girl; how many kids are there on a film set?
“Sorry, boss, I didn’t see them.”
Ric matches my height, but his frame is broader, his belly heavier; he enjoys a bowl of pasta and a bottle of red wine more than most. He has been with me since I was old enough to climb a tree without scraping my knees, and he probably knows more about me than either of my siblings.
I hook my thumb towards the closest exit. “They left that way. People don’t just vanish into thin air.” He quirks an eyebrow at that. “People I don’t have a problem with, that is.”
“You want me to go look for them?”
I recall the fear in her eyes. “No. She bolted like a deer in headlights, and she doesn’t even know who I am.”
Ric chuckles like a man twice his age after a lifetime spent smoking unfiltered cigars. “Must’ve been your charming persona and approachability.”
“I’m approachable.” I feign hurt by rolling out my bottom lip. It’s a gesture that women seem to find irresistible. “And charming.”
“Said no Prince Charming ever.”
Ric is still chuckling at his own jokes when the director comes over to discuss the next scene on today’s schedule.
I interrupt him first. “The woman with the strawberry-blonde kid.” At his blank expression, I add, “The extra I kissed on set.”
I hear Ric snort and ignore him.
“What about her?” The director glances around the set. “Where did she go? I might want to use her later.”
I can imagine her reaction to that, and I know exactly who would get the blame if she was still here.
Yours truly.
“You know her?” Finally, I think I’m getting somewhere, and my pulse inexplicably speeds up. “What’s her name?”
“Never seen her before.” The director is already checking out and moving onto his next conversation. “I assumed she was with you.” Then he’s gone.
He won’t give her a second thought; he’ll find someone else to fill the gap he had in mind, and it will be as if she never existed in his world.
“Kiss?” Ric doesn’t miss a thing. “You kissed a woman without asking her name. Isn’t that an all-time low for you?”
“It isn’t how it sounds.” Or is it?
Why didn’t I ask her name or check that she was an extra before I dragged her onto the set? I don’t even need to ponder the answer. I saw a beautiful woman, and my cock took control.
I can’t see Nikki anywhere, but Arthur is still hanging around talking to one of the cameramen. I stride over and ask if he knows them.
He shakes his head. “I think they were with Nikki. She was talking about her friend from the UK while we were in makeup.”
I thank him and set off in search of Nikki, but she isn’t in the dressing room, and no one else seems to have heard of Nikki’s whereabouts either.
Then I remember the pass on the lanyard around her neck.
I catch up with Ric at the security post outside.
The guard, a young lad, with a buzzcut and eyes that are too close together, greets me with, “Hello, Mr. Sabatelli.”
“Did a young woman with a little girl hand in their passes when they left?”
The guard checks the screen in front of him. “Yes, sir. They left at eight-fifteen.”
It’s only eight-fifteen? It’s been a long day already. “Can you tell me their names?”
His nose wrinkles momentarily. He shouldn’t divulge their names because of data protection, but I can see him internally weighing up his options. Refuse politely or keep me happy.
Eventually, he goes with the latter.
“Megan Walsh and Amber Walsh.”
“Did they leave a contact telephone number?”
“Sir, I’m not sure if I should give you that information.” Heat travels up his neck and into his face, making him look as if he spent too long in the sun without any sunblock.
“What about an address?” I’m pushing my luck, and I know it.
“Sir, I don’t think I—”
I’m Giovanni Sabatelli, and I’m used to getting what I want, but I wanted to stick to the shadows here at the film studio, at least while I’m learning the ropes. The guy doesn’t know that I pay his wages; he’s only doing his job. I’ll find her, one way or another.
Ric steps into the security post’s doorway, filling the gap with his shoulders.
“It’s not my place,” the guard continues, trying to block the screen from Ric’s view.
His gaze settles on a written message on the notepad in front of him, and he latches onto it like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.
“There’s a message for you, Mr. Sabatelli.
Someone wants you to meet them at the Venice Whaler Bar for breakfast.”
“Someone?” I wait for him to elaborate.
“I didn’t take the call, sir, but they left their cell number.”
I take the number and head straight to my car. By the time Ric pulls onto the freeway toward Venice Beach, I’ve already tried calling and got the user’s voicemail. I don’t leave a message. Instead, I type a text and hit send.
Who is this?
A reply comes straight back: Meet me at the Whaler and you’ll find out.
I stare out of the tinted window of the car.
The text is from a woman. This isn’t my enemies’ style; they don’t like to play games.
If they wanted to find me, I wouldn’t be sitting here now cruising along Venice Beach, I’d be shark-food somewhere deep in the ocean.
Unfortunately for me, the woman I kissed was too angry to arrange a rendezvous in a popular bar on one of LA’s most prominent promenades.
The way she left, I got the impression she’d be happy if she never saw me again.
I ball my hands into fists.
Who left the message?
I type a response. I don’t like games.
You’ll like this one.
I think I’ll pass.
Then I sit back and wait. My phone remains quiet. She doesn’t bite, which means she’s either certain that I’ll show, or she can take it or leave it.
Both options have intrigued me.
When I arrive, Ric follows me to the outside bar where I instantly recognize a woman in a mint-green pantsuit and wide-brimmed sunhat, dark sunglasses covering her eyes.
She’s sipping iced coffee through a straw so as not to spoil her glossy red lipstick and staring out across the turquoise ocean.
To an outsider, she appears calm, at peace with the world, a woman with time on her hands.
But the primly crossed legs and the casual stance are well-practiced. A facade.
Ric assumes his post in a discreet corner of the seating area, and I slide onto the bar stool beside my sister.
“Bianca.”
“Life must be dull, Gio, for you to play along.” She peers at me from behind her sunglasses. Even without them, my sister’s eyes would give nothing away. “Or were you expecting someone else?”
The server arrives with an espresso and a glass of iced water for me, requested by Ric. I wait for him to leave before raising the coffee cup to my lips.
“What do you want, Bianca?”
“I heard my brother was in LA and I thought I’d check out his latest venture.” She pauses to suck on the straw. “As it was acquired with the family’s money.”