Chapter 2 Giovanni #2
I’m instantly reminded of why we spend so little time in each other’s company.
Bianca learned to harness her bitterness when she was forced to marry Mario, the heir to a rival Sicilian family.
She’d always known that marriage was her destiny—it’s a mafia princess’s lot.
My sister wasn’t raised on fairy tales and happy-ever-after, but somewhere along the way, she imagined a future for herself carved from an entirely different tree.
One in which she got to have a say in how the family business is run.
A queen rather than a princess.
I’ve no idea where I slotted into this parallel universe. Perhaps we’d have shared the reins. Or perhaps Bianca intended to rewrite our family’s code, the rules that have existed for generations, and mold them into something wholly unrecognizable.
We’ll never know.
“My money.” I follow her gaze and watch the foamy waves caressing the shore. The low sunshine sprinkling diamonds across the ocean.
It is nothing like Sicily, and yet, if I close my eyes, I could be sitting in a bar overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
Familiar accents growing louder and more boisterous as the coffee is replaced by locally pressed wine.
The smell of ripe tomatoes cooked in spices and olive oil reminding me of my grandparents’ home.
“My business.” I down the double-shot of coffee.
It does nothing to settle the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach; I can’t shake the feeling that the kiss has started a domino effect over which I have no control, and I am not used to events falling outside of my remit.
She sips her iced coffee. I hear her silence:
This isn’t what our parents wanted. Papa didn’t work every hour God sent for his eldest son to cut his siblings out of the business. Family first, last, and always.
“What happened to you, Gio?” she asks gently. “What happened to the little boy who collected football cards and swam like a dog and always found the juiciest olives?”
“He grew up.”
I don’t know if these images are a vivid constant in her mind or if she drags them out whenever we meet to score points.
They serve as another reminder that I’ve locked my own memories away.
Memories of a childhood that ended abruptly when our parents died in a car crash fifteen years ago, on the island they called home.
Sicily.
“Is that what you call it?” she asks. “Growing up.”
I study her profile. The chiffon scarf wrapped around her neck barely covers the bruises. There are more bruises on the inside of her wrists, mottled blue-green, fading gradually. Her lips are swollen. Not plumped up using artificial fillers, they’re ravaged.
Mario is an animal. Our parents knew of his reputation when they arranged their daughter’s marriage to him.
There were arguments, raised voices, slammed doors.
But our mom knew that this was one fight she would never win.
Now, it seems the animal is growing into a beast with an insatiable appetite for cruelty.
I promised my father that I would never touch the Falzone family. They are better allies than they are enemies, and Bianca has given birth to the next Falzone heir. But I will not sit back and allow him to use my sister as a punching bag.
I won’t touch him. But I will make sure that when my men break his knuckles, he knows why.
“What would you call it?” I swallow the desire to settle our checks and get out of here. She is still my sister.
Bianca covers my hand with hers. Her fingernails are painted the same mint green as her pantsuit with tiny diamantes sparkling on the tips. She has to get something out of the marriage, for her sanity. For her children’s sake.
“I’d call it allowing your heart to harden. Don’t shut us out, Gio. I miss you. Enzo misses you too. Do you even know what our little brother is doing with his life these days?”
I try to recall the last time I saw Enzo. It’s been a while.
“Cultivating his playboy reputation?”
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’t be 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.
My film 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.
“E-everything?” Spittle collects in the corners of his mouth. No one else comes near us. “It’ll cost you.”
I apply more pressure, feeling his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath my arm. “Did I ask how much it would cost?”
He shakes his head. Barely.
Footsteps behind me. Ric touches my arm. “I’ve found her.”