Red by Erica Spindler

and bent close to whisper in her ear. The model tipped her head back and laughed, and Carlo placed his hand on the small of her back. He leaned close again, and as Jack watched, he moved his fingers a fraction lower.
    Jack saw red. Gina was his, and he wasn’t about to let this come-lately son of a bitch make a move on the girl he wanted. He thundered across the studio, not botheringwith stealth, forgetting about Giovanni, about his mother and the fact he wasn’t even supposed to be here.
    Jack reached the two in moments and stopped beside them. “Take your hand off her,” he said, fisting his fingers.
    Carlo turned slowly and met Jack’s eyes. “Excuse me?”
    â€œYou heard me.” Jack glared at Carlo. “Take your hand off her. Now.”
    Carlo’s mouth tipped up in a lazy, amused smile. “Fuck you. I don’t hear her complaining.”
    Jack took a step closer, his blood boiling. “She doesn’t have to, I’m complaining for her.”
    â€œJack,” Gina whispered, paling.
    Carlo narrowed his eyes. He swept his gaze over Jack, recognition dawning in his eyes. “So you’re the bastard.”
    Anger charged through Jack, but he held on to it. “And you’re the dickhead.”
    â€œI wondered when we would meet.” Carlo arched his eyebrows arrogantly. His English was perfect, but he spoke with a slight accent. The accent made him seem more mature, more sophisticated than Jack. Jack felt ten years younger instead of only one. He hated that.
    While Jack struggled for a comeback, Carlo laughed softly. “Dad told me about you. He said you were…an embarrassment.”
    Jack wanted to lunge at him. He fought to control the urge. He took a step closer to the other boy. A full head shorter than his half brother, Carlo was forced to tip his head back to keep Jack’s gaze. “That may be, but I could kick your ass.”
    â€œYou Americans, always such cowboys. I’ve never understood it.”
    â€œYou Italians, always such pussies. I’ve never understood it.” They’d attracted attention, and a growing group gathered around them. Jack ignored them and curled his hands into fists. “Come on, I’ll take you on right now.”
    â€œDannazione!” Giovanni shouted, striding across the set, his face red with rage. “What the hell is going on?” A nervous titter moved through the crowd, even as it parted for him. He stopped in front of Carlo. “What are you doing?” he demanded again, turning his furious gaze on his son. “Explain yourself, Carlo. Immediatamente! ”
    Carlo paled, his cool arrogance disappearing. “Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything.” He cleared his throat. “I was just talking, and this…this boy started a fight.”
    Giovanni turned to Jack, his expression thunderous. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.”
    Those words hurt more than any others could have. Jack slipped his fingers into the back pockets of his blue jeans and shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Hanging out. What are you doing here?”
    Giovanni swore. “How dare you two disrupt this shoot.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Carlo said quickly. “I’m sorry. My behavior was unforgivable.”
    Jack angled up his chin. “Seems to me, you’re the one who’s disrupting this shoot. We were just…talking.”
    â€œYou impertinent little shit.” The photographer swept back the hair that fell across his forehead. “Get out! I don’t want to see you again. Not ever. You understand?”
    â€œNo problem, Dad. But you get this. One day, I’ll be kicking you off my set. One day, you’re going to see what a big mistake you made.”
    Giovanni hesitated, surprise flickering across his expression. Then he swore. “Tank! Escort this… bastardo