The Kiss Thief

It was my issue. My life. My wife.

No one else mattered.

Not even my country.

A week into the delight called heartbreak, I decided to bend the rules and rush fate. She was going to hate me for it—but frankly, she had enough reason to want to spit in my face even before my next stunt.

On the seventh day of separation, I dragged Felix White in all his sweaty, shiny-faced glory to accompany me to Arthur’s house, carrying an urgent search warrant.

The thing missing? My fucking wife.

White had no real grounds to issue a warrant, other than he didn’t want me to dish out the dirt on him. Forever the double agent, he texted Arthur hours before, so the mobster actually dragged himself back home to be there when I came over.

Anyway, that was the story of how I came knocking on Francesca’s door with the chief of CPD, a warrant, and two cops.

And they said romance was dead.

When Rossi opened the door, his forehead was so creased, he looked like a bulldog. He slid his head between the cracked doors and tapered his eyes into slits.

“Senator, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He completely disregarded White, knowing damn well why the letter compromised him.

“Now’s not the time to play games.” I smiled coolly. “Unless you really want to lose. Let me in or send her out. Either way, I’m seeing her tonight.”

“I don’t think so. Not after you paraded that Russian whore in front of the entire city, leaving your pregnant wife at home.”

“I didn’t know.” Why I was explaining myself to him was beyond me. If he was the moral police, Michael Moore was a goddamn health guru.

“At any rate, I’ve been trying to reach her for seven days, and I have it on good authority that you want to open up before I do something you’ll regret.”

“You will never do it. Not with your pregnant wife in the picture.” Arthur had the audacity to flash me a taunting grin.

White coughed from beside me.

“Mr. Rossi, if you don’t let us in, I’ll have to arrest you. I have a court order to search your house.”

It was apparent that one person on the threshold believed I’d throw my father-in-law to the wolves.

Slowly, Arthur pushed the door open and allowed me to walk in. White remained behind me, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a teenager wondering how to ask a girl for a prom date. The man possessed the charisma of a can of soda.

“S-should I wait here?” White stuttered. I waved him off.

“Go back to pretending you’re good at what you’re doing.”

“You sure?” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, the blue vein in his neck still pulsing.

“You’re wasting my precious time and what’s leftovers of my patience. Go.”

Arthur led me to his office, giving me his back. Last time I’d been in his office, I demanded his daughter’s hand. As I walked up the staircase, the memories flooded in. It was on the landing where we shared one of our earlier banters. At the top of the stairs, I recalled how I clasped her delicate wrist in my hand and tugged her down forcefully after I thought she’d cheated on me.

Fucking idiot. Going around labelling White and Bishop as stupid when you’ve proven to be a clown more than one time in the span of your short marriage.

I knew Francesca was somewhere in the house, and I longed to see her pink smile and hear her throaty laughter that did not match the softness of her being.

“Give me one good reason why we’re heading into your office and not into my wife’s old room,” I said when my mouth cleared from the fog of everything my wife.

“Despite our differences, my daughter cares very much for my approval, and my giving it to you would help your chances when you talk to her. Now, Senator Keaton, we both know it’s long overdue that we settle the score.” He stopped by the door to his office and motioned for me to walk in. Two of his muscle guys stood on each side of the door.

“Get rid of them,” I said, still staring at him. He didn’t break our gaze as he snapped his fingers, making both of them descend the stairs silently.

We got into his office, and he closed the door halfway, obviously not trusting me not to throttle him with my bare hands. I understood him perfectly. Even I had difficulty predicting how I’d react, depending on the outcome of this visit.

He leaned against his desk while I took a seat on the couch in front of him, spreading my arms over the headrest and making myself comfortable. I knew two things with certainty:

Today was the day my love for my wife was going to be tested.

I was going to pass with flying fucking colors.