I don’t like hassles.
That’s why I work alone.
No reason to be modest, I’m the best at what I do. And what I do is earn millions from rich bastards who hire me to get back what’s theirs.
Rescuing Viviana Moretti is just another job.
Get in. Get out. Get gone.
Take the money and disappear like always.
Until she cries my name instead of his,
And I finally admit I want her even more than she needs me.
This book is intended for mature audiences only and contains extremely sensitive material including domestic violence that may not be suitable for all readers.
192 (One Ninety-Two)
Copyright © 2018 Nikki Belaire
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Other Books
About Nikki
Lights Down Low—Max, gnash
Praying—Kesha
Dusk Till Dawn—Zayn, Sia
Ain’t Giving Up—Craig David, Sigala
Treat You Better—Shawn Mendes
Just You and I—Tom Walker
More Than You Know—Axwell Ingrosso
Hero—Enrique Inglesias
Kryptonite—3 Doors Down
Sweet Child O’ Mine—Guns N’ Roses
2U—David Guetta, Justin Bieber
Home—Phillip Phillips
I fucking hate this bastard.
The way he shovels huge chunks of sausage into his mouth with his hands. Instead of using a fucking fork like a normal person. Wiping the grease from his stubby fingers after each bite on the crumpled napkin next to his plate. His lips smacking and spewing crumbs while he speaks with Dante, his brother and most trusted captain. Gloating from the expansion of his territory as his team —not his lazy ass —brings down another family encroaching on his domain. Reveling in his power and money and dominance. Unconcerned with everything and everyone else except himself.
Including her.
Especially her.
My pulse pounds in my head from her absence. Only one reason she’s not here. No question that he hurt her. Just how bad are the injuries.
Finally, the arrogant prick shoves away from the black walnut table. The coffee mug bucking against his untouched bowl of strawberries from his gratuitous force. His barrel chest strains the buttons of his thick white dress shirt as he rises. Too big for a crisp look, he settles for comfort instead. Of which he deserves absolutely none. So fucking ironic he prevents pain and constraint for himself while doling out both to the person who deserves torture the least of all of us.
From the sound of his chair legs scraping across the tile, the housekeeper scurries in, offering him his gray cashmere coat with trembling fingers. Which he yanks out of her hand without bothering to look at her. Not a word of thanks or appreciation. At least better than the slew of profanities he usually berates her with. He nods toward me while he rams his huge arms into the gaping sleeves. Already huffing from the exertion.
“My stupid, clumsy wife fell again. Check and make sure she’s okay.” An irritated smirk lifts his ruddy right cheek. “If not, just take her out back and shoot her.”
It takes everything I have to chuckle instead of drive my fist into his gut. Smile rather than punch his stomach so hard he chucks out bacon and blood and bile. “No problem.”
Once he waddles past, I pull out my phone and scroll through my messages. Counting to twenty-five after the door slams shut behind him. Waiting for the rumble of one of the garage doors. I’ll play the game. Act unconcerned. Pretend there’s no rush. Feign oblivious to the truth of the situation. I’m just performing another monotonous duty assigned to me. Nothing else. Even though she’s my only fucking reason for being here. My only fucking reason for enduring this shitty assignment.
I stride to the stairs and pause again, bending down to tie my shoe. Never letting him or anyone else see me hurry. Made that mistake once before, and ended up on driveway duty for a month before I got assigned to guard her again.
Once the ceiling camera pivots to scan the living room, I jog up the steps. No response when I knock on their bedroom door. Closing my eyes, I slow my breathing to focus on listening for a sound. Any fucking sound to prove he hasn’t killed her yet.
Absolute silence.
Tapping again, I pray to a god I don’t believe in that she’s sitting on the bed. Waiting for approval to leave. Hoping for release from her cage. “Viviana?”
Nothing.
Fuck it. I shove down the handle, and an inferno roars through my throbbing chest from her curled into herself on the tan carpet. A protective mechanism that never saves her from his wrath.
She remains balled in agony when I drop next to her. “God damn him.”
“I—I’m okay.”
My fragile warrior. So broken yet still so surprisingly strong. “Yeah, laid out on the fucking floor isn’t okay.”
“Sometimes it’s just easier to stay down.”
Fucking bittersweet to touch her. Only permitted when he’s attacked her, and I have to tend to her wounds. Silky strands slide under my fingertips as I brush the long, black hair off her exquisite face. Grateful no bruises or blood mar the flawless ivory skin this time. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”
A sharp shriek, she can’t muffle as much as she tries to, oscillates across the huge room when I lift her to a sitting position. Reigniting my fury that he’s put his hands on a woman. Especially one as delicate as her. Too petite to defend his blows. Too proud to protect herself from his torture. Too plagued by a misguided obligation she sure as hell doesn’t owe him.
Short pants puff between her red puckered lips to ride through the pain. Probably bruised ribs again. I force myself not to rub across her torso and feel for broken bones. Uncertain if I could stop myself from caressing her more. When all I want to do is scoop her up and get her the fuck out of this hellhole. “What happened this time?”
Despite her agony, a deep blush spreads across her flushed cheeks. Too embarrassed to answer. Which means the worst possible transgression in that bastard’s eyes. She started.
Fuck. The last fucking thing I want is her carrying his baby. But the possibility of her getting pregnant is the only thing keeping her alive right now. Although she doesn’t realize the real reason behind his insane drive to impregnate her. “I’m sorry.
”
“Me too.”
Only a whisper. From mental as well as physical anguish. “Maybe we should stay home today. Let you rest.”
Her head flies up, and she finally meets my gaze. Tears shining in hers. Less from the pain and more from my suggestion. Imploring me with a pitiful plea I can’t resist.
“Please Roan. Please take me. I can’t miss.”
Absolutely ridiculous this daily excursion provides her only opportunity to leave the house without him. Yet I can’t blame her for wanting to escape. If only for two brief hours. “Okay.”
Gratitude softens her begging grip on my forearm. A tentative smile actually lifts her gaunt cheeks. Impressing me once again with her resiliency. Astonishing me with her tenacity.
“Thank you.”
As gentle as I can manage, I pull her up the rest of the way and stand her on her dainty feet. She sways a bit. Her slender arm curling around her torso again while her gorgeous face blanches. But fuck me if she’s not determined, and after a short minute, she rolls back her shoulders and steps toward the door. Clutching my bicep for balance.
For as horrific as the abuse is to her body and her mind, we manage to walk in amenable silence down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the garage. Can’t appear to be anything more than employee and employer’s trophy wife. Even though she’s so much more than that to me. Originally, because of my promise to her father. Now, because of her.
Adhering to the normal routine, she pauses at the SUV, waiting for me to open the door and offer my hand to assist her with the climb inside. Not because she’s a bitch, but because that’s what nine years of mafia wife training taught her. She’s a princess and needs to behave as such.
“Thank you Roan.”
“My pleasure Mrs. Moretti.”
No, not my pleasure at all. So many other fucking things I’d like to do for her. To her. Pleasure her more than she could ever imagine. Revere her body with the absolute adoration and attention she’s never known. But I can’t. I remind myself for the millionth fucking time. She’s not mine. This is just a job.
Once she’s settled against the cushion, I yank the seat belt and carefully drape the heavy strap across her trembling body, continuing to recoil from the stinging ache she must feel in her side. Providing a small respite from the agony in her torso by keeping her from having to reach backward to grasp the harness herself. Another gorgeous flush pinks her cheeks. Both of us well aware I’ve crossed a line I shouldn’t. But she doesn’t reprimand me like she should. Admonish me like I deserve. Just lights up with a grateful smile that I think of as I jack off in the shower almost every morning. A budding connection between us that no one else knows about.
Or so I think. Caught in the gaze of Nobbie, Moretti’s most trusted mechanic, when I step back from the vehicle. As nonchalant as I can manage, I offer him a courtesy nod and push the door shut. He gives a languid chin bob in return. Doesn’t appear to give a damn about her, me, or our morning expedition. Just keeps the cars running and free of bombs and bugs. As long as Moretti stays off his ass and out of his face, he’s happy. Like all the other hired help on the motherfucker’s payroll. But I’ve still got to be more fucking careful. I cannot fuck this up again and be separated from her. Or put her in any more danger than she already is.
Funny how much more oxygen there seems to be in the car once we pass through the massive steel gates edging the property. Unable to stop myself, I glance in the rear view mirror, seeing rather than hearing her sigh of relief. Mimicking mine when we cross the line between charcoal travertine pavers to black asphalt. Breaching the boundary between hell and the pitiful version of the only heaven she knows. An inadequate freedom, yet alI I can assume is the fleeting taste gives her the will to endure the other twenty-two hours of the day.
“Have you seen the new building going up on Wilford? The neo classical architecture is unusual for the neighborhood, but the design really looks gorgeous. I love how they’re revitalizing that area.”
Current events. Another staple of her breeding. To have genial conversation in all situations. Whether at dinner parties or fundraisers or meetings with her husband’s associates. “No, I haven’t.”
I know she hasn’t either. Just an article she read from the stack of newspapers waiting for her at breakfast every morning when she’s allowed to eat. With censored and monitored access to the internet, she’s primarily stuck with flipping pages old school style rather than scanning online. “Maybe we can swing by afterward and take a look.”
Excitement explodes across her exquisite face before fear smothers the enthusiasm just as quickly from my suggestion for an impromptu field trip. “Thank you, but we’d probably better get back right after mass. I don’t…”
Want to get the hell beat out of me for being late. She doesn’t have to imply the threat we both know too well. Her worry the same as mine. Anything can set that asshole off, but staying out longer than allowed would be an egregious offense she would most definitely suffer for.
But I’m allotted about ten minutes leeway for traffic and construction once we leave St. Mark’s before I get the inevitable status check. Just enough time for a fast drive by. “We should have a few minutes to spare for a quick peek.”
“Really?”
Fucking sad how quickly her huge smile returns from my assertion. To give her a glimpse of something she usually only gets to read about. To see a brief view of the real world instead of the constraining walls of Arturo’s mansion. “Yeah, really.”
“Thank you Roan. Thank you so much.”
A subtle shiver of excitement jerks her slight body as she clasps her small hands around her little black purse again. Fuck me for a being a pussy ass that I’m ecstatic too. A rare opportunity for me to give her a bright spot in her normally shit ass existence.
Her expression softens to a more solemn countenance when I park in front of the entrance. Intricate designs, carved deep enough to drag your finger through the channels, embellish the burnished wood doors. Incapable of completely masking the rich baritone voices resonating from inside. The largest cathedral in the city, famous for having a glorious choir perform even during weekday masses. I can see why she loves coming here. Not just an escape from the monotony of her life, but because of the solace the ambiance inspires.
Unwilling to let her struggle for even a second to unbuckle her restraint, I hustle back to her and jerk the handle. Relief fills me from her relaxed demeanor and motionless hands. She waits for me. My fingers brush across her thigh as I reach for the black plastic button. Powerless to help myself from touching her again.
I’m a fucking selfish bastard for pushing the limits of her modesty yet I fucking swear I can feel the heat radiating from her slim leg even under the silky fabric of her gray skirt. Wide eyes meet mine as she swallows softly. I’m a fucking fool for thinking she could feel anything for me. Would ever break the sincere vow she made to accept Arturo for better or worse three years ago. To renege on her promise to accept the duty of producing an heir to strengthen the partnership between the two families. Or so her father let her think. “Let me help you princess.”
Luscious lips part with a quick intake of breath, yet she only nods. Once I release the seat belt, I hold out both hands, slowly sliding her off the bench and balancing her once her silver heels reach the concrete. Never releasing her until the grimace frowning her normally docile face dissolves, and she stands up completely of her own volition. “Okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The breathless whisper stirs my desperate cock, and I force myself to let her go before I jerk her against me and taste that sweet pink mouth. Instead, I tuck her to my side, my arm swallowing her tiny waist, to avoid the tenderness afflicting her rib cage, and stride evenly inside. Hoping hard as fuck that Arturo doesn’t have men watching us anymore. Because that interaction was too fucking obvious. And I’m too fucking stupid. But I yearn for her touch as much as she yearns for freedom. And I’m scared as hell neith
er of us will ever fucking have either one if I don’t pull off this mission.
Resonant voices fill the cavernous space while I guide her to the confessional. Fucking ironic she has no sins to seek forgiveness from, yet always remains the first person to engage in the sacrament every morning. That’s an argument I lost a long time ago when I questioned her about her commitment to this ritual. Rather than reprimand me for my audacity, she just smiled that indulgent smile I like to believe is only for me, and reminded me we all have faults. No one is perfect.
Except for her.
A lime green light glows above the decorative frame, signaling the priest’s presence as well as the unoccupied booth. She gives me a shy smile before she steps out of my protective grasp and into the closet size room. After a quick sweep of the interior to ensure the chamber really is empty, I nod and close the door behind her. Now it’s my turn to wait. And try not to think how fucking pitiful she looked gingerly lowering herself onto the red leather kneeler. I deserve to burn in hell to plot a man’s death while standing in the middle of fucking church. The only person I hate more than him right now is myself and my inability to do anything about Arturo’s savage mistreatment of his wife. At least not yet anyway.
Working as a mercenary for the past eleven years, I’ve never minded solo missions. Get in. Get out. Get gone. No complications. Just the way I like. Now, everything’s beyond fucking complicated. With her. With me. With the ‘us’ I can’t help but imagine once I get her away from this bastard. Unaware her time’s running out, she has no idea why I’m really here. The urgency to recruit a team for her rescue flares inside me. I can’t let her know the truth until she’s safe.
A few curious glances toss my way from standing guard. The regulars are used to me. I’m no longer of any interest. But the tourists can’t help but gawk. Everyone vying for their chance to snag a celebrity photo. Which I guess she kind of is. The beautiful yet reclusive wife of the most notorious crime boss in the country. Garnering gossip enough to spin a reputation of a fairy tale princess. Locked away in a tower with only a few rare public appearances that prove she exists. Except her prince isn’t charming. Far from it. Arturo Moretti’s a sick fucking psychotic bastard who demonstrates his possession of her through punches and kicks rather than love or affection.
192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance Page 1