192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  I unfurl my fists when the door nudges me in the back and swing around to jam my foot against the brass plate, offering her my arm. Welcoming a hint of soft flowers wafting over me as she steps closer. Looking up with what I swear is fucking adoration in her eyes. At least that’s what I fucking hope. That she trusts in me to always protect her.

  In the pew, she slowly glides to a kneeling position again while I sit a few inches away. Another reason I deserve to burst into fucking flames. Powerless to stifle the image of her on her knees for me. Letting me fuck that lush mouth. As tiny as the rest of her, I know she couldn’t accept all of me. But it would be damn gorgeous to watch her try. Before I’d lay her across my bed and worship her body the way a princess deserves. The way she deserves.

  Incapable of pretending to be anything other than what I am, I remain still while she flows through the motions of the service. Although after all this time, I know exactly when to stand and what to say. I refuse to disrespect her beliefs and act like I possess the same devotion she holds. Besides, I’m no fool. I can steal another opportunity to watch her graceful movements and hear her reverent whispers without her realizing my gaze lies upon her. Only her occasional flinch of pain when she bends and rises ruins my enjoyment.

  Usually when we leave, tension returns to her body, coiling tighter and tighter with each step down the aisle. Anxiety stiffening her muscles from the uncertainty that awaits her when we get home. The reprieve from her hell ending almost before she could fully relax and enjoy the peace.

  This time though her happy visage remains. Eager to experience my unexpected suggestion, she embodies more genuine joy than I’ve seen in her since I hired on. After finally passing all of Arturo’s rigorous tests to honor the commitment I made to her father long before his unexpected death ruined our thoughtful planning. Taking almost three fucking long ass years to finally get inside the house and to her.

  Once we’re on the road again, I sneak another glance at her for as long as I can until I have to return my attention to the traffic. “Can I ask you something?”

  A curious expectation fills her smile. Wondering what I’m going to say. “Sure.”

  “What do you pray for? Or will it not come true if you tell?”

  Genuine carefree laughter fills the SUV. Damn. I could die a happy fucking man hearing that too infrequent giggle bubble from deep inside her.

  “It’s not like they’re birthday wishes, silly.” She leans back against her seat. The humor softens to a wistful smile. “I pray God continues to keep my parents in his love and protection. I pray for strength and wisdom so I can be a better wife.”

  My fingers ache from clutching the steering wheel so tight. I fucking hate the doubt wobbling in her tone. Absolutely fucking nothing she could do better. She’s a fucking angel. He just needs to die.

  “That I’ll be a good mother someday if I get the opportunity.” Bright eyes meet mine again in the mirror. Full of a rare joy that glows bright even within the disillusioned depths. “When I was a little girl, my momma told me prayers of thanksgiving are God’s favorite. So I always make sure I thank God for giving me a friend like you.”

  Friend.

  What in the actual fuck? Probably the first time anyone has ever prayed for me, let alone been grateful for me. The irony not lost on me that she’s appreciative for a killer who earns his living by ending the lives of others.

  A small hand covers her mouth as her face falls. Misunderstanding the horror of my expression. Unaware my furious headshake roots in shock rather than her undeserved label of me.

  “Oh, I apologize. I’ve presumed too much about our relationship.” She tucks a loose strand of thick dark hair behind her ear and the wavy tendril slides out just as quickly while she fidgets with the small bag in her lap. Squeezing the short black straps over and over. Laser focused on the smooth leather rather than me. “I just thought…I know how hard you work to take care of me. Arturo and I appreciate–”

  “You just surprised me, that’s all.” Like the bastard I am, I cut her off. I don’t want to hear anything about that asshole. Especially his fucking name on her gorgeous lips. This is about her. And me. “I am your friend Viviana.”

  I speak slowly. Emphasizing each word. Stressing the sincerity of my tone. Even though she sits two feet away, I need to make sure she hears me since she won’t look at me any longer. I’ve hurt her. So fucking fragile, and I fuck up her hesitant attempt at a deeper connection. “Really.”

  Her head bobs. Slow and uncertain. She doesn’t believe me. Thinks I’m just being nice. When I’m never nice. Except to her. Damn I’m a fucking bastard for fucking this up. For fucking her up when all she asks is for a genuine friendship while living among a houseful of enemies.

  Nothing I can think of to convince her. Or lessen the strain pulsating between us. The silence hangs thick and uncomfortable. A balmy tension stealing my breath and my patience. I need to fix this. The only way I can. Drifting to the curb, I nod toward the side window. Tapping the button to lower the shaded, bullet proof glass. “What do you think?”

  She strains toward the fresh air and rising building as far as her seat belt allows. Taking in the first golden rays of the day glinting against the broad stone façade protected by thick white pillars. The hurt darkening her face from our earlier misunderstanding slowly smooths away to a quickening smile that fills my chest as much as her sweet face. Glowing from her plump lips to her almost black eyes. So fucking beautiful. All the tension melts from my muscles. She’s happy. If only for a moment.

  With our short leash and tight time, I can only circle the block twice before we have to return to the house. But she doesn’t protest when I drive away for the last time. As well aware of our limitations as I am. “Is there any place else you need to go?”

  Just a formality. We both know she’s not allowed to go anywhere else. But for some fucked up reason I like to make her feel like she has choices. That her entire fucking life, down to the minute, isn’t monitored and decided and controlled.

  “No, but thank you. Home is fine.”

  Never once have I heard her complain or act like her situation isn’t pure bliss. But I swear I hear a crack in the confidence when she says home. Fuck how much she must hate going back to that prison. The jail her father mistakenly sentenced her to unaware his sudden demise a few months after his agreement with Arturo would ruin her life. Trapping her in a loveless marriage with the only purpose to ensure an heir. As well as a huge deposit into the bastard’s bank account.

  The quiet between us isn’t as stifling as before. Her smile still lingers, with her body soft and relaxed. Even after we return to the compound. Instead, I’m the one full of tension once we circle the drive. God fucking damn. Dante waits outside. With a broad stance, arms folded across his massive chest, and a shit ass smirk on his face, he blocks the entrance to the open bay. Fucking smug eyes bore into mine. Gloating with happiness that I’ve fucked up, and he’s the one to catch me.

  Even worse when a broken sigh billows behind me. Fucking destroying me that she knows now too. And, neither of us can do a god damn thing to fix my mistake.

  Fire radiates up from my fist to my elbow from cracking this bastard’s jaw. At least I don’t have to listen to his embarrassing begging and lame ass excuses any more. The guys warned him twice to pay up. With interest. He should fucking know by now the Moretti family doesn’t give third chances.

  I move to his gut. Break a few ribs and rupture his spleen. I should feel guilty. I should feel ashamed. I should feel remorse. But I don’t. Not at all. The son of a bitch is a piece of shit, selling dope to kids and strung out women who often end up paying off their debts with what’s left between their legs. He’s long overdue to get what he deserves. Hell, I’m actually fucking enjoying myself. Taking my frustration out on his sorry ass since I can’t beat myself for my fuck up or fucking Arturo for his vindictiveness.

  The only regret I feel —that I ever feel —is failing Viviana. I haven’t
seen her gorgeous face for seven fucking days, and now I’m falling over the edge of sanity I barely grasp on to. About ready to implode from not being with her. I’ve never been addicted to anything before.

  Until now.

  Until her.

  I guess this is what fucking withdrawal feels like. I can’t eat. I can’t think. I can’t fucking sleep. When I do drift off all my dreams are nightmares of her. Beaten. Raped. Or worse —fucking dead.

  I pound his kidneys harder with that thought. Arturo wouldn’t dare kill her. Not with his windfall at stake. But he’s so fucking furious, and she’s so fucking tiny. All it would take is a hard blow to the head or vicious kick to the heart to end her life. Just one impulsive mistake that could steal my princess from me forever.

  Which that idea is fucking crazy in and of itself. She’s not mine. She’s never been mine. She’s just a rescue job. Once I know she’s safe and sound, then I need to let her go. I should never have let myself fall in love with her in the first place. I’m too old. Too jaded. Too crazy to be of any use to a sweet young woman who deserves a life free of fear and lies.

  The flopping against my thigh pulls me out of my insanity. Stupid fucker’s finally passed out. I toss him to the fake hardwood covering his trashed office. Streaked with blood, thicker than paint, from his shattered nose. Stinking with the stench of his vomit from too many punishing punches to the belly.

  Stretching the tendons in my fingers from balling them for too long, I shrug off Harrison’s celebratory slap on my back. I don’t want praise. I want her.

  “Come on man. Let’s go. We got one more stop before we’re done for the night.”

  Great. More of Dante’s chump work. Stupid asshole hates me almost as much as I hate him. Smart enough to know I’m not who I claim to be, even though he can’t prove I’m not just one of Arturo’s mindless henchmen. Following orders without question or complaint. Just waiting for my assignments and weekly paycheck like everyone else.

  Because of him Viviana’s on lock down. And I’m not. He knows exactly how to punish me. Doesn’t touch a hair on my head or rat me out to Arturo. Instead, he sends me on jobs with orders direct from him. As if he fucking trusts me enough to take care of his personal business. Like I’m his fucking errand boy. Which right now I am. Nothing but a pussy ass bitch at his mercy while she’s at Arturo’s.

  My stomach rolls again, and I jerk away from the guys lugging this dumb bastard to the street so everyone can get a firsthand and up close look at the punishment doled out to those stupid enough to cross the Morettis. I’m tired of this shit. His shit. I need some fucking air. Dante’s men can take care of the rest.

  Jogging down the back hallway and out to the Suburban parked in the alley, I suck in several deep breaths. Gulping in oxygen to try and quell my burning chest. And, of course, failing miserably.

  Until my phone pings. I jerk the cell out of my pocket. Vibrating in my hand again. Not sure how I fucking missed the messages blowing up my screen. Arturo’s got to jet and wants my ass home. Now. He’s fucking furious thinking I’ve been ignoring him. Like we haven’t been as busy as fuck all night with the long list of people who owe him and his brother. But that’s fine. I’ll take an ass beating just to get back to her.

  I’m already in the driver’s seat and revving the engine by the time the guys burst through the exit. Harrison head bobs me as he climbs in, and I’m pulling away while he’s still slamming his door shut.

  Irritation swells in his exaggerated huff as he grasps the grab handle when I round the corner practically on two wheels. “What the fuck?”

  “Change of plans. Boss wants us back.”

  He gives an indifferent shrug once he knows of our new orders. Makes no difference to him. This scenario on repeat for him, night after night. He’ll be back out again tomorrow —same shit, different faces. Hopefully, I’ll be back with her. Exactly where I belong.

  Somehow I’m fucking lucky enough that Arturo and Dante are already gone when we get to the mansion. Must have been a real fuck up for both of them to have left already. Which is fucking perfect. Less time spent getting my ass chewed and more time being with her. In his absence, his housekeeper waits for me instead. The help doesn’t usually speak directly to each other so the message must be really important for him to assign her this responsibility.

  A nervous hand pats her chest when her gaze flicks to me before sweeping across the kitchen and to the doorway leading to the stairs. Awkward and tense which makes me feel the same fucking way from her hesitation.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Moretti have an event tomorrow night so he wants to make sure she’s well enough to attend since she’s been…” Fingertips fiddle with the pearl buttons lining the front of her canary cardigan with her unease. “…you know…sickly.”

  Translation: he’s fucked Viviana up and needs us to fix her for a public appearance. Because he’s mobster not a monster. Or so he wants everyone to believe. I feign acceptance. Agreement. Approval. Anything and everything to end this conversation. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go get her.”

  “Not yet.” Disappointment almost as deep as mine floods her voice. Stopping me in my tracks as I race toward the steps. “He said tomorrow. Take her to mass and everything. Like normal.”

  Unable to stifle the bitter laugh burning my throat as I toss my head back. Staring at the crisscross design in the metal ceiling tiles. Nothing’s fucking normal about him or any of this. So fucking close. Now I have to wait eight more hours. Because even if I lie to Mrs. Wilson, pretending conformity to his order, outsmart the other guards, navigate around the scrutiny of the cameras, and reach Viviana without getting caught, she would refuse to let me in.

  Always so fucking obedient to follow Arturo’s rules. Which angers me more than I can stand. But I can’t blame her for her loyalty. She doesn’t know enough to be any other way. The brainwashing started young, and no one has proven to her otherwise that her allegiance will get her killed. Maimed and mistreated but not dead.

  “Good night Mr. Bartell. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Uncertain if she’s dismissing me or herself. Doesn’t matter. Neither of us can do anything until then. Fuck. I spin around and trod toward the other stairwell. It’s going to be a long fucking night, and I need something to take my anger out on. “Good night Mrs. Wilson.”

  At five thirty, I yank off my gloves and toss them onto the mat. Finally wiping my forehead of the sweat dripping into my burning eyes for the last seven and a half hours. I’m simultaneously exhausted and strung out. Lack of sleep and the physical exertion filled my time, but not my mind. Churning back and forth in time with my punches. Wondering what she’ll say. What she’ll do. What she’ll need when I finally see her.

  I strip down and jump into the third shower stall of the small locker room. Scrubbing my body with a furor and speed I can’t contain. Even my greedy cock too tense to harden over her.

  Fuck the cameras. At six a.m. on the dot, I’m rapping on her door. “It’s me Mrs. Moretti. I’m coming in.”

  Unwilling to wait for her response, I shove the door open. Relief washes through me. She sits on the bed. Dressed and smiling. Not a single scratch visible. Doesn’t mean she’s not covered in belt marks or bruises under her clothes, but still a good sign he refrained from pounding her face or arms.

  I’m a fucking happy bastard until I step closer. She sways even as she sits. The normal light in her eyes dim. Dull as the dark circles underneath. Pale skin, chapped lips, and gaunt cheeks. The realization hits me harder than a fucking wrecking ball to the gut. She never left this room and no one came in or out except for Arturo. Fuck me. He didn’t hit her. He starved her. All fucking week. Every single fucking day. And she still fucking grins at me. Probably fucking hysteria at this point.

  Jesus Christ. I force a smile on my face and a softness to my tone while I crouch in front of her. “Hey Viviana. How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  I can barely hear her raspy voice.
Still so fucking polite when she really should be fucking losing her shit. For her, I keep my own fury in check and somehow manage restraint. She doesn’t need my anger. Just my help. “I haven’t eaten yet, so let’s grab some breakfast before we head out.”

  She nods, accepting my outstretched hand. Only to have her knees buckle when we rise together. I catch her before she tumbles and hold her against my chest. Sealing my death sentence if anyone sees me. But there’s no way in hell I’ll let her hit the ground. How the fuck did she even get dressed or stay upright until I got here? “Slow down princess. I’ll get you there, I promise.”

  Her sweet head nods against my jacket. Frail fingers clutch my lapel. She actually fucking sobs. The first time I’ve ever heard her cry. Or seen Arturo’s cruelty get to her. I force myself to believe she’s emotional with relief that I’m here so I can focus on taking care of her rather than freaking the fuck out. “I’ve got you, angel.”

  I dig deep and search for the rare composure I might possess. Attempting to soothe her with my voice and my touch. Cuddling her tight. Stroking her hair. Whispering against the top of her head how fucking sorry I am that I let this happen to her. That I swear to god I’ll make everything better.

  She told me once that it’s a fucking sin or some other fucked up shit to eat before you go to mass. But that stupid shit’s not happening today. “We might be a few minutes late, but we’re going to get you something too before we go.”

  An emotion I can’t make out flashes in her dark eyes. Surprise maybe from my order. Or that I care enough to make demands. Definitely not defiance. Of which I’m so fucking glad. She can’t go much longer without food.