I shrug.
"Make it quick. I have matters to attend to," I flutter my lashes as I cross my legs.
It doesn't escape me the way his eyes follow my movements, his pupils seemingly growing in size. He's still sporting that smug smile on his face, and I'd like nothing better than to wipe it off.
My upper lip twitches in annoyance, my fists clenching as I mentally imagine putting him in his place—anywhere away from me.
"You'll have to excuse my daughter. She's not always this... difficult." My father grimaces as he looks at me, and I recognize the quiet signal.
Behave.
It takes everything in me to not just up and leave, causing a scene before I do as well, since there's this growing desire inside of me to put the mutt in his place. Especially after I'd seen the way he'd taken one too many liberties with me the other time. And that he's here... I don't trust him. Not in the least.
"This is Sebastian Bailey, and he's your new bodyguard," my father says before continuing to add something else. But I don't hear that. No, I just hone in on the fact that he just said this is my new bodyguard.
"No!" I put my hand up. "No way," I turn to my father, hoping it's all a bad joke. But he's not laughing. He's not even smiling.
"Gianna..."
"Papa!" I exclaim, outraged. "He's a creep!" I say the first thing that pops into my head.
And it is true. I'd seen him follow me around, trailing behind me as if he didn't think I'd notice. I'd also seen the way his eyes never once left me in the store, even before the robbers showed up.
"Gianna," my father breathes out, annoyed.
"Papa, he was following me. I'm sure of it. How can someone like that be my bodyguard."
"I'm sorry about her. She's a little too spoiled and used to getting her way," he apologizes to Sebastian before turning to me. "Gianna, stop."
That one word has me still. I recognize the signs and I know that he's not going to listen to what I have to say.
"But he killed someone, papa. He killed those people..." I trail off.
Why can't he see that there's something not quite right with this man? I can't accept him as my bodyguard. I simply can't. Manuello had been with me since I was a child and I'd known him better than my own family. Another man taking his place?
I shake my head. No, impossible. Especially not him.
"Yes, Gianna," my father mutters drily. "He killed someone to save your life, which makes him perfect for the job."
I stare between the two of them and I realize that it doesn't matter if I agree to this or not, they've already planned everything.
"But papa..."
"No, Gianna. The matter is already decided. He will be your bodyguard for the next few months until I find a way to get us out of the mess Agosti left us in. And considering DeVille had the audacity to go after Enzo, I trust you realize how critical this is. For all I know, you could be their next target."
My hands are balled into fists, but I don't argue further. There's no point.
I just sit in silence as my father proceeds to list all of Sebastian's achievements, how he's been awarded countless medals for his bravery in the army, and how he's an expert in all matters of security.
I only listen with half an ear as I try to stop myself from shaking. Tapping my feet on the floor, I keep glancing at my watch, wishing the time would pass faster so I can go back to my room—back to safety.
I don't know what it is about this man—this beast really, because there's no way any decent man would look like that—that makes me so frightened.
Just thinking about the fact that as my bodyguard he'll be by my side at all times... The hairs on my arm stand up, my entire being recognizing the danger he poses.
"He'll be taking the room next to yours," my father suddenly says and I whip my head around, thinking I'd misheard.
"What?"
"This is a twenty-four seven position, Gianna. I don't think you realize the gravity of the situation. DeVille is out for our heads. They already ruined your engagement. I'll be damned if I let them do more damage."
"But..." I whisper, my father's expression stopping me from continuing.
I know he is right in that DeVille is an ongoing danger, and I'd be crazy to go out without a well-trained bodyguard. But him?
I refrain from saying more, just nodding my head like an obedient daughter. It's not like he cares about my opinions anyway.
"I'm glad we've managed to reach an understanding," my father nods, appeased. As if he didn't just reach that understanding all by himself. "Now, why don't you show Mr. Bailey to his room?"
"Mia can do it," I'm quick to say as I get up, ready to forget the unfortunate conversation we just had, and maybe even finish the bottle of vodka. God knows, all I want is to forget about everything.
"Gianna," my father levels me with his stare. "Do what you're told and we'll have a few words later about your behavior."
He doesn't wait around for me to reply, leaving the room.
The mutt rises slowly from the couch, lifting a small duffle bag and swinging it over his shoulder.
He grunts at me, a sign to get moving.
He freaking grunts!
If I weren't already sure he was some sort of crossbreed, now I'm convinced.
"Follow me." I throw my hair over my shoulder in a dramatic gesture, hoping he'll get the message to keep his distance.
As we go up the stairs and towards the third floor where my room is located, I can't help but feel a burning sensation in my back, as if his gaze is drilling a hole through me.
In fact, my entire body feels the weight of his presence as I put one foot in front of the other, goosebumps covering my skin, a small shiver traversing my limbs.
We reach the landing and I quickly motion for the door next to mine, ready to be done with this and retreat to my safe space.
I don't get to take one step though, and I find myself backed against the wall, my back hitting the cold surface as I raise my head to see those silver grayish eyes watching me. His irises are unnaturally light, the pupils like slits as he regards me. He has that mocking smile on his face, and every small movement seems to make his features seem harsher in the dim light of the hallway.
There's a small bubble inside my chest that seems to grow in size with every labored breath I take. My pulse is through the roof as I can only stare at him, my mind blank of anything but the position I find myself in.
His body—that massive body that must have been forged for destruction—is flush against mine, his hand on my neck as he holds me captive.
"What," the word tumbles out of my mouth on a whisper.
There's something euphoric about his nearness, and I don't think I can pinpoint the sensation. It makes me dizzy, but not in the faint way I usually get, though I recognize the danger I find myself in.
Instead, I find myself tingling...
Is this another type of fear?
"I'm a creep?" he asks, amused. His voice is low, so low a shiver envelops my entire body, my lips parting on a harsh breath. I shake my head slightly, not in response to his question, but trying to alleviate this feeling of discomfort that seems to have lodged itself inside my head, in my ears and lower, down my neck and...
"Tell me, sunshine, how am I a creep?" he repeats the question, his mouth closer to my face, his hot breath fanning over my skin.
I turn my head, trying to avoid the direct contact.
That nickname again—sunshine. Who does he think he is to call me by anything other than my name? Even that he isn't fit to utter.
But that's quickly forgotten as I hear the pounding echo of my own pulse. My heart is beating wildly in my chest and I don't think I've ever experienced greater terror than in this moment. Yet, it's of a foreign nature.
There's danger and there's...
His thumb comes to rest under my chin, slowly turning my head so I can face him.
"I'm waiting," he chuckles, a deep sound that makes me even more uncomfortable.
Yet, as I see that smugness in his gaze, the same one I now recognize as his default setting, I realize I can't let myself be intimidated by him.
"You are," I state with as much conviction I can muster. "I saw how you were watching me." I push my chin up so he can see he doesn't scare me.
"And how is that?" There it is, again. The same amused tone, as if everything is a joke.
Instead of answering him, I push against his arms, seeking to get out of his hold.
"I think you're overstepping your boundaries, Mr. Bailey," I add.
"Tell me," he pushes back, a slight show of force that has me pinned to the wall—with no other way out. "Tell me and I'll let you go."
My eyelids flutter closed, my breathing erratic.
Damn, but did the alcohol have to choose this moment to get to my head?
Because I'm starting to feel a little faint, a little...
My eyes snap open to meet his as they continue their slow perusal of my face. The corners of his mouth turn up, his head dipping lower.
"Tell me," he whispers, the sound painful to my ears in a way I'd never experienced before.
"You..." I take a deep breath, wetting my lips. "You were undressing me with your eyes," I manage to say the words out loud, heat traveling up my cheeks and staining them with a deep red.
It's the alcohol. It's clearly the alcohol.
"Is that so?" He brings his hand up, his thumb on my mouth as he brushes it against my lips.
I frown, already feeling out of my depth. Even my brain seems to be lagging behind as I look into those wolfish eyes of his.
"Like I'm doing now?" he drawls, bringing his thumb lower down my neck.
"Let me go," I push against him, not liking the direction this is going.
"Why? I'm a mutt, aren't I?" he scoffs derisively at me and his entire countenance shifts. Where before there was a playful quality to his tone, now all traces of amusement are gone, leaving instead a pure disdain that seems to be aimed directly at me. "Not fit to touch you, much less look at you, right?"
"You're hurting me," I croak, his fingers wrapped around my wrist as he holds me against the wall.
"You paint a pretty picture, sunshine," he drawls, his mouth quirking up in sick satisfaction as he brings his face close to mine, his nostrils flaring as he nuzzles my cheek, inhaling deeply. "But the inside is rotten."
"Let go!" I snarl, pushing against him.
"You may bathe in perfume, but it won't erase the stench," he grits, his jaw clenched, his entire body rigid with tension.
Danger rolls off him and it seeps into my pores, spurring my body into reacting to the deadly nearness. Tremors rack my entire being as I try to hold myself still, not show him any weakness.
He scares me.
There's something wicked lying behind his façade. Something that wants to get out and harm me. Something that thirsts for blood.
My blood.
His breath on my lips, it takes everything inside of me not to give in to hysterics, mental fog already settling in and drowning my senses.
"You can't fool me, Gianna Guerra. You think you're so high and mighty but you reek of cheap vodka and cigarettes."
My eyes widen.
"Pro tip," he whispers, his tongue peeking out to lick the lobe of my ear. "Next time use mouthwash."
And just as soon as those words register in my brain, he's gone, the door to the room opening and closing with a whoosh.
My knees feel made of jelly as I barely catch myself from falling to the ground. There's a deafening sound in my ears as I can hear the echo of my own heart, violently beating against my ribcage.
It takes Herculean strength for me to get back to my room, locking the door behind me and allowing myself to slide to the ground.
My mouth parts as I try to breathe, a dry sound coming from my throat as I feel myself choking. I bring my fist to my chest, banging it against my lungs to alleviate the discomfort, but there's little improvement.
That mutt.
He actually dared...
He dared talk to me, touch me... taunt me.
I fight against the wave of panic that seems to overtake me because I can't let him win. Oh, I know his type. I know the kind of man he is.
The type that thinks women are useless for anything other than a roll in the hay. The type that sees us as nothing but objects.
My fists clench as I replay his words in my head, the way he'd been so arrogant in his delivery, so sure of himself as he'd pressed himself against me.
Humiliation burns in my cheeks at his insults, and a desire to show him his place grows within me.
"I'm no man's toy," I mutter to myself, suddenly faced with a new purpose.
I agree with my father that I do need a bodyguard in times like these. But Mr. mutt is the last man I'll let near me. Just the sight of him causes a deep, visceral reaction inside of me, not unlike the one I get every time I'm on the verge of a panic attack. My entire body seems to be averse to his presence, a low hum activating deep within me and making me wildly agitated, as if I can't run from him fast enough.
I've had enough experience with his type—the arrogant, never take no for an answer type—and I know that he'll keep on pushing my boundaries until he pushes too far.
I vowed I'd never make myself that vulnerable again, and I'll do anything to see that promise through.
If my father won't listen to me, then I'll just have to take matters into my own hands.
A smile spreads on my lips as I realize just how.
Maybe it's time I lived up to the way everyone sees me—a fucking mean bitch.
"Lindsay?" I dial my friend, the words pouring out of me. "Yes. It needs to be perfect," I smile insidiously.
I may not have control over much in my life, but I'll take anything I can.
Chapter Five
"I told you I'd get it done, Cisco. Stop bothering me and let me do this my way," I grit into the phone before hanging up.
There are some things that don't entirely add up. Like Cisco's urgency to see Guerra destroyed. If before I would have found it odd, after the robbery incident I've become convinced there is something amiss.
Cisco must have a personal vendetta against Guerra.
And he's being incredibly tight lipped about it, which doesn't help with my overall mood. Especially as I have to wait hand and foot on little miss spoiled. Just thinking about our latest interactions has me clench my fists in frustration, a need to put her in her place festering inside of me.
I'd been her bodyguard now for a few days, and since the job entails being with her twenty-four seven, I'd gotten a front row seat at the spectacle that is Gianna Guerra's life. And of course, I had to be lucky enough to be welcomed on the stage too.
She had spared no minute in insulting me, her favorite nickname mutt already a daily constant. But when she'd seen that I'm not particularly bothered by any names she may call me, she started ordering me around like a servant.
Take that, carry that, oh I forgot that, go get it. While the physical exertion is negligible at best, the mental exercises are strenuous as I have to force myself not to strangle her pretty neck and make her shut up once and for all.
Fuck, but in all my years on this earth I don't think I've been as adversely affected by a female before.
I don't hurt women. I never have. But one glance at Gianna and I swear I'm about to forget all my principles, take her over my knee and show her how mutts behave when taunted.
"What are you looking at? Eyes down, peasant," she huffs at me as she exits the store, her chin up high as she walks like a model on a runway.
I take a deep breath, repeating to myself that murder in daylight is never a good idea—been there, done that.
Certainly, I won't be able to complete her humiliation from the grave, no matter how appealing the thought might be.
So I just grit my teeth and follow, getting in the car just as she plops herself on the back seat, her nose in the air as she refuse
s to look at me. She's made it perfectly clear that my appearance offends her, and today is no exception.
"Maybe I should wear a bag on my face," I add drily. "Would that help with your tender sensibilities?" I ask sarcastically.
"Why, that's a marvelous idea." She smiles insidiously. "I might become prematurely blind if I keep seeing," she waves her hand in front of me, her face tilted to the side as she tries very hard to avoid my gaze, "that monstrosity." She fakes a shudder.
I purse my lips, willing my rage to remain contained.
I've never been prone to vanity, but the scar on my face is recent enough to still make me self-conscious of the way people look at me. Add to the fact that even I think it looks like a monstrosity, and her jibe definitely hits the mark.
Still, I'm not about to show her that any of her mean girl comments affect me.
I grunt at her, taking out a bag and getting my lunch out.
In the meantime, she's barking some orders at the driver, asking him to take her to her equestrian lessons.
A smile pulls at my lips as I slowly open the bag, letting the smell waft through the air. Gianna's nose scrunches up as a small frown appears on that lovely face.
She looks around, dazed, until her eyes settle on the bag in my lap. Her eyes widen.
"Throw that out," she hisses.
"It's," I bring my watch closer to my face, "twelve. I'm allowed a lunch break, you know," I shrug, opening the can of food.
Delight fills me when I see the way her expression changes in a second. Indeed, even I have a hard time keeping a straight face as the smell hits my own nose.
One thing I'd noticed in the few days I've followed little miss spoiled around is that she has an issue with food—specifically food that has strong odors. Why, she rarely even eats in public, picking at her food and finding excuses not to eat.
It had certainly given me an idea, and seeing her reaction just now, I know I've also hit the mark. And because I'm just as petty as she is, I'd gone for the smelliest fish in the world—a Swedish type that hadn't been the easiest to procure.
Ah, but payback's a bitch.
"Stop the car!" She shouts at the driver, her hand to her mouth as she looks mightily ill.
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 6