Page 41 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

He was protecting this secret. I forced my way through and got this information, and for what reason? To announce it with a loudspeaker?

I sniff, trying not to cry, but I can't. My eyes burn.

“I said don’t,” he clips.

“I am sorry…” I hiccup. “I didn’t mean to… I was…” I stutter, needing to breathe. “It was just…” I wail, covering my face with my hands as I sob into it, tears spilling like spring water into my hands.

I know he won’t hurt me.

I know he might even understand me. But I betrayed his trust. He probably hates me right now. He is mad at me, and I am scared.

What if something happens to Jake? What if the enemy is like Boris, the man who killed my mother and taunted my father for years until my father had to put an end to him?

If the enemy is like Boris, then Jake is as good as dead.

“Eva, don’t make this worse,” Fabio grumbles. “I need to think, and your crying isn’t helping me. Please, stop.”

I nod, but I have no control here. I reach for the door, but he is quick to lock the car.

“Pull yourself together, please,” he seems frustrated.

“I can’t help it,” I sob.

The car begins to move as he steers us out of the parking lot. I keep my face buried in my hands, too mortified to look him in the eye because of what I might find there.

The chiming of his phone through the loudspeaker interrupts the heavy silence, and he receives the call almost immediately.

“It’s your father,” he whispers to me, and I clamp my lips to muffle my sobs, “Emanuele.”

“Who the bloody hell is Jake?” My father barks through the speaker. I can imagine his coal eyes taking the form of a starless night as he fumes.

“Emanuele…” Fabio grinds his teeth.

I clasp my lips some more, sobbing harder now. I caused this. My father knows about Jake.

“Why does my son say he has your son, Fabio?” My father chews out.

Fabio takes a deep breath, “I will explain when I get to the estate,” he gulps loudly. “We are on our way.”

“Bloody hell, Fabio,” my father curses and ends the call.

I did this. It’s my fault. It’s my fault the entire Cosa Nostra is about to find out that Fabio De Luca has a weakness: his six-year-old son.

The car picks up speed and this is not his usual angry fast driving .

“I am going to throw up,” I choke between sobs. “I am going to…” I dry heave.

He doesn’t slow down.

I understand the urgency of the situation, but Fabio will kill me. He will kill us both.

“Fabio, if you kill us, how are you going to save him?” I clench my teeth, trying to hold in the nausea now swimming past my chest to my throat.

“We are home,” he announces, and the car screeches to a stop.

I can’t wait. I bolt out of the car, almost tangling with the seat belt, but by some divine intervention, I manage not to trip over myself and untangle from it quickly enough to throw up beside the car.

I crouch, emptying my stomach.

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