Page 43 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

I shake my head at both of them because, while they are not asking any questions verbally, I can hear questions in the air.

I can’t let that happen.

I love my son, but it is right here and now that the thought of ever losing Eva begins to sink in a way that terrifies me. I want to give her freedom, and Salvatore is clipping her wings. Before Mindy called, I was about to confess that I wanted her to be my wife.

But the call was a smack in the face. It once again showed me that this life, my life, is not one Eva is prepared for. I knew this before now, but this situation is just reconfirming it. Regardless, I cannot give her to anyone else.

Whatever Salvatore wants, he is not getting it. There has got to be an alternative. It’s high time someone put a stop to him once and for all. It would have been a walk in the park if he wasn’t Emanuele’s son.

I hate this.

I drop onto the sofa, agonizing over the situation.

I twiddle with the cigar in my hand, focusing on the glow and the smoke flurrying from it. I am not much of a smoker, nor do I fancy alcohol. I like to stay sober, awake. The few times I got high or drunk in high school, I didn’t like what I saw when I became sober.

Even though the situation still bites like a curse, only one of the many outcomes feels like a blessing.

I killed my father, then I got a woman pregnant. Now, I am faced with fears of failing as a father. Like my father.

The door of the study creaks open, and Vittoria steps in in black pajamas with gold motifs. It is unlike her to be in pajamas, even as early as seven in the morning. Her hair is a little messy and her face is slightly bloated from the pregnancy.

“Hey, Daddy,” she scampers to Emanuele and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing kisses on his chest.

I glower at Emanuele for no reason other than the fact that it feels good to do it.

“Baby girl,” Emanuele eyes me before dipping his head to kiss her messy hair. “You are awake,” he strokes her back, and she nods.

“Eva,” Vittoria goes to Eva and hugs her. “How are you?” She draws back and cups Eva’s face. “You were crying?” She spins to glare at the both of us. “Who did this?”

“Salvatore has Fabio’s son,” Eva hiccups, breathing in her tears.

“Fabio has a son?” Vittoria directs the question to Emanuele. “You have a son?” She directs the question to me. “He has a son?” she spins to Eva, and she nods.

“And Salvatore has him,” Eva highlights again.

“Salvatore?” Vittoria grits, one hand balls into a fist. “What is it with that kid?” She sounds like she is older than Salvatore, when in truth, Salvatore is older than she is.

“He wants me to marry Nina’s cousin, that’s the only way he will let Jake go,” Eva sniffs, dropping her eyes to the floor. “It’s my fault, I told Gloria about it in class and someone must have overheard us,” Eva sobs. “He is only six.”

“Only six?” Vittoria shrieks and flips to face me. “Only six?” She blinks at Emanuele and he shrugs. “He is a little boy,” her voice creaks.

“Come,” Emanuele flicks his fingers at her, and she goes to him. “He will be fine,” he wraps her in an embrace. “Breathe, baby girl.”

She's feeling a little off right now. I remember Mindy calling me in tears when she was pregnant, telling me about a missing rabbit story she had seen on the local news. That day, I nearly lost my mind and debated blocking her number. However, I sat listening to her whine for a fucking hour about how the world ought to be a better place and protect rabbits.

“I will do it,” Eva mumbles. She keeps her eyes down, “I will marry Nina’s cousin, I will go to Salvatore right now and end this,” she starts to move to the door.

It is not her father who stops her, and I think it is because he is waiting to see my reaction.

“Eva, get back here,” I thunder, and she halts, her hand on the doorknob. “Now,” I clip, and she retrieves her hand, coming to sit beside me like some chicken drenched by the rain.

Emanuele scoffs, “I won’t hear any of that nonsense from you again, got it?”

Eva nods sharply, twiddling with her fingers. I reach out and take her hands in mine, stroking with my thumbs. She deflates, taking it as an invitation to crawl to me. She buries her face in my chest and sobs uncontrollably.

“I am sorry,” she sniffs. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I slip my fingers into her hair and stroke her scalp gently. “Easy now.”

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