Page 33 of Ruthless Guardian

“I have to go. I have a trip to prepare for.”

“Good luck, Raffa, I mean it.”

“Thanks,stronzo.” I press the call end button and toss my phone on the mattress. At least the worst part is over.

Now, all I have to do is make sure my client and my family never cross paths while we’re in Rome.

Screams echo across my subconscious, the blood-curdling cries elevating my pulse. My breaths come in ragged pants, and I squeeze my eyes closed in a vain attempt to drown out the surfacing memories.

But it’s too late.

I’m sucked into that room, the darkness crawling through every corner, the metallic scent of blood infiltrating my nostrils. And those screams, ohDio, I’d never get them out of my head. They are permanently carved into my skull, much like my tattoo and the ensuing blood staining the back of my eyelids.

“Let go of her,” I shout. “I’ll do anything you want.” With my gun clenched in my fist, I drop to my knees as he presses the knife to her neck.

“It’s too late,figlio mio, her fate is sealed along with yours, traditore pezzo di merda.”

“It’s never too late, just please don’t?—”

A scream streaks across the chamber, ripping the air from my lungs. It isn’t until I feel the tears running down my cheeks that I realize the guttural howl came from me.A fracture races down my heart, splitting not only my failing organ in half but my entire being.A pool of deep crimson inches dangerously close to my jeans as I kneel on the floor, stunned, immobile, numb.I drop my hands to the concrete and the blood seeps into my palms. She’s still warm…

The scene blurs and retreats into the dark recesses of my tortured subconscious, to torment me another day. I blink quickly and sit up straight, trying to clear my mind of thehorrible images that refuse to stay buried. Sweat trickles down my spine as I slide off the mattress and pace the tiny room. I’ll never survive this trip to Rome.

Heaving out a breath of resignation, I march toward the bathroom. I need a fucking shower.

When I walk into Isabella’s room, it looks like a bomb went off. Four suitcases are spread open on the plush carpeting and more clothes than line the racks at Barney’s are sprawled across the bed, on top of armoires and spilling from the closet. It’s the first time I’ve been granted access into her private sanctuary, and I can’t help but take it all in. I’m typically dismissed at her door with a cold smile or contemptuous wave.

Beyond the chaos, I see bits and pieces of the spoiled little princess standing at the massive walk-in closet which could double as a bedroom for most. One entire wall is all shelves covered in glittering medals and trophies. From ballet to horseback riding, it seems theprincipessahas excelled in it all. Valedictorian of her graduating class in high school, high honors from NYU and an empty frame beside the first two diplomas. I inch closer and peer up at the tiny black scrawling at the interior corner of the gilded frame:Isabella Valentino, MD.

It seems as if my client has her entire future all planned out.

I continue to scan the room with her attention fully devoted elsewhere. Below the main trophy shelf, I find more awards, these lacking the typical gold-plated characters atop a pedestal. These instead are from organizations, charitable ones: Humanitarian Award from the Cancer Foundation, Community Service Award from the city of Manhattan, Angel Awardfrom NYU Langone Hospital, Lifetime Achievement Award in Philanthropy… the list goes on and on.

A frustrated grunt spins my attention to the little overachiever as she sits atop a Gucci suitcase trying to force the zipper closed. There is no way that girl earned all of these awards.

“Need help,principessa?”

Her upper lip curls into a snarl when I offer a hand. She tries and fails again to zip up the oversized baggage before her shoulders slump and she crawls off the suitcase, defeated. “Yes,” she mutters.

“Yes, what?” I drop down beside her and lift a brow.

“Make yourself useful and close my luggage,” she bites back.

“I’m not your butler,principessa.” I slowly rise but her hand winds around my forearm, dragging me back.

“Please,” she grits out. “I can’t get it closed.”

“Clearly. Because it’s much too full.”

She bats dark lashes at me, crawling closer on her knees. “You’re telling me with those bulging biceps, not even you can zip it up?”

“I’m so thrilled you’ve noticed my arms. I work very hard to achieve these results.” I shoot her a teasing grin as I cross those arms over my chest.

“Come on, Raf, just do it, please.”

Oh,Dio, the sight of Isabella on her knees, begging nonetheless, have me instantly hard. It’s like the woman’s mouth has a straight line to my cock. And now I can’t stop thinking about those pouty lips wrapped around my dick.Merda.

“Right. Out of my way.” I circle her and drop down to the floor once again to drag the zipper all around the pricey suitcase. For what she probably paid for that thing, the closure better be indestructible. Once it’s secure, I rise and meet a pair of blazingblue spheres, an unexpected glossy sheen opaquing their typical brilliance. “What’s wrong?” I mutter.

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