Page 41 of Ruthless Guardian

Isabella draws her glass to her lips and takes a healthy swallow of the red wine. A giggle snakes out as she finishes it and reaches for the bottle. Thesecondbottle she ordered. Shit, how much has she had to drink? Not only have I allowed myself to indulge, but I haven’t kept an eye on her intake of alcohol either.

In the past month since I started working for the Valentinos, I’ve only seen her drink that one time when she escaped the penthouse to attend Serena’s party. Which means her tolerance cannot be that high…

The waiter appears, drawing my attention back to the present, holding a chilled bottle of limoncello. “Compliments of the chef.” He offers Isabella a smile as he sets down the small glass and begins to fill it with the lemon liqueur.

“Grazie.” She smiles brightly at the young guy, and a twist of jealousy uncoils in my gut.

I place my hand over the shot glass before she can grab it. “I think you’ve had enough tonight,principessa.”

“All I had was some wine. I feel totally fine.” She winks at the waiter. “Don’t I seem fine?”

“Oh, yes, you certainly do.Sei bellissima.”

“Excuse me?” I growl, rising to my full height and towering over the guy who had the nerve to callmyclient beautiful.

He cowers, taking a step back. “Scusi. I meant no disrespect,signore. I did not realize you were her boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” she blurts. And for some damned reason, her words sting.

You’re not her boyfriend, youstronzo. You are her guard. I repeat it over and over to myself, hoping it’ll get through my thick skull.

While I’m distracted, she downs the glass of limoncello then licks her lips, eyeing me with a smug grin.

“For you,signore?” The waiter has balls to even dare offer.

“No,” I bark.

“Oh, come on, Raf. Loosen up a little…” Isabella brings the cool glass to my lips and the tangy scent of lemon fills my nostrils.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Fine, then I’ll have it.” She shoots it before I can stop her.

“Isabella, no more,” I hiss.

“Who are you, my father? I’m twenty-two years old, Raf. You can’t tell me what to do, or what to drink and most of all who to date.” She eyes the young man again and bats her dark lashes. “I’m Isabella by the way, and you are?”

Oh, fuck no. I leap up so quickly my knee hits the bottom of the table and the entire thing rattles, sending plates and utensils scattering. This was a mistake. This is exactly why I stick to my rules, to my carefully calculated procedures, to prevent moments like these.

Dropping a wad of Euros on the table, I pull Isabella to her feet.

“What are you doing?” she screeches.

“We’re going back to the hotel.”

“But I’m not ready to go…”

“We’re leaving anyway.” I drag her to the door as she flails, and a handful of curious gazes flicker in our direction. “Ci scusi. Mia moglie ha bevuto troppo,” I call out over my shoulder as she tries to squirm out of my hold.

“I’m not drunk, and I’m not his wife!” she shouts.

Once we make it outside, she wraps her hand around a light post, halting us, and glares up at me, bright blue eyes ablaze beneath the lamplight. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Damn it, Raf, I was just having a little fun. We were at a freaking restaurant, why can’t I have some fucking limoncello?”

“Because you’re already well past tipsy and two more shots of limoncello will get you black out drunk.”

“Maybe that’s what I want. Did you ever think about that?” She twirls around the post, head back and eyes to the night sky. “It’s our first night in Rome! I just want to enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it in the daytime when you’re sober, and we have our normal retinue of guards.”

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