Page 100 of Ruthless Guardian

She’s asleep anyway and since it’s her day off hopefully she’ll stay that way until I return. I’ve thought about it for days, and this is the only way. It was Isabella who flicked the light switch I was too damned blind to notice. After the shooting on the rooftop, I’d been certain it wasPapàwho had sent the Albanian after me. Enrico Sartori hadn’t even crossed my mind. But then I did a little research and as it turns out, my almost father-in-law has employed Arjan Kola on a few projects over the years.

It makes sense, I suppose. Enrico sees me back in Rome with another woman and he snaps… I understand. I almost sympathize with the old man.

A whirlwind of dismal thoughts fills my mind as I hop on Sal’s Vespa and tear onto the quiet streets. For days, I’ve considered what I would say to Sartori, how I could get him to admit about the shooting and more importantly, how to get him to change his mind about exacting his vengeance.

Or rather, maybe I should just point him in the right direction.

I was a fucking idiot back then covering for my father. I hadn’t done it so much for him, but rather for my brothers. If Enrico knewPapàwas the one who slit Laura’s throat, I would have found myself an orphan.

At twenty, lying seemed like the best option. I had taken the full blame for Laura’s death, but I’d lied through my teeth. I told her father I wasn’t there when it happened, that I’d only found her body after the fact. He had no idea that I’d been there in that basement, holding her in her final moments as she gasped for air, watching the light drain from her lively, soulful eyes.

Memories of Laura flit across my subconscious, her smile, her voice, the scent of rose petals that always lingered on her skin. The vivid images are like a punch to the gut, and I’m left gasping for air as I maneuver the empty streets. Tears prick at the corners of my vision but the rush of air from atop the Vespa plucks them away before they can fall.

I’ve buried all thoughts of her for years now. I’d sworn off women, indulging in only one-night stands because I’d vowed never to endure that pain of loss again. But here I am, ten years later and stupidly in love with another woman with the potential of shattering my heart once again.

And worse, I’ve put her life at risk because of me.

I veer off the main road, beneath the dim streetlights to thePariolidistrict where elegant apartments and expertly manicured parks line the wide avenues. It’s been ten years sinceI was here last, and still, everything remains just as I remember it.

Releasing the throttle, I slow the Vespa until the familiar palatial building takes shape. The classic Roman façade with climbing ivy is bathed in moonlight, giving the ancient white stone structure an otherworldly glow. A wrought-iron gate lines the perimeter with guards stationed on each corner of the grand estate.

I glance up at one of the large, arched windows where light already peeks through. Enrico had always been an early riser, and I suppose not that much has changed in the past decade. The moment I pull up to the sidewalk and cut the engine, two guards are on me, each with their hands a millimeter from their guns.

They bark at me in Italian, but once I’ve given them my name, the head guy walks off before pressing a finger to the com in his ear. I stand on the sidewalk, my heart like a battering ram against my ribs.

Will Enrico agree to see me?

Am I a fucking idiot to even risk being here right now?

No… I have to do this. For Isabella.

Heavy footfalls spin my head over my shoulder to the approaching guard. His scowl is so deep it looks as if it were permanently engraved into his face. “SignorSartori will see you now.” He motions toward the gate and one of the other guards unlocks it, then pushes it open. The sharp keening sound has every hair on my body standing at attention. He pauses at the opening, his dark gaze intent on the bulge in my jacket. “I’ll need your gun, of course.”

“Certo.” Reaching into the interior pocket, I pull out the Glock and hand it over. He doesn’t say anything about my knife, so I don’t offer it. The small blade is tucked into my pant leg where it permanently resides.

“Follow me.” The guard ticks his head up the marble steps to the entrance.

Another member of the security team opens the front door and as I cross the threshold, the foyer is just as I remember it. The grand entryway boasts high ceilings and there isn’t a speck of dust on the polished marble floors. The center of the hall is adorned with a dramatic staircase leading to the upper floors with intricate wrought-iron railings.

Standing at the top of the landing is Enrico Sartori.

He glares down at me, the silk robe, streaks of silver in his hair and ten years that have passed doing nothing to smooth down his hard edges or menacing demeanor.

“This is quite the surprise, Raffaele. You are the last person I expected to find at my doorstep at this hour of the morning.”

He surprises me with the heavily accented English. The man I knew refused to speak anything but his mother tongue despite being fully versed in multiple languages.

“Scusi. I’m sorry for showing up without notice, but it’s important.”

“I assume it is.” A sneer curls the corner of his mustache. “I thought you were a smart man, but it appears I was mistaken.” He slowly descends, dragging out each step. Once we’re nearly toe to toe, he glares up at me, the picture of confidence despite the foot of height I have over him. “Before you enter my living room, remove that knife from wherever its hidden.”

It takes all my years of training not to flinch. Apparently, the man hasn’t lost his touch in his old age. “Certo.” I bend down and pluck the blade from my pant leg, then press it into his awaiting palm.

“You’ll have it back at the end of your visit.”

“Fair enough.”

One of the guards leads the way to the sitting room, while the other follows a step behind me. In the grand living room,yet another sentinel awaits, standing beside the heavy velvet curtains.

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