Page 4 of Ruthless Guardian

“Suit yourself, Bella.” He hinges at the waist, light eyes fixing to mine. At eighteen he already dwarfs me, which is pretty embarrassing. “But you’re going to have to leave this place eventually. And you will have to choose a guard.”

I cringe at the thought, a surge of icy fingers dancing up my spine. “Maybe…” I whisper. But not today.

“Later, Bella.” He spins toward the door, waving to Gerry on the way out, and I’m so damned jealous as I watch him casually cross the threshold.

I wish I could find the courage…

“Buon giorno, principessa!”Papàappears at the door juggling a tray of Starbucks and a jar of Nutella in one hand and a bouquet of calla lilies in the other, my mom’s favorite. His dark eyes scan over me like some sort of harm could’ve come to me in the safety of our heavily guarded penthouse in the last twenty minutes since he left. He folds his tall form onto the cushion beside me, places the flowers in a vase on the cocktail table and hands over the Caramel Frappuccino with a disgusted twist to his lips before dropping the jar of my favorite treat in my lap. “Your coffee and breakfast…”

ToPapà, if it isn’t a legit Italian espresso from his old school stovetop espresso pot it isn’t real coffee.

I take a sip, and a smile instantly melts across my face.So good… I barely resist the urge to pry open the jar of Nutella and dip my finger inside. But I’ll wait until I’m alone to indulge.

My dad turns to me, something unreadable behind that well-crafted mask. He doesn’t often wear it around his family, which has anxiety bubbling up deep inside. “Isa, your mamma and I have been talking and we feel it is time to find a replacement for Francesco.”

I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off, raising a hand.

“I know how difficult this is for you, and believe me, there is nothing I like more than having you under my watchful eye. But this is becoming unhealthy.” He motions to the stack of books on the coffee table, then to the fluffy slippers beneath the couch before settling his wary gaze on my pajamas. “It’s been a month,principessa. Frankie wouldn’t want this…”

“How do you know what Frankie wants,Papà? How could you have any idea? How can any of us? Because he’s dead and dead men don’t speak, they don’t think, their hearts no longer beat, lungs fail to function—” A sob builds in my throat, cutting off my manic rambling, and Dad jerks me into his chest.

His hand runs over the back of my head, and he whispers soothingly like he did when I was a silly child, awoken by a nightmare or terrified by some movie Alessandro had made me watch at their house. “I’m so sorry, Isa,” he whispers. “I wish more than anything I could spare you from the dark parts of our legacy, of our grisly world.” He holds me out to arm’s length and spears me with those expressive irises. “But I must prepare you for what is to come. You will always be the heir to the Kings’ empire and with it, comes responsibilities. I hope to protect you from it as long as possible, but I cannot do that properly without a guard at your side.”

“I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can, and you will.” He stands and ticks his head at the clock above the kitchen stove. “I have four candidates coming in today to interview with you. I’ve already vetted them all, and any one of them would make a fine choice. I hope that giving you the opportunity to decide on your guardian will help in the process, but if you cannot choose, then I will decide for you.”

I jump up, my bare feet tingling against the cool marble. “No, I’m not ready,” I growl. “And since when are you trying to get me out of the penthouse? My whole life you’ve wanted the exact opposite!” As a teen, I was never allowed to go to sleepovers, to the movies with friends, on dates with boys. Nothing.

“Because we’re worried about you, Isa.” Mom’s voice echoes from the second floor. She pads down the steps, wet hair hanging off her bare shoulders.

My father’s gaze pivots to hers and even in the midst of a fight, I see the fire in his eyes as he regards her. Even after all these years, he adores her. A part of me wants that so badly. Growing up with the most perfect, loving couple is damned intimidating. Even if I had the opportunity to date, would I ever find a love like theirs?

One thing is for damned sure, I never will if I don’t leave the safety of these four walls.

I heave out a breath and drop down onto the couch. “Fine, I’ll meet with the candidates, but if I don’t like them, I’m not doing this.”

Mom steps closer, andPapà’s arm instinctively curls around her waist. I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it. He draws her close, nostrils flaring as if he’s breathing her in. It’s gross and sweet, and my heart aches a little more for what they have.

Steeling my resolve, I grab the books littering the coffee table and press them against my chest. “Let me know when the men get here, I’m going to get dressed.”

CHAPTER 3

HANDLE THE PRESSURE

Isabella

“Are you married?” I stare at the quiet man in a black suit seated across the conference table in my father’s office. He casts a glance out the window before returning his wary gaze to me. The imposing King Industries skyscraper towers over Midtown Manhattan, making it the perfect spot for my father’s seat of power. The city sprawls out around us, the frenetic hustle and bustle completely drowned out by the thick glass windows. Refusing his eye, I glance down at his resume, scanning the black font. He’s worked for a number of high-profile families, renowned senators, wealthy businessmen and even a famous pop star.

“I am,” he finally replies, drawing my gaze back up to meet pale green eyes. “Happily, for ten years now.”

Internally, I groan. I can’t be responsible for making his wife a widow if something goes wrong.

“Kids?”

He nods again. “Three actually, the little one just turned five.”

I rise abruptly, knotting my arms across my chest. “Thank you for coming, but I don’t think it’s the right fit.”

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