Page 8 of Ruthless Guardian

“Aunt Jia got me a job in Milan for the summer. With Dolce & Gabbana!” she squeals the last part. “It’s only temporary, but if things go well, I could be moving to Italy permanently.”

“Are you serious?” I leap up and pull Serena into a hug. Working for a top fashion house has been my cousin’s dream for as long as I can remember. She attended the Fashion Institute in New York, just like our Aunt Jia who has her own clothing line and multiple boutiques across Manhattan. Jia is a fashion goddess as well as the head of the Four Seas, one of the notorious gangs of the Chinese Triad. It’s a long story, but Serena has always idolized her despite our turbulent relationship with her kids, our cousins, Alessandro and Alessia. “That’s incredible!” I shout as I spin her around. “I’m so happy for you!”

“I know. I am beyond excited. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

We finally stop spinning, and a hint of sadness sneaks between the joy. “So when do you leave? And how long will you be gone for?”

“I fly out in two weeks, and I’ll be gone until the end of the summer. At least.” The corners of her lips quiver. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, Bella.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re going to be living a fabulous life in fucking Milano, while I’m stuck here in mafia princess dungeon. What am I going to do without you?”

“You’re going to hire that sinfully gorgeous bodyguard so you can come visit me.”

I roll my eyes. “Papàwould never allow it, even if he did trust the guy.”

“Well, one thing is for sure, you definitely won’t be able to come without a guard. So do it, Bella. Just pull the trigger and pick one.”

Pull the trigger… Frankie’s bloodied form floats to the surface, and that guilt squeezes the air from my lungs.

Drawing in a breath, I push the grisly images to the far corners of my mind where I keep them tucked away. Instead, I turn my thoughts toPapà’s favorite quote by the great Romanemperor Marcus Aurelius.It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.

I refuse to be that man, or woman in my case. My life may be predestined as the heir to the Kings’ empire, but it doesn’t mean I won’t do my damnedest to try to live it. Or Frankie’s sacrifice would be in vain.

“You’re right,” I heave out. “I’m going to do it. It’s time to start living again.”

CHAPTER 5

MY DAMNATION

Raffaele

Fuck. I stare up at the soaring high rise across the street that houses the headquarters of King Industries, cursing first in my head then out loud. I keep the obscenities I grumble in Italian to avoid the pious old ladies climbing up the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I’ve been sitting here like acoglione, a total asshole, all morning waiting for a call back after that interview with Isabella Valentino yesterday. Which makes no sense at all. I could have just as easily waited in the crappy motel in Queens. But then if she’d called, it would’ve taken me an hour to get here. And for some reason, that seemed too long.

Isabella Valentino.

The woman I’d seen at The Velvet Vault over a month ago. The woman who had left such an impression, I’d scoured the web until I found out who she was, which was what had compelled me to interview for this position to begin with.

My eyes slam shut in an effort to block her image from forcing its way into my mind, but since yesterday, she’s beenfront and center once again. Why the hell had my cock leapt up like the damned Statue of Liberty at the sight of her?

I tear into the hot dog clenched in my fist, more ravenous beast than man. My temper boils at my own stupidity. I’d promised myself long ago I would never get involved with a client. I had made the mistake early on in my career, and it had cost me everything. A swirl of pain threatens its way up, but I take another bite of the lukewarm hot dog and swallow it down along with the incessant ache.

Now I have a strict policy. If I find the principal even remotely attractive, I walk away. It’s as simple as that. Then why can’t I seem to force myself off this step? I should have told her I wasn’t interested right there on the spot. Instead, I was on autopilot spouting out the usual interview jargon.

Sure, Isabella Valentino is beautiful with those soulful sky-blue eyes that seem to pierce right into your darkest depths, but beauty isn’t an unusual commodity to come across among the millions of women in Manhattan. But the reaction I’d had to her was primal. Despite my cool façade, I’d been overcome by the most insane urge to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder and find a cave to drag her into. And fuck her senseless.

I’ve lost my damned mind. Maybe all that time in the Middle East really has messed with my head. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the VA docs mentioned it. I run my hand through my wild, dark hair and heave out a sigh. Perhaps joining the Army after years with the special forces unit of the Italian Carabinieri wasn’t the smartest move ever.

The nightmares still linger, even now, years later. And I never want to go back. Private security is the only way forward, and this job babysitting the Valentino heir would have been perfect. If I proved myself guarding the great Luca Valentino’s daughter, it would be no time before I’d get into thecapo’s good graces.

But damn, that woman… That smart little mouth and those feisty comments. She was testing me already. Normally, I’d have no problem keeping my dick in my pants but there is justsomethingabout her.

A gleaming white Escalade stops at the light, the sun catching against the mirror and nearly blinding me. I glance up as it makes a U-turn, and the very blinged out vanity plate catches my eye.Principessa. Princess in Italian. Definitely not subtle. The corners of my lips twitch as I follow the SUV, first with my gaze and then with my feet, as it pulls up in front of the King’s tower.

I dart across the street just as the crosswalk countdown begins. I sprint the last few feet and reach the sidewalk before a black BMW streaks around the corner and nearly runs me down.Motherfucker. Spinning at the asshole, I prepare to unleash a storm of my best Italian profanities when the familiar glint of the barrel of a gun peeks from a window.

“Get down!” I shout just as a guard slips out of the front seat of the parked Escalade and jerks the back door open.

Isabella slides out of the car, and my heart kicks at my ribs. “Gun!” I yell again, and this time, one of the guards reacts. “Black BMW!” I just grit the words out before shots explode over the cacophony, and the crowded streets of downtown Manhattan explode into chaos.

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