Page 53 of My Broken Bodyguard 2: Ritchie & Tori

RITCHIE

THE BIG GUY PAYS A VISIT

Sitting across from my father in the comfortable office felt foreign. I was a bodyguard. Not a boss. Dad’s grin widened as his gaze swept the office space.

“This is a nice office, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Are you still a bodyguard for Luca?” he asked. Concern morphed on his face.

My fingers tingled as they slid through my hair. “Considering his woman fled on my watch. Yes. He refuses to let me go. He’s given me some time off. I’ve been gone for a while. Catch was sent to keep an eye on me. Not sure what Luca and Marco thought I’d do. Kill myself.”

“Son, you pride yourself on being the best at whatever it is you put your mind to.”

I nodded. My father knew me well.

“I’ve made peace with your role as a bodyguard for the Espositos.”

A smirk hit my lips. My father and Catch’s father felt we should’ve become bosses for the Pituccos or even beater a boss under our fathers’ last names Toscana or Rizzo would’vebeen ideal. Not sure grandfather would’ve gone for our families branching out. But then again, maybe he would’ve agreed if it meant he’d get a cut of everything. It didn’t matter Catch, and I chose differently.

Callum’s father was disappointed when he became a bodyguard, but my own father accepted my decision–he cared more about my happiness than his own ambitions.

In the back of my mind, I still felt like I let him down. Even though he never said so.

The glint in his eyes as he took in the office told me a piece of him wished my position as boss came true.

“Archie told me you were here,” he said as he brought the glass of Scotch to his lips.

I told him not to call my father.

Because my father was an only child and practically raised himself, my grandparents loved him like he was their own. Dad was a hard worker. There was nothing my grandfather loved more than a hard worker.

Dad became a fixer for the mafia. He fixed several political problems for grandfather before my cousin took the mafia throne.

Dad still fixed problems for the Pituccos. Which was why I called him.

The girls had finished torturing Daryl and Reece less than thirty minutes ago. When Dad and I approached the office fifteen minutes ago, he asked, “Is that bleach I smell?”

“Yes,” I responded, nodding to the door across the hallway.

He smirked. Dad knew what that meant. We were torturing those who crossed us.

“If you called me, it must be bad. You wouldn’t call on me otherwise. Why is that?” his brow arched as he stood.

My father casually walked over to the bar, his tailored gray suit fitting him perfectly. Dad always took pride in hisappearance. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was dating anyone. We hadn’t discussed relationships in years.

“Because deep down I think you wish I became a boss,” I responded.

He held his glass high. “Want another?” he asked in a thick New Jersey accent.

“Yes,” I answered.

Dad shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about that in years. This office is a statement. It says power. The memory of that moment in time resurfaced.” He strolled toward me and placed the glass in my hand.

“Ritchie, remember that you can always come to me for help.”

His words filled me with comfort. I looked up at him and nodded. “I won’t hesitate, Dad.”

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