Page 4 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

I acknowledged Ritchie’s point of view. Marrying a woman and starting a family in our line of work was a precarious tightrope walk, teetering on the precipice of vulnerability.

CHAPTER THREE

A VISIT TO THE SOUTH SIDE

CATCH

Later that afternoon, I monitored Bianca’s neighborhood. I noticed Tori’s neighborhood was just a step below Bianca’s. Tori’s house was the nicest on her block.

Men patrolled Bianca’s street like it was the fucking U.S. border. They had a system. Those living in the neighborhood drove or walked to their homes. Non-residents parked their vehicles and visited friends and family as well.

Where it got interesting was when a car halted at the corner in front of the abandoned liquor store. They were probably looking to score drugs. A man holding a little oblong black speaker directed the person to different positions within the block. He’d step back from the car and yell out a signal to one of his men. The guy returned to the vacant store, resting his foot on the brick wall, bobbing his head to the music bellowing from the speaker. Then the cycle continued.

This was Man-Man’s territory. I had to hand it to the guy. He had a smooth operation.

I circled the block a few times within the hour to get an idea of how many men were working the neighborhood.

After parking my truck, I holstered my weapons in my waist holsters, placed silencers in my tan colored cargo pants pockets, then exited the vehicle. I felt the corner boys’ eyes on me. That wouldn’t deter my visit to Bianca’s. Probably should’ve worn a bulletproof vest under my t-shirt today. I was in dangerous territory. Adjusting my mirrored aviators on my face, I checked traffic, then strolled across the street. The heat from the sun beat down on my black t-shirt clinging to my body. It was late August. The sound of kids’ happy screams hung in the air. Many of the children darted through water sprinklers in their front yards. I smiled as I admired the kids enjoying the summer heat.

My visit to Bianca’s home would raise suspicion. The corner boys would wonder if I was a cop. I didn’t dress like one. My attire today was more combat related. I had no clue what I was walking into. Didn’t make sense to wear a suit. Maybe next time I’d wear my mafia attire.

My knuckles rattled on the black screen door. The brick bungalow was in good condition. Her family took care of their property.

An older woman with chestnut skin swung the door open. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders.

“Yes. How can I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, is Bianca home?” I smiled as I removed my sunglasses.

I knew she was here. About thirty minutes ago, I watched her carry groceries into the house. I didn’t assist because I wasn’t finished monitoring the neighborhood.

She raised an inquisitive brow. “And you are?”

“Catch,” I replied as I hung the arm of the sunglasses on my t-shirt.

“Bianca, someone’s at the door for you,” she yelled through the house.

“Coming,” I heard her reply.

“It’s best I don’t say your name, or her brothers will come running to the door.” She gave me a thorough glance from head to toe. “And you don’t want that.”

Telling her I wasn’t worried about Bianca’s brothers would get us off on the wrong foot.

“Are you Bianca’s sister?” I asked.

A little charm never hurt.

She smiled wide, placing a hand on her chest. “No, I’m her mother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Landry. It’s clear Bianca gets her beauty from you.”

I pulled the deed to the house and found out the owners’ names: Mila and Eric Landry.

Mrs. Landry chuckled. “Well, thank you. But I don’t want to take all the credit. Her father helped too.”

We both laughed.

Bianca appeared next to her mother.

---