Page 37 of Fierce Protector

I’m not sure what’s more disturbing. Having a stalker or being disappointed because you don’t know who it is anymore?

When I thought it was Danny, the notes and the flowers never felt particularly threatening. I could write them off as some kind of misguided infatuation. I was never truly terrified before because I couldn’t reconcile that a man as caring in his work at the hospital would ever be a real threat to me. Now Marcus has confirmed that this latest stunt wasn’t Danny, suddenly I’m looking at every note and text in a far more unsettling light.

For the first time since this started, I’m genuinely worried.

I woke up this morning to a barrage of threatening messages. I’d only managed to read the first few before Stefano took it from me. With every swipe of the screen,his expression darkened, only adding to the growing unease settling in my bones.

Fear is like a poison. It infiltrates your system. It’s insidious, slowly interfering with everything until it incapacitates its victim.

Never in my life have I allowed anyone or anything to control me, but when I think about leaving the house, there’s this feeling of anxiousness that gives me pause—and I hate it. It’s like an ill-fitting bra. I can ignore the discomfort, but it makes life uncomfortable.

As the morning continues, it’s like witnessing every bubble I’ve constructed in my life burst. Suitcases and boxes arrive, delivered by Stefano’s men. It’s not like he’s arranged for everything to be delivered to me, but it’s hard to escape the very literal representation of my life being decompartmentalised for me. There’s a constant stream of people in and out of the house. If they’re not delivering my things, they’re reinforcing Stefano’s security.

Things start to feel like too much when I go to open the front door and there’s now a security detail stationed by the front gate. Stefano’s turning his, up till now, very private sanctuary into a fortress. For me.

I can’t deny the way that realisation washes over me, soothing me like a balm. I turn back into the house and go in search of him. It feels slightly intrusive to have all these people in his house with us. Before now, we’ve existed in an almost private bubble, and it feels odd to share the time we have together with the people who work for him. But as he said last night, he’s the Bianchiconsigliere, and it’s not like I haven’t known this my whole damn life.

However, if one more of his crew asks me if there’s anything they can do for me, like they haven’t knownmemy whole damn life, I’m going to stab them with something sharp. They’re treating me like some sort of delicate flower and not the doctor who pulls bullets out of them when they do something stupid.

I’m about to open the door to Stefano’s office when the front door bursts open and a familiar voice booms through the foyer.“Katerina Elena Mancini. You come out here this instant and explain why I’m only finding out today that my only daughter is in danger.”

Shit.

A sheepish-looking Stefano steps out of his office and I don’t waste any time jabbing my nail into his shoulder, punctuating each word with a sharp jab. “You fucking told him over the phone.”

“No… He went to your house and found Marcus packing up your things,” he says with a grimace. This is less than ideal, and Dad is going to be livid at being kept in the dark.

“Oh, that’s just fucking great,” I whisper shout. “Well, under the circumstances, I’m holding you to our deal. I tell him about the stalker, but you’re on your own when it comes to us.”

His face lights up the moment I utter the word ‘us’ which makes it really hard to maintain my angry face. I reach up on the tips of my toes and steal a kiss before taking his hand without thinking and pulling him to the front door. As we round the corner to greet my father inthe entryway, I fully comprehend my mistake. I drop Stefano’s hand, but it’s too late. He catches the motion and his expression flits from one of shock as he meets my gaze, to one of pure fury when it moves to Stefano.

It takes three strides for my world to implode.

“Mother. Fucker.” My father shouts with the first step forward. He draws back his fist with the second, and after the third, he punches his best friend so hard his knuckles crack, and Stefano’s nose breaks.

There’s a part of me that wants to jump in and put a stop to it. However, they’re both grown-ass men and they’re big enough to fight their own battles. I step backwards, giving them room to hash it out. There’s a slightly comical moment when several of Stefano’s men run in to deal with the threat against their boss, but when they realise the threat is my father, you can see the struggle as they try to figure out if they should intervene. When they look to me for guidance, all I can do is shrug because what can you do? Although technically Stefano outranks my father, not one of the men here is going to try and tell a capo they don’t have every right to punch the man that’s fucking his daughter.

It's almost comical when you think about it.

My father lurches at Stefano, who is cradling his nose, and knocks him to the floor. Dad wastes no time straddling Stefano’s chest, gripping him by the front of his shirt, and hoisting him off the floor. Stefano doesn’t struggle, seemingly accepting of whatever wrath my father wants to unleash on him.

“How could you? I trusted you!” he screams intoStefano’s unflinching face. “She’s my fucking daughter. You watched me raise her.”

My father glares down at him, disgust etched in the lines on his face. The weight of his disappointment in his best friend shatters something inside me. “I love him, Dad.”

Two sets of eyes snap to mine, one filled with joy, the other shock, but both are filled with love.

I turn to the audience we gathered for this live-action soap opera and raise an eyebrow before waving them off. “I’m sure you’ve all got jobs to be getting on with,” I say, channelling my inner mafia wife. There’s a brief pause where they look to Stefano, who simply dips his head once, dismissing them. My father’s grip tightens before shoving Stefano back to the ground and hauling himself off of him.

My heart sinks when my father refuses to meet either of our eyes and walks towards the living room muttering, “I need a fucking drink for this conversation.”

I hold out a hand to Stefano, who takes it and flashes me a roguish smile. It’s difficult to pull off ‘dishevelled yet sexy’ with blood dripping out of your nose, but he somehow manages it.

“You love me,” he whispers.

“That’s not how I wanted to say that for the first time,” I reply, glaring at him.

“I don’t care how or why you said it,micetta.Just that you said it.” He tries to kiss me, forgetting his nose is broken and letting out a grunt of pain when it bumps against mine.

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