Page 1 of Ruined By Protection
CHAPTER 1
THREE YEARS AGO
Matteo
Isip my scotch and wait for the Mexican guy to finish explaining why we should consider buying their cocaine instead of our current supply chain. The meeting's been dragging for an hour now, and he doesn't realize I made my decision twenty minutes in. The Feretti family doesn't change suppliers without damn good reason, especially not when the current arrangement has been profitable for both sides.
"So you see, Señor Caruso, our product is superior and our delivery method more secure." He slides a small sample bag across the table, hidden by his expensive leather portfolio.
I don't touch it. "I appreciate the offer, but we're satisfied with our current arrangement."
His smile falters. "Perhaps if you tried?—"
"No." I keep my voice low but firm. "The Feretti family values loyalty. Our current partners have proven theirs."
The man opens his mouth to argue, then thinks better of it when he sees my expression. Smart choice. Damiano sent meto Austin to handle this meeting precisely because I know how to say no without creating unnecessary enemies. We don't need Mexican cocaine, but we might need Mexican cooperation on other matters someday.
"I understand." He collects his portfolio and stands. "Should your situation change..."
"You'll be the first call we make," I lie smoothly, standing to shake his hand.
After he leaves I settle back into the leather booth, in no hurry to return to my suite. The Remington bar is quiet tonight—just how I like it. Exclusive enough that the clientele knows to mind their own business, dim enough that conversations remain private. Perfect for our kind of meeting.
I loosen my tie while scanning the bar. That's when I notice her for the first time.
She's not the bartender who served me earlier. This one moves with a quiet grace behind the bar, her honey-blonde hair caught in the amber glow of the pendant lights.
She prepares a drink with practiced precision, her slender fingers working efficiently.
The bar's lighting casts golden highlights through her waves as she moves, making her seem almost luminous against the dark mahogany. She's beautiful in an understated way that doesn't demand attention but deserves it anyway.
I find myself watching her hands—delicate but confident as they mix drinks and handle glasses. There's something mesmerizing about the way she works, like she's performing a dance she's known all her life. No wasted movements.
My phone vibrates against the table, Damiano's name flashing on the screen. I answer without taking my eyes off the bartender.
"It's done," I say, keeping my voice low. "They got the message."
"No complications?" Damiano asks, his voice crisp through the connection.
"None. They pushed, I declined. Professional." I take another sip of scotch, watching as she reaches for a bottle on a high shelf.
Her blouse rides up slightly, revealing a strip of creamy skin at her waist.
"Good. We don't need new suppliers or new enemies," Damiano continues, but his voice fades into background noise as I focus on the bartender’s ballet.
She turns to serve a customer and I get my first full view of her profile. Fuck. Her body is a perfect balance of curves and delicate lines. The way her shirt hugs her plush mounds makes my fingers itch to trace that same path. I’m certain she has the kind of ass that would fit perfectly in my hands—round and firm, begging to be grabbed.
"Matteo? Are you listening?" Damiano's voice cuts through my imaginings.
"Yeah, of course." I force myself to concentrate. "The Mexicans won't be a problem."
"Good."
My eyes track her as she leans forward to hear a customer's order, her blouse dipping just enough to hint at what's underneath. I imagine how she'd look sprawled across my bed, her hair spread out on my pillows, those delicate hands gripping the sheets.
She smiles at something a customer says. Her lips are full and naturally pink, the kind that would look perfect wrapped around my cock. I shift in my seat, adjusting myself discreetly.
"The meeting with the Colombians is still on for Friday," Damiano continues. "I need you back by Thursday."
