Page 3 of Her Dark Mafia Protector
“Eh, you never know when trouble might erupt,” I shrug casually as I carefully watch for his reaction to what I’m about to say. “They say there’s aGhostassassin around. Best to be overly cautious, especially in big, prominent crowds like this one.”
Vincent is a master at keeping a poker face. ButIam a master at reading people. Even their slightest morsels of body languageare things I can pick up on instantly. Which is why I notice the tiny shift in his eyes as he answers me and pretends not to have the slightest clue what I’m talking about.
“The Ghost?” he chuckles as he holds the door open for Isla and me to walk through. “More rumors of fictional men who don’t actually exist. Be careful not to fall into the trap of becoming obsessed with chasing fairytales.”
“Of course,” I smile politely.
Vincent and Isla take their seats in the church pew to watch the ceremony, and I take my place at the side of the cathedral to watch the crowd. His words are meaningless to me because there isn’t a chance in hell that I’m going to stop chasing down the mystery assassin who kills in the shadows and perhapssometimeseven saves lives, too. It’s too late for me to rein in my investigative instincts and relentless determination. I am consumed with profiling him, hunting him—not to bring him in, but tounderstand him. I want to know what makes this guy tick, and if he is the same man who was with me in the alley the night my mother was killed, I want to knowwhyhe did what he did. And I don’t care if everyone, ranging from my former therapist to Las Vegas’s mafia casino kingpin Vincent Moretti himself, tells me that thisGhostis a myth. I know better.
Somewhere in the shadows of this wedding, maybe even sitting in one of the pews, the Ghost could be watching.
And if he is—then so am I.
And when our paths cross again, neither of us will walk away unchanged.
CHAPTER 3
NICO
“You sure that inviting the Ghost was a good idea? We don’t even know whose side he’s on.”
Vincent’s voice is quiet enough that no one else in the cathedral can hear him whispering to Luc as the two of them stand at the front of the church before the ceremony begins. ButIcan hear everything. Part of what makes me such a lethal killer is my ability to use my heightened senses to see and heareverything. My targets never see me coming,or leaving,for that matter. And currently, my “target” is the conversation that the two of them are having, which gives me no pause in walking right up to them. These are skills that allow me to hide in plain sight.
“Congratulations,” I say to Luciano as I extend my hand.
Neither of them saw me walking up behind them, and it’s clear from their unsettled expressions that they are now both wondering how much of their conversation I’ve heard.
“Thanks,” Luc says, shaking my hand. “But technically, I’m not marriedyet.”
“I'm going to take that as my cue to go find my seat,” Vincent says as he excuses himself. “Good to see you, Nico.”
“Likewise,” I nod. The pleasantries are standard. I never trust standard, though. To be fair, I never trust anything oranyone.
“Thanks for coming,” Luc says once it’s just the two of us standing together. “Honestly, I’m surprised that you accepted the invitation. I know how rare it is for you to make a public appearance.”
“No offense, but I didn’t come to celebrate your wedding. I came to make sure that Valentina and the unborn child are safe. You said you’d send her to me, and you didn’t. She was almost lost.”
“Yes, I know that, but circumstances changed, and I madeadjustmentsto the plan.”
“Brave,” I say. “And also likelystupid. You took a gamble with the life of the woman you love, and with your unborn child. I never would have done such a thing.”
“Well, lucky for you, it wasn’t your decision to make.” Luc’s words are tense now. He doesn’t like being confronted, but it was necessary. When someone asks for my help and my involvement, I don’t take it lightly when they change course midstream, especially not when innocent lives are at stake.
“Well, I should take my place at the altar now,” he says as the music begins to play. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
“Of course,” I say, taking a step back toward the side of the cathedral. “My congratulations again.”
Luc stands smiling at the altar as the doors at the front of the church open and Valentina begins her walk down the aisle. From the shadows, as always, I stand in the cathedral’s cornerand watch. She looks lovely, an ivory flurry of lace and billowing satin and flowers as she walks toward her waiting groom, more like waddles due to the growing child in her belly. But it’s notherthat catches my eye—it’s the woman standing at the back of the church, her insatiably curious hazel eyes scanning the crowd as if she’shopingto find something at the edges of the event. Perhaps something likeme.
I can see her slipping back into obsession again. I’ve spent years watching Elle Monroe from afar, keeping my distance for good reason as she tries to hunt me down in this game of “cat and mouse” that the two of us have been playing foryears. She doesn’t know who I am. To her, I’m only a namelessGhostand the obsession that keeps her chasing at my heels. But I know whosheis, and that is exactly why I’ve kept my distance all this time.
When the music stops, the priest begins the ceremony, and I sink further back into the shadows until Elle’s eyes can no longer see me here. I watch as vows are exchanged and the guests in the pews whisper things that only I can hear. Some comment about how lovely the ceremony is, while others are busy scheming their next moves. Family, business, or both connect everyone in this cathedral. I, on the eve of my thirty-fourth year of life, am the exception. I make a point ofnotbeing involved in the lives of these people. I choose willful withdrawal, emotional detachment, and a life lived in the shadows, avoiding connection, responsibility, and purpose— when the world seems as if it is burning around me. Perhaps it’s a flaw of mine, or maybe even asin, the type ofsloththat keeps me from acting when others would. But I embody it by staying hidden and refusing to engage. Distance equals safety. The bigger sin would be what I coulddoto the people around me if I wanted to.
I was born in Russia, raised there for all of my formative years, and trained to be a lethal assassin, skills which I used as a Bratva operative and one of the most ruthlessfixersMoscow had ever seen. When I left Russia and moved to the States, I transitioned my skill set to serve as an underworld enforcer. And although still a bloody job, I have found my time in Vegas to be much less brutal than my days in Russia, the days that garnered me several notable scars along my hands and forearms. Scars that I’ve tried to tattoo over in order to cover up my violent past, but that still visibly persist to serve as reminders of all that I came from andwhoI have become as a result of what I have done and endured. Not all ghosts do the haunting—their own past, guilt, loss, and regret also haunt some. As the ceremony continues, my eyes drift from the bride and groom and all the ornate gold filigree and stained glass encapsulating this moment of sacred union, toher—Elle Monroe.
I vividly remember the night in the alley where someone shot and killed her mother, as if it happened yesterday. She was so young then, and even now she’stooyoung for me, if I ever wanted to let myself grow attached to anyone, which Idon’t. But yet I’ve held an almost consuming fascination with her from afar since first laying eyes on her. She’s smart—too smartfor her own good. I’ve done my homework about her, and I’ve kept an eye on her since that night. Her file paints the picture of a brilliant psychological profiler, able to analyze and predict complex behavior with an admittedly astonishing accuracy rate. I wonder if that’s true. I’ve also heard that she’s fearless in the face of danger, which doesn’t surprise me since she had the guts to chase after me that night in the alley. I’m not so sure that I would consider that trait an asset, though, especially not when she regularly places herself in peril just to achieve somemisguided, purpose-driven sense of justice or closure. Those are the kinds of fool’s errands that get you killed.
The whispers about me are true, at least in the sense that I’m everywhere, see, and hear everything. I’ve heard from Elle’s colleagues that she’s defiant and independent to a fault, that she refuses to rely on others, especially authority figures, and often goes rogue without permission from her superiors. I suppose that’s not a surprise considering that she’s Hale Monroe’s daughter. That detective is about as corrupt an asshole as you can get, playing both sides of the law and twisting it to his advantage. I don't doubt that Elle’s mother shielded her from much of that while she was alive, and then after her death, Elle likely grew up emotionally isolated. How could she not, with a father like Hale Monroe? It’s men like him who are the real sinners, hiding behind a badge while looking the other way when atrocities are committed just so they can line their pockets.
