Her Mafia Bodyguard

ZEKE

This is so goddamn boring.

I have to keep telling myself how much worse things could be. I could be out there wondering where my next paycheck’s coming from. I could be stealing, or worse, in prison, all because I was trying to find a way to put food in my mouth at the end of the day.

When I look at it that way, sitting in this lecture hall, lurking around in the back like I’m not supposed to be here—which I’m not, really—is a pretty cushy gig. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Especially when I have to sit here behind Mia and watch her every move. Do I technically need to follow the way her fingers fly over her laptop keys? Do I have to notice every time she shifts her weight, every time she twirls a strand of hair around a finger as she’s listening to the instructor? Her father didn’t order me to trace the curves of her body with my eyes, either, but that’s exactly what I’m doing this morning. She’s so fucking tempting. Right in front of me, and I’m not allowed to touch. How much self-control is a man supposed to have?

It’s been ten days since we got here, ten of the longest days of my life. Only the constant reminder that her father is watching, paying attention to everything she does, keeps me centered. He might not be living with us, but he looms large.

I wish I could tell her how bad I felt about the money situation. I don’t think it’s fair any more than she does. I even considered taking money out of the ATM so she could have some cash to carry around, but I have no doubt her father would have me on the phone within an hour, demanding to know why she needed to take money out. For a guy with all his wealth, he’s pretty fucking stingy.

It’s all about control. That’s all he knows. Mia doesn’t understand him the way I do. He didn’t come from some wealthy family any more than she or I did. The Morelli family was low-level back when he was a kid, existing on the fringes of the more powerful players. Morelli’s old man had a talent for being in the right place at the right time and knowing how to make himself useful. In our world, being useful is right up there with being faithful. If you know how to contribute and can keep your mouth shut, you have it made.

Bruno followed in his father’s footsteps and capitalized on the foundation he put in place. Now he’s the big shot, the one controlling all the other families, thanks to his control of harbors up and down the coast. Not to mention his hold on too many shady businesses for me to keep track of. Prostitution, drugs, even trafficking. I know he has a hand in all those things—we don’t have to sit down and have a chat about it, but I do have ears. I’m observant.

And he won’t even let his daughter use her own bank card.

“It’s to keep her safe,” he told me when we were finalizing a few details before leaving for good. “This way, nobody can track her activity.” I was a split second away from asking if he’s really that worried about her. If he honestly thinks somebody would be that determined to get to her as a way of getting to him. It’s paranoia; it has to be.

But can I take that chance? She drives me out of my fucking mind, but I’m not a child. I know why she makes me crazy, and it’s not because she’s a brat or because she stomps around and pouts when she doesn’t get what she wants.

It’s because I can’t have her. Because I want her more than I want oxygen, and I know she wants me, but it can’t happen. I hate her because it’s easier than hating myself.

The sweet scent of her shampoo and the perfume she spritzed on this morning does things to me no woman has ever done with both hands and her mouth. I’m rock-hard, grateful there’s a desk covering my lap. There’s nothing for me to do but stare at her, imagining how she tastes. How I would make her come on my tongue while her long, slender fingers tangled in my hair. How she’d moan my name until her voice broke.

And then, I’d take her. I’d break her down with every stroke into her tight little pussy. I’d be her first, and I’d make her remember it always. No man would ever measure up after what I’d do to her. The thought of it makes me smile to myself, even though my straining cock is trapped in an almost brutally uncomfortable way.

A quick check of the time tells me I only have a few minutes before class ends, so I need to get myself together. The memory of my last job before Mia came to live with the boss is enough to defeat me. What a clusterfuck that was. For all I know, it could be the reason I was assigned this bullshit detail in the first place. Payback for dropping the ball and almost getting some of the family’s top men killed in the process. Everybody makes mistakes—at least I can say it was one of the very few I’ve made while working for Bruno Morelli.

Of course, people start getting their shit together before the instructor is even finished talking. One thing I’ve noticed about Mia: she waits until class is dismissed. She knows how to be polite, unlike these spoiled little shits. Half of them slump down in their seats and fall asleep during the lecture, for fuck’s sake. They can’t even be bothered to pretend to give a shit. It’s enough to make me want to ask them who the hell they think they are and whether they think they could survive five minutes in the world Mia and I come from.

I’d remind them how lucky they are, too, but the truly lucky never appreciate it.

Mia closes her laptop and slides it into her bag before standing. Right away, I notice the way a few of the guys nearby admire her ass. One of them, in particular, sets my teeth on edge. He’s always wearing pajamas and the same knit cap, always looking like he just came in from a party or from some girl’s bed. I bet if I got close enough to him, I’d smell pussy on his breath. And he thinks he has the right to look at her? To even be in the same room?

“Hey. Can you hear me?” Mia snaps her fingers close to my face, startling me out of staring at the douchebag, who’s now slinging a backpack over one shoulder.

“Don’t snap your fucking fingers at me,” I warn. “I am not in the mood.”

“Like you ever are.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I said your name, like three times, and you were too busy staring into space. What do you even do, sitting here all this time?”

“I pay attention to the instructor, obviously.” I follow her to the door close to my seat.

“Maybe I should send you to class instead of me on the days I don’t feel like going.”

“Right. Like I would leave you home alone.”

“Of course not. What was I thinking?” She’s hardly paying attention to what she’s saying, though, too busy watching a group of girls getting together outside the lecture hall. They’re all on their phones, laughing about something, and she can’t hide her sadness.

“Come on.” I tuck a hand around her elbow and pull her down the hall. “You know your dad doesn’t want you making friends with just anybody.”

“He doesn’t want me to make friends with anybody, period, and you know it.” Her heavy sigh threatens to work its way into my sympathy. “Why am I even here? What’s the point?”

“To get an education, obviously. Be glad somebody is looking to foot the bill.”

“Do me a favor and never say that again. I don’t need you to guilt-trip me.” We emerge from the building, stepping out into sunlight bright enough to make me reach for my sunglasses. At least it’s a pretty campus, the sort of thing you see in movies about rich, preppy kids. A bunch of guys is playing football on a grassy field in the center of the buildings surrounding it, and a cluster of girls are sitting around watching and laughing and taking video.