Her Mafia Bodyguard

ZEKE

She’s up to something.

Here’s the thing about Mia: she’s a smart girl. Very smart. She pulled good grades in high school, even when her life was shit, and she takes her schoolwork seriously now, too. When she’s not studying in her room, she brings her stuff out to the living room so she can have the TV on while she’s going over her classwork. She’s not screwing around online, either—I try to be subtle, but I check on her from time to time, and she’s always typing a report or reading her digital textbooks.

The problem with smart people is sometimes they think they’re smarter than they are. They might get a little full of themselves and assume they can get away with anything because they’re too clever to get caught. If anything, that makes my job easier, the way she practically broadcasts every thought she’s having.

And that means I have to play it smart, too. I’ve never played chess, and I wonder if this is what it’s like. Trying to figure out her next move and how I’ll counter that move.

When I reach the apartment after finishing my workout at the gym downstairs, it’s obvious something’s brewing. For one thing, she’s in the kitchen, making a ton of noise. I creep through the living room after taking off my trainers, making sure to stay silent. It’s like the old days, doing jobs for the boss. Making sure I go unheard as I stalk through the darkness.

Only I never had to sneak up on a girl cooking dinner.

She doesn’t notice me at first, too busy listening to whatever’s playing through her earbuds. Considering the way her head bobs up and down, it’s music, not one of the podcasts she follows. Something with a good beat, too. She’s at the stove, stirring something that smells like onions and garlic. My stomach growls. Just call me Pavlov’s dog. One of the things I learned about in Mia’s psych class.

And when I start salivating, it’s not because of the aroma, more the sight of her ass swinging back and forth. I can’t take my eyes off it. What I wouldn’t give…

She squeals, both feet leaving the floor when she jumps at the sight of me. She rips out her earbuds, and now I can hear the faint strains of classic rock. “What the fuck? Jesus. Are you trying to scare me to death?”

I almost have to shake my head to clear the cobwebs. It’s like I forget how to think when I’m around her. “I live here too, remember?”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. Maybe you could, I don’t know, announce your presence?”

“Maybe you could, I don’t know, not listen to music so loud you don’t hear me coming in? I could’ve been anybody.”

“Believe me. If the alarm had gone off, I would’ve heard it.” That, I can’t argue with. The siren is almost loud enough to make my ears bleed, but that’s how the boss wants it. No chance of her sneaking out unnoticed since half the building would probably hear the alarm going off. Especially since she doesn’t know the code to disarm it.

I take a bottle of water from the fridge, looking over at the stove. “What’s that?”

“It’s going to be chicken and rice, eventually.” Yes, there are seasoned chicken breasts on a cutting board and a measuring cup full of rice next to them.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Could you not make it sound like a big deal that I’m cooking? Somebody has to make sure we both don’t die of massive heart attacks after all the shit food we’ve been eating.” I can’t even argue with that. After that first night, I told myself I would never cook for her again if she was going to be an ungrateful brat. That leaves the option of her doing the cooking or ordering our meals. It’s not like we can’t afford it, but the options aren’t always healthy. This might be an elite college, but kids are kids. There’s only going to be so many options for salad.

She looks me up and down. “So maybe wash off your stink. Dinner should be ready in about half an hour.” She pops her earbuds back in, officially signaling I’ve been dismissed. For somebody who didn’t grow up with hired help, she’s damn good at being dismissive.

Let her think she’s won. I don’t know who she thinks she’s dealing with, but she is way off-base if she figures I’ll cave because she cooked chicken and rice. I take a quick shower and get dressed even quicker. Am I ever going to be able to relax?

Before I’m finished and out of my room, my phone rings. It’s the boss. “Shit,” I mutter, closing the bedroom door partway. I can still look out into the hall in case she’s planning something. Right now, she’s in her room, and I can smell the food in the oven. So far, so good.

I answer the call on the third ring. “Hello, sir.”

“How’s it going over there? I thought I’d check in for a status update at the end of the week.”

“Everything’s status quo at the moment.”

“My girl behaving herself?” I hear voices in the background, vaguely recognizable. He must be in the middle of something. I can see him sitting behind his desk, with his minions doing his bidding. Of course, I know better than to ask since he would never tell me. He only thinks I didn’t pay attention to everything he’s tried so hard to hide.

“She’s doing great. In fact, she’s making dinner tonight.”

“Is she? I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” He sounds like it, too. He sounds practically overjoyed.

“Yes, she’s doing fine. Settling in, all that.”

“You keep on her about things like that while you’re there. That would be a big help.”

“Things like what?”