Her Mafia Bodyguard

He returns to the bar cart, chuckling wryly. “How did you get so smart about this shit? Were you paying attention during class?”

“Yes,” I admit, struggling to suppress the need to knock him on his smug ass. “But that’s not all. It’s living with her. I had to learn how her mind works so I could anticipate her reactions.”

He’s quiet for a moment, pouring himself a drink, not looking at me. And at that moment, I think, is this it? Is this where he finally realizes the mistake he made sending me to Blackthorn Elite with his only daughter?

“Since you know her so much better than I do,” he murmurs before replacing the bottle of bourbon, “what happens next? I can’t have her blurting out shit like that tonight at dinner, that’s for sure. We have a few hours to get her to come around and agree to behave herself.”

Right, because no matter what, nothing will stop his arrangements. He used the word contract, and that’s not a word that gets thrown around carelessly in our world. Agreements have been made. Expectations have been set. I highly doubt the Rinaldis would be understanding if they found out the bride-to-be got cold feet.

“I’ll go and talk to her,” I suggest. “Maybe I can get her to come back downstairs.”

He snickers, looking at me like he wouldn’t want to be in my shoes for anything. “Didn’t she just say she hates you?”

“She’s said it at least once a day the past four months.” His laughter is like nails on a chalkboard. How can he sound like that? Not only did his daughter find out her father is head of a major crime family, but she then learned he sold her to a stranger. And he can laugh. Now I do wish he had never found her. I hate to think of her struggling, but the alternative is so much worse.

“Go ahead. We have to try something, I guess. Keep in mind, time is of the essence.” I give him a quick nod before leaving the room as quickly as I dare. I don’t want to break out into a full run and look too suspicious.

What am I supposed to say? There’s nothing I can say, and that’s the truth. Nothing she’ll want to hear.

Except for one thing: we have to get out of here.

It’s clear, finally. So obvious, I don’t know why I ever thought differently. There’s no way of getting her out of this except for physically extracting her from the situation. Hiding her. I have money; I can stash her somewhere. Nobody ever needs to know.

Sure, she’ll spend the rest of her life on the run, but what’s the alternative? I shudder to think. There’s no guarantee her husband wouldn’t make every minute of her life agony. And what are the chances of him making her happy? If he was raised by a man anywhere near as calculating as Bruno Morelli, I wouldn’t put money on Eric being a gentleman. Or even giving a shit about Mia beyond how she looks, how tight she is, and how many healthy babies she can give him.

As if I would let that happen. I was the world’s biggest asshole to ever think otherwise.

“Mia.” I bang on the door with the side of my fist—I wouldn’t want anybody overhearing me being quiet or gentle. “Open the door. We need to talk about this.”

I didn’t expect an answer. Everything on the other side of the door is silent. Maybe she’s in the bathroom.

Immediately, my mind goes to a dark, ugly place. She wouldn’t, would she? She’s too smart for that. But if the alternative was being forced into marriage with a stranger—after finding out where her father’s money comes from in the first place? Anything’s possible.

I grab the keys from my pocket and shuffle through them until I find the one for her bedroom door. I’ve never had to use it until now. “Mia, tell me you’re smarter than this,” I mutter as I jam the key into the lock. I throw open the door and go straight for the en suite bathroom, hoping against hope.

It’s empty. I check the shower, even the linen closet. She’s not in here. I let out a shuddering breath, grateful for that at least.

But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t done something else. Something equally drastic.

The first clue that she has is the absence of personal items. The vanity drawer is open and most of its contents are removed. Nothing in the shower, nothing on the sink. I saw her bathroom back at the condo enough to know this isn’t how she does things. She would have immediately spread out and gotten comfortable, especially knowing she had an event to get ready for tonight.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I step back into her bedroom. The closet door is open, a couple of the dresser drawers. Empty. There’s a pair of socks on the floor, some underwear strewn over the bed.

Like she was in a hurry.

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, shaking my head, but the evidence is all around me. “Not alone. You wouldn’t do this.”

When I spot her computer on the desk, it’s like a gleam of hope. She wouldn’t leave that behind. She’s practically tethered to it. Then again, if she was running away, she might be afraid of being tracked. I’m sure the fear of tracking kept her from doing a lot of things.

Like finding out who her father is…

Who the hell put it in her head in the first place? Where did she find that information? I know she’s been curious, but why now? What brought this on?

I flip open the laptop and use her password to unlock it. Principles are out the window at this point. It’s not an invasion of privacy when all I want is to understand, to make sure she’s safe. The first step is finding out what made her look up the family.

She was automatically logged out of her school email account after being inactive, but the login screen is up. She’d flay me alive if she knew I had that password, too.

She got an email today from Dean, that asshole. Is that what this is about? I growl at the sight of his name, noticing she’s read the message. I click on it, and there it is—links to articles, pictures, file after file.

He did this. He gathered a bunch of shit about the Morelli family. I should’ve taken care of him when I had the—

Wait.

I take a closer look, squinting at the screen. That can’t be right. I must be seeing things.

I’m not. It’s here in front of me. It was there all along. I never saw it. I never thought to look.

And now, everything makes sense. He didn’t send her these files to seduce her or brainwash her into running away with him. Something a lot more sinister is at play.

My sins have finally caught up with me—but Mia is the one in danger of being punished for them.