7. A Lethal Combination
CHAPTER 7
A LETHAL COMBINATION
R affaele
Those piercing eyes bore into the side of my face, but I refuse to meet them, keeping my ever-vigilant gaze fixed on the rooftops surrounding the penthouse balcony. For multiple reasons. One—the principessa has been glaring at me incessantly from the moment I arrived today and informed her we were not ready to leave the confines of her parents’ home yet. And two—because she’s wearing a goddamned skimpy bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination. And trust me, I’ve got a fucking fantastic imagination.
As it is, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes on the neighboring buildings searching for potential threats. This is exactly why I never should have agreed to this job.
Way too much temptation.
Not to mention distraction.
And in a job like this, it’s a lethal combination.
“You know, the whole reason I hired you was to get my life back. So that I could once again feel free to roam the bustling streets in the greatest city in the world.” She pulls the ear pods out, depositing them in the small container, and Taylor Swift’s latest hit blasts across the balcony.
“Oh, really? I thought you hired me to keep you alive.” I shoot her a smirk, and she replies with a scowl. Even frowning, those pouty lips are so damned tempting. Shaking off the thought, I keep my eyes on hers instead of allowing them to drift down to the perfect swell of her breasts.
“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”
“No, not necessarily, once I’m certain you’ll follow my rules.”
She sits up, swinging her legs around the lounger to stare up at me, those brilliant blue eyes ever challenging. “I’ve never been much of a rule follower.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Eyes up, coglione .
“What can I do to speed up the process? My cousin, Serena, is leaving town next week, and I’d like to spend some time with her before she goes.”
“Invite her over here.”
“Serena will be gone from the city all summer. She’s not going to want to spend her last few days cooped up in my parents’ apartment.”
“As if this massive penthouse is the worst place to be…” I grumble. It’s a damned good thing the principessa acts like a spoiled little brat sometimes. It helps to remind me we have no business ever being together. “And anyway, I thought the point was simply to spend time together.”
“It is, but I’d also like to go back to some sort of semblance of a normal life.”
“The curse of being a mafia princess.”
She rolls her eyes at me, and damn, I wish I could fuck that naughty streak right out of her. She has no idea what that look of pure defiance does to me. Growing up the way I did has instilled a certain set of preferences in my sexual appetite. Not only do I stick to the hard and fast rule of no strings attached, but I also enjoy a little pain with my pleasure. It takes a particular type of woman to put up with it, and there is no doubt in my mind that this little princess would never agree to any of it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I remind myself this entire mental argument is moot because I vowed never to involve myself with a client again.
“Surprise!” A shout has my head spinning over my shoulder like the god damned exorcist. A dark-haired male stands in the doorway, at least he does for the fraction of an instant I allow it, when the glint of a concealed weapon catches my eye. I’m moving before my brain can process it. I lunge at the guy, wrapping my arms around his as we crash to the ground.
He lets out a grunt as I twist his arm around and pin him to the marble.
“Raf!” Isabella screams, but I can barely hear it over the roar of my thrashing heart. Crimson taints my vision, pure darkness seeping into the edges. More screams ricochet through my mind and for a second, I can’t distinguish the past from the present. “Let go of him! That’s Matteo, my cousin.” The words blur into an indistinct haze. Once I release the monster I keep hidden beneath layers of practiced charm, it’s difficult to force him back into his cage of self-restraint. “Raf! Let go!” Dainty fists batter my back, jerking me from the brink of total meltdown.
“Give me the gun first,” I growl.
“Yeah, sure no problem. Damn, relax, dude.”
With my palms flat against the floor on either side of the cousin, I push up giving him an inch of space so I can relieve him of the weapon. Once my hand is around the sleek grip, I toss it across the marble floor.
“Now can you get off me, please?” Matteo grumbles.
I glance over my shoulder at Isabella who’s shooting daggers from those sweet baby blues. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, you Neanderthal! I told you he’s my cousin.”
Pushing myself off the floor, I offer Matteo a hand and haul him up along with me. “He still shouldn’t be able to stroll in here with a weapon.” I cast a glare at the guard stationed by the door before I pick up the gun. It looks like I’ll have to retrain the entire security team. Rule number one in Raffaele’s guide to ultimate security: trust no one.
The guy’s lips twitch as his eyes swing between us. “Guess you weren’t exaggerating, cuz. He is a little overprotective.”
“A little?” she squeals. “I haven’t been able to leave my home since he started!”
“I told you, I need to ensure you will follow my rules before I’ll risk your life out in the open.”
“Oh, for the love of Dio !” Isabella drags her hands across her face before propping them on her hips, which only draws my attention to her sexy curves, then her bare torso.
“And put some clothes on, signorina . You have company.”
Taunting me, she sashays toward the guy and hooks an arm around his shoulder. “This isn’t company . This is my cousin Matteo Rossi. If I don’t fire you first for driving me crazy, you should probably memorize his face. He’s going to be over here a lot.”
“You might as well send him pics of the whole dysfunctional family.” The young Rossi lifts his broad shoulders.
I’m no fool, I know exactly who he is. Before securing the interview, I’d done my research on the entire Valentino-Rossi clan. It doesn’t mean I’ll allow a guy with a gun near my principal, no matter whose blood flows through his veins.
“He may not be here long enough.”
I snort on a laugh. “Your father has already congratulated me on my tireless efforts. I doubt he’s too eager to see me go.”
“Of course he isn’t. He’d be thrilled to have me a prisoner in this penthouse just like he did my mom all those years ago.” Shaking her head, she throws her hand up. “Forget I said that. Now, can I have a moment of privacy with my cousin? Don’t you have some obnoxious list to make or something?”
I chuckle again, because the girl’s got balls. I’ll give her that. She doesn’t find me the least bit intimidating like some of my past clients. Then again, I’ve never worked for the mafia. She’s probably seen her fair share of daunting men.
“Of course.” I stuff the gun in my pocket and tick my head toward the kitchen. “You’ll get this back when you leave, Matteo, and I’ll be right over there if you need me, signorina .”
She rolls her eyes again, and my palm twitches. Dio , what I wouldn’t do to spank that perfect ass. “So kind of you to give me so much space.”
“Rule number seven: stay close to the mafia princess at all times.”
“In public or unfamiliar settings,” she barks back, and I’m impressed she’s taken the time to read over my protocols.
“ Especially in public or unfamiliar settings,” I counter. “That does not exclude familiar settings.”
“You’re completely pazzo .” She’s not wrong. You do have to be a little insane to be effective in this sort of position.
“And that’s exactly why I’m so damned good.”
Isabella spins on her heel, toting her cousin with her for the ride. My gaze trails her retreating form, the slender yet proud set of her shoulders, the slim waist and those curvy hips. That indecent bikini is going to send me to an early grave with a devastating case of blue balls.
Get her out of your head, coglione . Not only is she your client and the daughter of a notorious mob boss who’d rip your cock off if you laid a finger on her, but she’s also nearly ten years younger than you. She’s a baby, and you have no right corrupting her.
Dio , but she’d taste so sweet.
From across the great room, I keep my eyes pinned to her, on the animated movement of her hands as she tells a story, on the way the corners of her mouth hitch at her cousin’s jokes, in the insatiable spark of life in those darting eyes. Because it’s my job to watch her. Liar .
As she chatters happily with her cousin, those sky-blue spheres occasionally flicker in my direction. Each time our eyes meet, that smile flips into a frown. Good. It's better if she dislikes me, sees me as too rigid, and resents my strict rules. In the end, it will simplify things for both of us.