Chapter 2
What the hell is she doing here?
My shift guarding her was over hours ago.
Sophia fucking Orsi is not my problem for the next twelve.
I'm here for a different assignment. Damn Rufus for being lax.
I should call his lazy ass over here and have him pick her up.
If our boss, Carlos, gets wind of his precious daughter hanging out at this club, he'll have both Rufus and me skinned alive, which will probably be easy compared to what he'll do to Sophia.
At the very least, I should grab her royal pain-in-the-assness and take her home.
Instead, I'm here, watching her from the shadows like I always do.
I don't know what it is about this girl that has me all hot and bothered at the same time.
Some irrational protective instinct, maybe.
It's not attraction. Until a few months ago, she was jailbait.
I don't look at underage girls. I don't look at women under twenty-five, period.
Ever since I was assigned as Sophia Orsi’s bodyguard two years ago, my life has been one long, slow descent into hell.
At first, I thought it was a reward—an upgrade.
Being on the protection detail for the princess of the Orsi family?
I was stupid enough to think it meant trust. Prestige.
Hell, maybe even a step up in the ranks.
Turns out, it was a curse wrapped in a promotion.
A purgatory with lipstick and heels. Sophia and her friends have been tossing me flirtatious glances since the moment I showed up in a black suit and earpiece.
Sixteen-year-old girls playing games they don’t understand, batting lashes like it’s some private joke.
Some men might’ve seen it as an ego boost. I saw it for what it was—an ambush. A goddamn trap.
Their giggles? A migraine waiting to happen.
Their teasing? A loaded gun with my name carved into the bullet.
I’ve tried everything—brushing them off, scolding, ignoring them, pulling the cold, hard-ass routine.
Nothing works. They have a bet going. I heard them talk about that—it's not like they're being subtle.
The winner gets to see who can bring the bodyguard to his knees first and wear his leather jacket.
And the worst part?
They don’t care. Not about what it would mean.
Not about the bloodbath that would follow if I so much as looked too long in their direction.
If a nobody like me ever laid a finger on one of the capos’ daughters—even if it was them doing the chasing—I wouldn’t just lose my job.
I’d lose my skin. My teeth. My heartbeat.
But Sophia… she’s different.
Not in the obvious ways. She’s a brat like the rest of them—mouthy, entitled, thinks the world revolves around her.
But there’s something in her eyes when no one’s watching.
Something sad. Something sharp. Something that hits too close to places I’ve buried deep.
That’s the part that makes her really fucking dangerous.
Because I don’t want her like that. I’m not that guy.
I’d never touch an underage girl. Never even thought about it.
But I feel something. Something I don’t know what to do with.
Something that grows stronger every time she slams a door or rolls her eyes or calls me a glorified babysitter.
It’s not lust.
It’s something worse.
It’s the beginning of caring. I know that if I’m not careful… It’s going to be the end of me.
Tonight was supposed to be my chance to move up in the ranks again, to stop being nothing but a glorified babysitter.
Tonight, I'm supposed to off some jackass who thinks he can encroach into the family's territory without asking: Gerald Moody, the owner of this bar, and a pain in the ass to my boss.
Rumor has it that several high-profile socialites have vanished from this club and that Gerald is holding them in one of his whorehouses.
It's not that human trafficking isn't done by La Famiglia, but that's the point.
It's not done without La Famiglia's consent, and Gerald failed to obtain it.
No one cares about my opinion, but for the record, killing someone who thinks selling humans, especially women, is okay?
That’s something I’d actually pay to do.
I stare at the dancefloor and blink my eyes a few times, but the girl in the tight black dress that exposes way too much flesh is still Sophia.
The bane of my existence. The curse that follows me everywhere—into my thoughts, even my dreams.
She's too young for me to even notice. I'm almost ten years older. But I have noticed, especially on nights like tonight. I see the way she moves like a runway model and the way her clothes hug her long, slim body. She’s got curves in just the right places and the waist of an hourglass.
Her long, glossy black hair is set in curls, cascading down all the way to her hips.
A mirrored pillar by the dancefloor gives me just the right cover to keep staring at her body moving sensuously to the beat of the music.
Fuck, I must really be some kind of pervert, because my dick is hard as a rock.
It's not helping in figuring out what to do next.
How to get the girls out of here and finish my mission.
The easiest way would be to call Rufus and have him come get them.
I'm just about to lift my phone from my pocket when I notice another girl sidling up to Sophia, her silent laughter visible only in the curve of her smile as the speakers drown out her voice. She leans in, says something to Sophia, and gestures toward a booth in the corner, where a guy is slipping into the seat beside the rest of Sophia’s group.
I only catch a quick glimpse, but it's enough.
The kid looks just like what the girls would be fawning over.
Probably twenty, maybe twenty-two. Blonde hair that looks too messy to be an accident.
A wide smile on a charming, all-American guy.
He looks like a fucking Ken doll. Even from here, I can see that he's high on something.
I narrow my eyes and push away from the column. I don't like this.
A waiter approaches with a tray filled with shots.
I know all these girls. I was just cursing them earlier.
They're Sophia's regular gang. Guiliana DeLuna starts to pull Sophia to the booth, where Isolde Sartori and Camilla Giordano sit, staring at the unknown man, hanging on every word he's saying.
The principessas of La Famiglia, daughters of four of the five most powerful capos in New York City.
So this is what Sophia was up to. I should have known.
She must have snuck out and… I take another step forward as I watch Guiliana drag Sophia the rest of the way to the table.
I can't hear a word being said, but I don't like the way Romeo Blondie is sitting with them at the table. Casually, he drapes an arm around Camilla while he drinks in Sophia as she approaches, an appreciative smirk sprawled across his face.
The girls each take one of the shots, and so does Ken doll.
That's enough. I pull my phone out to call Rufus.
Let him deal with this mess. I have other worries.
Namely, my target, Gerald Moody. As if I had called Beetlejuice three times, the fucker materializes as if out of thin air, followed by two other men.
Change of plan. Rufus is not who I need; it's time to put in a call to Nestor, Carlos's second-in-command. He’s so far up the food chain that I don't think he even knows my name.
However, this situation requires not only immediate attention but also the regard of higher-ups.
If I had Carlos's number, I'd call the boss myself, but he makes a point of ignoring the lower made men in his organization. Men like me.
I’ve spent years as nothing more than a shadow in this world—raised to be useful, never important. Raffael the soldier, the disposable weapon. And yet here I am, about to step into something that could put me on every radar in La Famiglia.
It's too late, though, shit's about to go down. The three men approach the table of giggling girls, all too smitten with the attention of the Ken doll lounging with them. One flashes his weapon; it's subtle, but the message is clear. The giggling stops, and the girls stare from one to the other.
Sophia drives her hands to her hips. I still can't hear her, but the words are as clear as if I were standing right next to her: "Do you have any idea who we are?"
Gerald laughs and grabs Sophia by the arm, and I see red. I start moving forward before I can catch myself. I'm already halfway there when I force myself to stop. Not in here. Too many witnesses. I grind my teeth. Gerald laying his hands on her is more than I can take.
The two other men approach the table and grab the remaining girls by the arms and force them to get out of the booth, moving toward the back exit.
My anger is near a boiling point. Why hasn't anybody made these girls understand how much danger they're constantly in?
That losing their bodyguards is not a game?
Shit, I'm going to have to go in blind to stop the girls from being trafficked. I have no idea how many more men Gerald has waiting outside, at least one, I’d bet, a driver.
But there is no time to call for backup; they wouldn't arrive in time to stop this.
I could follow them on my bike and call in the location, but the risk of the girls being moved while I run to where I parked is too high to entertain.