Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lance
I shift my gym bag from one shoulder to the other while I fight with the door lock. You would think such a basic task like this wouldn’t be a big deal, but I’ve been distracted all night.
A parrot? Who the hell picks that as their favorite dinosaur? A psychopath, that’s who. Or a genius. Or the cutest person in the world. Most likely a horrifying combination of all three.
Yeah, that’s what she is. Her dark hair curled from being in a bun all day, and those leggings and baggy tee shirt. Oh, come on.
This isn’t going to be a problem. I won’t let it. I am a professional.
Who lives with his boss.
Alana sits on the couch, legs all criss-cross style, with milk dripping from her spoon as she brings the marshmallows and frosted coated oats to her face. “Dinner of champions, I see.” Tonight, cereal. This weekend, dinner with billionaires.
“How did it go?”
“Joey threatened to kill me, and Donnie was his usual mature self.” I pause for a second. “Hey, what’s your favorite dinosaur?”
“Sharks.”
“Those aren’t dinosaurs.”
“They aren’t quitters.”
I shake my head and drop my gym bag in my bedroom. After hopping in the shower and changing into track pants, I return to the living room. She’s watching a behind-the-scenes making of season one of her favorite show, The Knights of the Night . She’s read all the books. I thought the show was fine—high fantasy, lots of men without shirts, and a complex magic system—just not really my thing. It seems like a huge waste of money. The budget for each episode was ten million dollars. But Alana only allows herself one hour a day for herself, dedicating the other twenty-three to work or sleep, and if this is how she wants to spend it, so be it.
Midge is in my spot on the couch. “Move, you abomination of science.” The cat whines as I pick her up. She’s a stubby-legged cat with a flat face and cropped ears. Her white and gray fur sticks to everything in the apartment.
Alana lifts her cat and plants it on her shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Midge. He wishes he was as cool as you.”
“I don’t need stairs to get on the couch,” I mumble.
Alana rubs the cat’s chin, and the purrs sound like roars. “You’ll need to take one of the armored SUVs for the day. Don’t forget the booster seat for Maria.”
Yay, daycare duty. “Who’s in charge of cleaning out all the fruit snacks these kids are shoving in the leather seats?”
“You are. So save yourself some time and follow the protocol. Rule 1: no food in the car.”
That makes sense. Kids don’t need to eat, do they?
“Rule 2: keep the music appropriate for kids.”
These children are the third and fifth generation of various crime families. They’ve seen and heard worse than a song dropping the F-bomb.
“Rule 3: keep your distance.”
I didn’t mind being around kids, but I don’t want one of my own. My dad bailed when I was younger than Drew. I have no idea how a father figure works other than gleaning the basic understandings from Brooklyn Nine-Nine .
I can’t do my job and be boyfriend or a dad. And that’s fine for now. The occasional hook-up is fine by me. I pride myself on my professionalism. I am an executive protection agent.
I nudge her shoulder, and the milk in her bowl sloshes around, nearly spilling over the sides. This earns me a dirty glare, but I ignore it. “I know the rules. I was there when you made them.”
She watches me for a second, like she’s peering into my soul. “The Four Families are counting on you to protect their future.” I’m about to give her a snarky comment, but her face changes. “They’re in danger. They’ve pissed off The Deviant, and he’s already retaliated on the Russians and the Mexican Cartel. It’s only a matter of time before he goes after the Italian and Irish mobs too. Isabella is a weak link.”
“Izzy. She wants to be called Izzy.” I don’t know why I interrupt with this fact, it just sort of comes out.
Another glare from Alana, and she continues, “The Deviant and everyone trying to get Majesty on the streets will exploit her. This is so much bigger than carpooling.”
I’ve heard this all before. I know the drill. But what Alana says next chills me to my core.
“If you fail,” her silence hangs like a noose around my neck, “we’ll have to go to war. I’ll stand beside you and fight, but we won’t win.”
Message received. Failure means death. For me. For Alana. And for Izzy.