Chapter Two
Conor
This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in the company of someone who didn’t want protection.
Most of the people we’re commissioned to serve as bodyguards for are wealthy celebrities and the children of politicians who are often convinced their parents are just paranoid.
Well, that is until they find themselves kidnapped and in the back of a white van with snot and tears running down their faces.
It is, however, the first time I’ve found myself alone with someone who hates me for who I am rather than what I represent.
No, I bet Arianna Marino has no problems with bodyguards. Just this bodyguard.
And the thing is, I could have said no.
When Roarke called me about finding a bodyguard replacement for a client, my head was buried deep in case files.
It took me a while to realize the client who needed protecting was Arianna Marino.
The evil twin. The same one who always seems to give me the stink eye on the rare occasion we find ourselves in the same room.
My brother was uncharacteristically worried about the account—not just because Matteo Rossi is our biggest client, but because Elena, Roarke’s wife, is Arianna’s cousin.
Family, in other words. And we don’t let family down.
As someone who’s worked in this industry for years, I could have easily assigned one of the dozen people we have on call for this type of emergency and pushed the responsibility of protecting the evil twin on them.
But I didn’t.
When Matteo Rossi first hired our firm to protect the Marino women, I was surprised.
Matteo Rossi is the don of one of the most powerful Italian mob families in all of New York City.
He could have easily gotten his own men to do the work, but he chose us and paid a shit ton of money to ensure we got our best people on the job.
My brother and I handpicked each bodyguard for the girls.
We could have just as easily found a replacement for Arianna’s bodyguard, but Elena pleaded with me to personally take the job.
The thing is, I don’t work in the field anymore.
I’m an investigator now—I dig into backgrounds, track down threats, and connect dots that other people miss.
I do it from the comfort of my office, not from some cramped little camper van.
I don’t squeeze into a tin can and travel with a woman across the country who clearly doesn’t want me there.
But the terrified look on Elena’s face—a woman convinced her cousin would somehow end up in the hands of a serial killer—coupled with Roarke’s unwillingness to hire someone else for the job, pushed me into taking it.
And now, here I am.
I take my eyes off the road to study the girl who seems to hate my guts.
Arianna is stunning. This close, I can see the light highlights in the tips of her short blonde hair.
It’s cut to a perfect bob and frames her face so beautifully.
Her eyes are the clearest blue that seem to change with light and mood—sometimes a bright vibrant azure, other times a softer, more gentle hue like when she’s talking to her sister.
My eyes drop to her tank top, one that reveals the perfect curve of her breasts and the warm tan on her skin.
She wears beauty differently from the other Marino women.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re all beautiful women, so I suppose the Marino gene must be strong, but they’re also so…
delicate. In the way they look and speak.
Arianna doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve.
At least not as openly as most people I’ve met before.
She doesn’t allow herself to be vulnerable in public, and after spending considerable time watching her vlogs, I’m more certain of that.
Hell, I’ve watched her navigate tricky situations—crowds that got too close, strangers who didn’t understand boundaries—and still maintain her cool, defend herself when forced to, and know when to walk away from a situation.
To prepare myself for the trip, I watched a few of her videos online.
I was surprised that her channel had nothing to do with materialism, fashion, or makeup as I had suspected.
No one watching her would think she came from money with how down-to-earth her videos were, focusing on exploring parts of the city or trying things that many are often curious about but are too nervous to try.
It was interesting watching her do something as simple as trying new food trucks or going rock climbing in the Adirondack mountains—a trip she gifted herself on her eighteenth birthday.
When the camera is rolling, she becomes a completely different person, and now, I can’t help but wonder what she’d look like beneath me.
Would those blue eyes still flash with defiance?
Would that sharp mouth soften when I kissed it?
Maybe something else? Would she glare at me as I touched those perfect tits covered in that little tank top?
How much of her defenses would she drop with my cock buried balls deep inside her, slamming into her tight little pussy and giving her pleasure?
Fuck, I can already see those twin gemstones going hazy as I grab hold of her hair and slide my cock into that gorgeous mouth. ..
Fucking hell, where did that thought come from?
I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably in my seat when I realize that I’m hard. And no, that’s not a fucking good thing. I’ve never gotten hard around a client before. Not while she was my direct responsibility, at least.
What the fuck?
“Are you hungry?”
“What?” My eyes shoot to hers, half convinced I’ve voiced my thoughts.
“Tilly made some cookies and brownies and, well, basically everything,” Arianna says, breaking the tense silence that’s been heavy in the van for over two hours. “You can grab some, if you want. Or whatever.”
“I don’t like sweets.”
She snickers. “That explains a lot.” I hear her murmur to herself before turning to me. “If you don’t typically like sweets, you’ll change your mind when you taste my sister’s pastries. Absolutely no one makes them like she does.”
There’s pride in her voice when she talks about her sister. She had the same look on her face back there, and I was almost convinced that she’s actually sweet and not the evil twin who glares men into submission.
“Alright, I’ll try one,” I say, reaching for the basket and taking out a bag with a chocolate chip cookie inside.
I decide one won’t hurt, if only to be polite.
But the second my teeth sink into the chocolate cookie and the flavors flood my taste buds, I realize that I’ll not be stopping at just one.
It has a chewy center and a crispy edge that balances perfectly with the sweet and salty flavors.
This has to be top-grade chocolate because it doesn’t have the overly sweet and waxy aftertaste of the cheap stuff.
Before I know it, I’m reaching for another cookie before I finish the first.
“So? What do you think?” Arianna says, briefly turning to glance at me with a rare smile. “Good, right?”
“It’s…fine.”
Arianna rolls her eyes at me before reaching into the bag for a cookie, then turning back to the road. “You don’t have to eat them. More for me, I guess.”
And the van falls back into yet another bout of awkward silence, and for the next hour, we don’t speak unless we have to.
We stop for lunch in Pennsylvania at some diner advertising authentic Philly cheesesteak sandwiches.
I try to fight down the irritation when Arianna whips out her phone and starts filming without so much as a warning.
I question if part of my irritation is because of the bright smile she has for the camera as she shows off the sandwich and the small mom and pop diner—a smile she hasn’t once given me.
“What’s so interesting about a sandwich that you need to share it with the world?” I ask once she’s done filming, biting into mine. Sure, it’s a nice sandwich, but it’s still just a sandwich.
Arianna glares at me, and I’m certain she’s not going to answer until she does. “My channel is all about having experiences and sharing them with people who might not otherwise have the opportunity to,” she says, biting into her sandwich.
She’s quiet for a while as she eats. “I know I’m privileged in ways most people are not.
My parents made sure my sister and I would never have to work a day in our lives if we didn’t want to.
Tilly chose to become a baker, and she makes people smile every time they taste her pastries.
And I chose this...traveling and exploring life.
So I try to make a positive impact everywhere I go.
By tomorrow, this place will be filled with people coming to try this sandwich, and what do you think that does to the business owners?
” She looks down at her sandwich, and a ghost of a smile slips through.
“Small businesses like this one—they live and die on word of mouth. If I can send a few hundred people their way, that matters. I bet some of my viewers have probably never thought of stopping at a place like this, so this might be the nudge they need. It’s a small thing but. ..ugh, why am I even telling you this?”
Because she’s never had anyone to talk to about it. It’s clear to me, by how she speaks, that she’s always wanted to share her interests—justify them. And fuck, why wouldn’t she feel the need, with fuckers like me being prejudiced about every person who whips out their phone to record in public?
“It’s an admirable thing you do,” I say, and it’s clear that my words take her by surprise as her eyes shoot to mine. “I mean it.”
“Yeah, well…it’s whatever,” she says, looking away. Clearly flustered by the praise.
“Alright then, finish your food. I’m driving the next leg of the trip.”
“What? But I said—”
“Don’t you need to post the video you just filmed?” I ask, polishing off my sandwich.
“I mean, yeah, but—”