Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Client Relations
Marco
I’m about ten minutes into my drive to the hangar at Teterboro airport where Chiara’s private jet is scheduled to touch down when the call I was expecting breaks through the house beats set to lullaby volume levels instead of blasting like I’d normally have them due to the hangover I’m nursing.
One too many scotches with the boys seemed like a good idea at the time, and especially while I was texting with Sophia, but not so much in the harsh light of day.
Silence would have probably been the smarter option—one of many—but music has always been my escape.
It’s why I still like to occasionally DJ at Bella Donna.
I can quiet the noise of expectation to others and the responsibilities—sometimes life or death—that come with my position at Vault Enterprises.
I’m free to lose myself in the beat and the melody.
Hitting the accept button on my steering wheel brings me back to the present with a thud.
“Son. How are you doing? I’ve been trying to reach you, but considering you redirected your calls to Avery, I’m assuming you had a good reason for not wanting to be disturbed.”
“That’s very insightful, old man,” I say with a chuckle.
But I don’t divulge my current assignment.
I don’t usually make a habit of keeping details from my dad, but I know in this instance I need to get a read on Chiara and what I’m dealing with before alerting the cavalry that I’ve taken another job with the Gigioliotti family as a personal favor to my silent business associate.
So, deflecting, I steer the conversation back to neutral territory.
“You and Mom made it to Mexico safely, I gather.”
“Oh yes, safe and sound. No drama, thankfully. But it seems I can’t say the same for you.”
Or not. Instead, we wade into another part of the murky waters that is my cluster-fuck of a life right now.
He leaves the statement open-ended. His way of enticing me to tell my version of events, because I’d bet my left nut, he’s already gotten the Patrick Princi version of “the drama” with a side of fury and f-words.
Their friendship is a testament to the theory that opposites attract.
Where Patrick flies in guns blazing, fingers pointed, and opinions formed, my dad assesses the situation with a level head.
Weeds out the facts from hearsay before forming a theory and acting on it.
“Let me guess. You heard about the dinner from hell?”
“More like woken in the middle of the night by a raging madman who assaulted my eardrums. It basically went something along the lines of, ‘Tell your son my daughter’s career needs to be her number one priority, so this is not the time for her to be distracted by thoughts of a relationship.’”
I snort at the audacity.
“This seems a bit rich coming from a man who organized a party like a fucking episode of The Bachelorette to find some lawyer bro he deemed worthy of a rose. Sophia can make her own decisions.“ If Patrick gets a whiff that I’m further wrapped up with AJ, there’s no doubt he’ll make good on every single threat.
As a security professional, listening to my gut is an instinct, and it’s screaming at me to play my cards close to my chest.
“I hear you, son, but he’s still her father and she’ll always be his little girl. Try and get Sophia to talk to him and smooth things out. At the very least for my sanity. Cause now I’m the one who got to put up with his ranting and raving.”
“He’s being unreasonable as fuck. But for the record, she has in fact put a pin in things to focus on her career. So, you can tell Patrick mission accomplished. I gotta go.”
“Things have a way of working out, son. Just keep your head on straight.”
Not a chance when a brown-eyed, pouty-lipped goddess I now have a taste for infiltrates every corner of my mind and body, is what I want to say. Instead I keep my cool and go with a more conciliatory answer.
“Memo received loud and clear.”
I hang up as I pull into the parking spot in the location listed on the details AJ sent me just as Chiara’s private jet touches down.
I watch as the door opens and stairs are let down.
Then I watch as the woman I’ve been entrusted to keep safe takes center stage at the top of the stairs.
She’s wearing black suede fuck-me boots over black leather leggings, a black turtleneck, and a gray mink coat.
There’s a small black camera case strapped across her chest, and she’s carrying a large Chanel tote.
Her dark hair falls around her shoulders.
The red stains her lips like a warning: Danger Ahead.
I get out of the car and put my coat on to keep the chill out. It’s freezing this morning. I get clearance to approach and help with her luggage.
“Good morning, Miss Gigioliotti. My name is Marco, and I’ll be your driver during your stay here. How was your flight?” I curl my hand over the handle of her large designer luggage, taking it from her so I can wheel it over to the car.
She’s a pint-sized thing, even wearing those boots. She looks me up and down, and I don’t miss the way her bright green eyes flare in surprise. Or the way her eyes linger on my chest for a beat longer before lifting her chin and returning her gaze to my face.
Holding out her gloved hand for me to shake, she speaks assuredly.
The rasp of her voice startles me. “First, you can call me Chiara. Second, when my cousin told me he’d hired a driver, I was expecting an eighty-six-year-old fossil, hard of hearing and probably losing his eyesight.
But you’re young, fit, and fine as fuck.
Either there’s been some mix-up, or he must really trust you. ”
Hmm, she’s perceptive. I must stare at her a beat too long because she adds with a pop of her shoulder. “I said what I said. You’re going to learn fast, I have no filter.”
I didn’t interact with her at all while we did the job for her family a few years back, so she doesn’t know that’s my connection to her cousin.
For the most part, my team and I remained in the shadows, monitoring the family’s every move, ready to intercept and act at any sign of trouble—something I sense follows this spitfire, as AJ so aptly described her.
“I assure you there has been no mix-up. I have 20/20 vision, and my hearing is sharp as a tack,” I say with a wink and a sly smirk. “AJ asked me to take you to meet him for brunch, and then I’ll drop you at your hotel.”
“Oh, about that…” she says, a sly grin spreading over her pretty features, eyes twinkling. “There’s been a change of plans; I’m staying with a friend over on the Upper East Side. I’ll give you the address when we get in the car.”
I groan inwardly. Only five minutes into this situation-ship and the fun and games have begun.
I school my features and nod my head in acknowledgement.
“There’s a hot almond latte with hazelnut syrup, and sparkling or still water.
I wasn’t sure what you preferred. If you like baked treats, there’s fresh pastries in the center console,” I tell her while opening the door so she can get settled in the back.
Once she’s comfortable, I go to close the door, but not before she pins me with a sultry look.
“Hmmm, insanely hot and thoughtful. A fucking treat indeed.”
I shake my head with a small laugh. She’s flipped the switch, completely intent on unnerving me. I pop the boot and slide her luggage in, grateful for a few more moments in the blistering cold.
Before sliding into the driver’s side, I fire off a text to Avery to update him that we have a change of address situation and to be on standby for the new address. It’s imperative we have eyes on Chiara her entire stay, which means I will have men stationed nearby to monitor her movements.
I slide into the driver’s seat and turn to face her. “What’s the address of where you’re now staying?”
Taking out her phone, she opens it up and reads out the address, lifting her head to give me a sweet smile completely at odds with the mischief in her eyes.
Fuck. My. Already fucked life.
I am all too familiar with the address she gave me.
It’s the same one I have on file for another Vault Enterprise client, Belmont Media heiress Arabella Belmont.
Gorgeous, intelligent, charismatic, and a walking red flag disguised as a darling of New York’s social scene.
I can’t give up the ruse, so I simply nod and make a show of plugging the address into the navigation system and saving for later.
Then I check the traffic and fire off a quick text to let AJ know we’re on our way over to meet him.
“There’s a little bit of traffic this morning, so it will probably take about forty minutes to get back to Manhattan to meet your cousin,” I inform her as I move to put the car into gear.
I go to hit the gas when I feel a tug on my sleeve. I turn my body halfway to find her leaning forward, phone in hand.
“Would you mind pairing my Bluetooth to the car so I can keep listening to my audiobook? My headphones died, and it just got to the good bit. I must know what happens.”
“Not a problem,” I say, taking the phone. Before I can completely turn back, she gently clamps the medallion on my gold necklace between her thumb and forefinger. She turns it over to look at the back and front.
“Nice necklace, by the way,” she says nonchalantly, though the tone is at odds with the suspicion lacing her gaze.
“Thank you. It’s special to me,” I say, tucking it away under my shirt where I usually keep it.
She simply hums to acknowledge my answer.
Holding my gaze in the rearview mirror, her cherry red lips pulled into a smirk, she slowly slides her black cat-eye sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.
The audio connects and suddenly the very distinct, loud moans of a woman fill the cabin.
I soon learn, between the breathy pants and moans, that this “good fucking girl” called Charlotte is being railed by not one but two—wait, three!
—guys, who are explicitly detailing how they’re going to fill every hole.
I choke on my own saliva as Chiara giggles excitedly and claps her hands in glee.
“Fucking finally! Get all the dick, girl!”
I’m no prude, but what in the actual fuck is this girl listening to?
As though she can read my thoughts, she chimes in. “I’ve just gotten into Why Choose romance books. This one is perfection! Three morally gray college hockey players with chiseled six-packs and big hockey sticks,” she says, winking at me. “Charlotte, the lucky bitch, gets to have them all.”
The ringing of my cell cuts through the audio.
Thank you universe and all the gods. I’m in a permanent state of semi-hard hell thanks to Sophia.
Audio porn is the very last thing my blue balls need.
Raf flashes on the screen on my dash above the navigation, telling me he’s calling from his office.
Which also tells me his call is all business.
I also missed his calls earlier while I was on the phone with my dad.
Whatever it is can wait another hour. The last thing I need is whatever problem he’s going to lob into my lap.
I’m already drowning in them. I cancel the call.
But he calls back again. This happens three more times before Chiara snaps.
“Please just answer the call!” Her bark is loud, but her bite lacks ferocity.
Instead, the command comes out raw. Almost pained.
I can’t see her eyes behind her designer shades but checking my rearview mirror I note she’s statue-like.
Back ramrod straight with fists balled and resting on her knees.
The woman who was clapping her hands in glee moments earlier is gone.
“You just never know when it will be the last time you talk to someone who means something to you,” she says softly. “Trust me. You never want to feel the stab of regret for choosing not to answer a call.”
As if right on cue, the ringing starts back up. This time I don’t hesitate.
“Raf, brother, where’s the fire?”
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for fucking hours.”
“I’m with a client, just headed back into Manhattan. I’ll call you back.”
“No. You can do better than that. Come to the office as soon as you can.”
The line goes dead.
“Mmmmmmmm. Big Bad Raf can huff and puff and boss me around until he blows my house down any day,” chimes in Chiara brazenly, having shaken off the dark cloud.
Bemused, I shake my head. “Well, he clearly has a knack for eating people for breakfast.”
“I’d happily let him eat me for breakfast.”
I choke on air. Again.
“What do you think my cousin will say if we stand him up and you take me to meet this Big Bad Raf instead?”
Fuck me. I’m convinced she really is a devil in disguise.
Meeting her taunting gaze in the rearview mirror, I don’t hold back. “I’d say we’d both be playing Russian roulette with our lives.”
She purses her lips and lets out a knowing harumph. We both understand that AJ might like me, but he’d also have no problem hurting me if he had to.
Something tells me it’s going to be an eventful few weeks.