Prologue

One Year Ago

Orlando

Someone’s watching me.

I feel the heat radiating from their gaze, a warm and intense feeling that stops me in my tracks. A strong presence that envelops me, sending a shiver down my spine. It's strange how I don't immediately seek out the person watching me. Instead, I stand still and let the feeling wash over me.

I am acutely aware of the eyes tracing every inch of my body. It feels as though the person is igniting a fire within me, and the weight of their attention keeps me frozen on the steps leading to the mansion.

Constanzo Lorenzo's mansion. A notorious Italian kingpin and one of my closest friends.

Perhaps this is why I have dropped my guard. Any other place and I would be armed and ready to fire at the person watching me, but I am in no rush to grab the weapon strapped to my side. This is the most guarded home in the city of Moth Hill. Besides, the stare doesn’t feel threatening in the least. Quite the opposite, actually, and this is yet another reason why I am in no rush to take out my weapon.

For someone who is always on guard, I find myself dropping it and soaking in the feeling. Everything in me wants to look up and track down the person watching me, but I don’t want to spook them before I make sense of this strange feeling.

“Mr. Battista?”

I look up to find the housekeeper standing right outside the door, her eyebrows raised in confusion, and I imagine that this is not the first time she's called me. Fuck, it seems all my senses were tuned into the person watching me. I give in to curiosity, lifting my gaze in the direction I imagine the person is standing. I catch a glimpse of long dark hair fluttering in the wind as the person in question ducks out of sight. Goddamn it, I just missed her. I curse myself out for not looking up sooner.

“Mr. Battista, is something the matter?”

I sigh, forcing my eyes away from the balcony. “No, Betty everything’s fine,” I say, turning to the housekeeper. She’s worked with the family for as long as I’ve known them and hasn’t aged a day in nine years. “I’m here to see Constanzo.”

"He is expecting you, please come with me." I walk the rest of the steps up and into the massive house. "House" doesn't begin to cover the place. From the high ceilings and the marble floors that reflect the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging above to the rich dark wood paneling and exquisite artwork on the walls, this place oozes with wealth.

I follow the housekeeper deeper into the house where I catch a glimpse of the sprawling living room where a grand piano sits elegantly in the comer, its surface gleaming. Interesting. This was also not here the last time I visited Constanzo.

It seems much has changed in the last few months, but with the kind of wealth my friend has and with how much he likes flaunting it, I am not in the least surprised by the changes to his home.

I catch the scent of aged whiskey and the faint aroma of expensive cigars wafting from the bar. Betty directs me to a leather chair that sits invitingly in the living room. I get settled and turn to watch her pour me a glass of whiskey, its amber hue catching in the light as she hands it over.

“Thank you,” I say before taking a sip, the smooth warmth spreading through me. Just then, I catch the sound of a door slamming hard followed by shouting and then a crash. I manage to pick out my friend’s raised voice over the noise and I question who the victim of Constanzo’s fierce temper this time is. My bet is on some poor house staff who probably touched his things while cleaning or something equally ridiculous. “Looks like I caught him at a bad time.”

The housekeeper flushes at my words. “He’s in a meeting with his son, he’ll be down shortly.”

"I see," I say, nodding with a smirk. Constanzo and his heir have many disagreements about their leadership methods. Perhaps my friend was hoping to make a crone of himself and mold his son into a ruthless leader, but instead, what came out was a savvy businessman. The two have always crashed on leadership matters, and I don't imagine that will end any time soon.

“I will go inform Constanzo that you’re here.”

“Thank you, Betty.”

I watch her leave the room before settling back on the chair, tuning off the noises coming from upstairs, and my mind wanders back to the gaze I felt earlier. I have been in the security business for twenty years. I was in the military for the first eight of those before starting my own security agency. My senses have always been sharp and on guard. I never ignore an unknown presence or let the feeling last longer than a few seconds before seeking it out.

And yet I did just that. I let it… linger.

Whoever was watching me got their fill with how long I was standing out there exposed. This might be a protected home, but my senses have always been sharp. At thirty-eight, maybe I am getting old, and my reflexes are not what they used to be.

My head whips up when the housekeeper walks back into the room. “Constanzo will be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you, Betty,” I say with a smile. The housekeeper nods and walks out, leaving me alone in the living room.

Except well, I am not alone.

There's that presence once more. That gaze on me that feels like a soft caress one moment and a hot touch the next. This time, I don't let it linger as my head whips to the side, and my breath is stolen the second my eyes land on… her .

Standing by the other door that leads into the room is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. So fucking beautiful she looks like an illusion.

The girl, a flower in every sense of the word, is dressed in a short sundress with long, dark hair falling down her shoulders. Big, brown eyes watch me, blinking owlishly at me and entrancing me with their beauty.

It’s her.

As odd as it sounds, her gaze feels familiar. But it ends there. There is nothing else familiar about this girl. Does she work here? A guest of the family, perhaps? She doesn't introduce herself and my tongue is too heavy to do the same so… we both stay frozen, eyes locked on each other.

My cock thickens behind my fly the longer her eyes stay on mine, and I want more. I want to hear her voice. I bet its soft and sultry and that body, Lord above, I bet it would feel soft against my rough calloused fingers.

I want to touch her.

Goddamn it. I want to do more than touch her but Christ, she looks so fucking young. What is she? Eighteen, Nineteen? That’s two fucking decades younger than me. Freaking jailbait! I don’t do much dating but even I have lines I would never cross, so I force myself to stay still.

“Battista!”

The loud booming voice of my friend rocks through the room and it’s a welcome distraction. I turn around to watch Constanzo walk into the room, a wide grin on his wrinkled face.

“Constanzo,” I manage, placing the whiskey on the coffee table and getting up to greet the man. We shake hands and I notice his eyes cross to the girl standing on the other side of the room.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my daughter already,” he says, completely missing the look of surprise that crosses my face.

“Daughter?” I didn’t realize he had a daughter—he usually only mentions his sons.

I have so many questions, but I push them down, figuring it's not my place to ask them. Constanzo and I are close friends, but our talks revolve around business. He rarely talks about his family and I don't blame the man. He has an older son, Fabian, who he doesn’t get along with and a stepson, Nico, who is the book's definition of a problem child.

And now, a daughter I knew nothing about.

Christ, I bet the man would take out his gun and shoot me right in the living room if he knew I was sporting a hard-on for his daughter. And I wouldn't even blame him.

“Sit, please,” Constanzo directs me, and I nod, settling back on the leather chair. He takes one across from mine, but the girl makes no move to join us. Instead, she stands in the entryway, her shoulder leaning against the door flame. Constanzo doesn’t bat an eye at his daughter’s strange behavior. Instead, he turns to me with a wide grin. “You must be surprised why I called you here.”

Indeed I am. We both know I am a very busy man but it’s no use pointing that out. “I figured you wanted to discuss business.”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s more personal than that.” Costanzo clears his voice and turns his eyes to the girl standing a few feet from us and I follow my gaze to her as well. I notice a slight flush on the girl's cheeks but other than that, there is no other indication about how she feels about having all this attention on her. "My daughter, her name is Arianna. You see, she just turned nineteen a week ago." Jesus Christ! What the fuck does that make me. A creep. That I harbor dirty, lustrous thoughts over a fucking nineteen-year-old! "We have managed to keep her hidden from the public, but it’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out she is a Lorenzo.”

“You want protection.”

It wouldn't be the first time. Constanzo may have manpower, but they are not exactly trained like my men are. Crude power isn't always the best in handling the protection for a family that is practically royalty in this town.

“Not just any protection. I want the best for the youngest Lorenzo.”

“I see.” I rake my mind over the people who work for me, mentally picking the best of my men. "I can work on getting someone to be her bodyguard. Are we talking a twenty-four round protection or–"

“No!”

“Right, so you want someone to be with her in public?”

“No,” Constanzo says, his voice firm as he shifts his brown eyes to me. “It has to be you.”

His words bring me pause and I question if I heard the man right. Protecting a girl who has proven to be a major distraction is a terrible idea and besides, “I don’t take jobs anymore,” I tell the man. “I can send a few of the top men in my company to protect your daughter, you’ve worked with some of them.”

“I want the best for my daughter.”

“Then I will get you the best.”

“No, you don’t understand me,” Costanzo says, dropping his hands to his knees and leaning forward. “Arianna is nothing like my asshole sons. I want the best protection for her. You are the best, are you not?”

It’s a challenge, a play on ego. I like to think of myself as a smart man who would not easily bite into such a clear bait but then I turn to look at the girl in question and I find myself wavering in my decision. This girl is a beauty. A gem . The thought of someone else protecting her leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Fuck!

I want her and... it’s dangerous. Yet, I can't stomach the thought of another man touching this girl. She is not mine in any sense of the word and I would be better off saying no and simply walking out of this mansion, but walking away is no longer an option.