Chapter 13 RóISE

There are no alarm clock emojis from Ollie in my texts this morning. He doesn't respond to my message telling him I'm almost ready like he usually does either.

I run late. It's a thing. Ollie, on the other hand, is always early.

He assures me it's a bodyguard thing.

When I get downstairs, there is no Ollie finishing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. No Ollie brushing crumbs from a piece of toast off of his tie while he flirts with the cook, who is the same age as his mother.

I can hear her in the pantry, muttering to herself about people who raid her pantry shelves and have no more manners than wild boars. Not in a good mood then.

Maybe that's why Ollie isn't in here. Maybe he's the miscreant who got into her baking chocolate.

He's the one that taught me and my cousins how delicious Irish milk chocolate is, in or out of cookies. His absence is weird but not unprecedented. Even if he didn't eat the chocolate.

Ollie is assigned to both Fiona and me. If my cousin needs a bodyguard at the same time I do, Ollie's priority is her. Not because Uncle Brogan decrees it that way, but because I do.

Fiona does better with people she likes and trusts like Ollie. He's been part of our security team since we were children. When Kara married, she got assigned her own team, but Fiona and I still share one.

In his mid-forties with graying red hair and a ready smile, Ollie is her favorite .

My cousin always tells me if she's leaving the house though and she hasn't said anything.

The sound of raised voices draws me out of the empty kitchen to the side porch we use to exit the mansion. The front door and its impressive steps and entry are for guests and formal occasions.

Raised voice. Singular. Ollie is the only one shouting. And he's on a rampage, throwing out Irish invective and questions about somebody's parentage.

Two people I've never met are facing him. Both are wearing dark suits tailored to conceal shoulder holsters, standing with the confidence of made men. Except the younger one is a woman.

She looks about my age, but that's where our similarities end. This woman is syndicate soldier from the top of her closely cropped hair to the tips of her shiny shoes made for quick movement, not showing off the curve of her ass.

The man's expression is implacable, but the woman looks ready to let loose on Ollie. No wonder. The last two insults were directed at the pair's boss and their parents in that order.

"Róise is my responsibility!" Ollie shouts in the man's face. "I've been protecting her since she was a toddler."

"Our orders are to take point on her security going forward," the stranger responds.

Ollie shakes his curled fist at him. "Repeating it isn't going to make me go away!"

"You're not going anywhere," I insert, drawing all eyes to me. "Ollie, we need to go. I'm running a little behind."

A brief flicker of indulgent humor flares in his pale blue gaze. "If you weren't I'd think you were sick, Rosy-girl."

Hitching my backpack more firmly on my shoulder, I head toward the door. The two strangers follow me, putting themselves between me and my bodyguard.

Discomfort crawls up my spine like a spider on a quest.

I stop and turn. "I don't know who you are, or what your orders are, but I'm not going anywhere with you. Let Ollie pass."

"We're your new security detail," the woman says with a sneer for Ollie.

"Yeah, no. I don't want or need new bodyguards."

"Miceli sent us." The man says, like that explains everything.

It doesn't.

"Miceli has no authority over me or in this house. Ollie is my bodyguard."

"Text Mr. De Luca and he'll tell you," the woman suggests.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I don't have Miceli's number. And doesn't that just say it all ?

"You're not that bright, are you? I just told you that Miceli De Luca is not my boss. That means I don't care if he sent you, or not."

I'm sure he did, the arrogant jerk. These two never would have gotten past the gate guards and into the house otherwise. At least not without bloodshed.

Since no alarms have gone off and Ollie looks angry, not worried, I'm going with these mafia soldiers are here with my uncle's permission.

"How about this?" I speak slowly for the made men, whatever their gender, in the room. " You text him and tell him that I don't need you."

The woman crosses her arms. "We have our orders."

The man pulls out his phone and taps on the screen. Sending a text, but I doubt it's to inform his boss that I don't need the new bodyguards.

This is because of Portland.

The hypocrite. It was fine for him to be out trolling for a sex partner without security, but not the woman he now plans to marry.

Someday. In the very distant future.

A girl can hope.

Ollie's phone pings and premonition makes my stomach queasy. Or is that lack of breakfast? It's a good thing Ollie keeps meal bars in the glove box for me.

"Fecking hell," my bodyguard mutters as he reads the text. Then he looks up at me. "The boss says these two puffed up Jackeens are now on your security detail too."

"No." My denial is visceral and heartfelt. "I'm not trusting my life to Cosa Nostra gangsters."

Foxes and henhouses come to mind, the words spoken in moma's soft Irish burr.

"The Cosa Nostra is the strongest syndicate around."

This woman is really getting on my nerves.

I smile sweetly at her, if sweet comes with a side of shark's teeth. "Tell that to the network of Irish mob families with control of territories the Cosa Nostra can't touch."

Yes, the Cosa Nostra is one of the strongest criminal organizations operating, but there's a reason the powerful and ruthless don of the Genovese wants an alliance with my uncle.

Through our ties in Ireland and here in the U.S., the Shaughnessy mob has alliances and/or influence with most of the Irish crime families in the world.

I used to think that made us special. Because it made my dad proud. Now, I think it makes us at the top of the rotting heap of organized crime.

If I'd been born into a normal family, I wouldn't be forced to sign my life away at the age of twenty for the sake of alliances and more power. If my dad were still alive, he wouldn't have allowed it to happen either.

But Uncle Brogan is different. There's family love there, but the mob comes first. For my dad, me and my mom came first.

"Rosy, what are those people doing here?" Fiona's voice wavers with stress.

I look past the two would-be bodyguards and force a genuine smile. "Nothing to worry about, Fi. They work for Miceli De Luca."

Fiona's gaze doesn't meet mine. It's stuck on the Cosa Nostra soldiers. "Why are they here?"

The woman steps toward Fiona, smiling. "You must be Fiona. I saw your picture. I'm Zoey." She indicates the man who is at least ten years older than us both. "This is Allessio. We're your cousin's new security team."

Oh, crap. The flirty tone in Zoey's voice coupled with her nearness to my cousin sends alarm bells clanging in my brain.

Recognizing the stressor minefield for what it is, Ollie jumps between the two women. "Step back."

Zoey stops, but her hand is still out and her gaze is locked on Fiona.

Allessio curses in Italian.

My sentiments exactly.

Instead of retreating like I expect, Fiona smiles shyly and moves to shake Zoey's hand. "Nice to meet you, but we already have a security team?"

My cousin, who avoids strangers as much as possible, and can have a panic attack triggered by bumping into one, is shaking this mafia soldier's hand. With no sign of letting go.

I glare at Zoey. "If you read a file on us, and you must have in order to have seen Fi's picture, you know she's only seventeen."

Finally letting go of Zoey's hand, Fiona puts her fists on her hips and frowns at me. "I'll be eighteen soon."

Which is one of the reasons I agreed so quickly to Uncle Brogan's blackmail. I'll be twenty-one in three weeks, but Fiona turns eighteen over the summer.

He would have had her married off before she'd had her first kiss, just like Kara.

Fiona would be utterly miserable married to any man, but especially one as cold and deadly as Miceli.

"I'll be twenty in the fall," Zoey says.

I roll my eyes. "Good for you. I hope that means you really are just security and not made already."

"Róise! Don't be rude," Fiona censures me .

Life in the mob: where asking someone if they've killed before is both normal and rude. And also, sometimes necessary.

Why is Fiona still standing here in the hall? Why is her jacket hood still down, revealing her face?

Don't get me wrong, every time she overcomes her anxiety, it's a win. But does my cousin need to find a Cosa Nostra soldier the reason for doing so?

"I'm not made. Allessio is your new bodyguard, but he's training me. So two-for-one, right?" Zoey grins at Fiona.

Nipping this in the bud right now.

"As fun as this is, if we don't leave right now, I might as well skip my first class. And I am not doing that." I point at Allessio. "You're driving. Ollie, you're in the backseat with me and the teenager flirting with my cousin can ride shotgun."

Three bodyguards is total overkill. The only reason I had that many in Portland was because I was out of town. This? Is ridiculous.

I'd laugh if I wasn't so irritated.

"I don't take orders from you," Zoey says loftily.

"You do if you want to ride in the same car." Yes, I'm twenty.

No, I'm not ready to get married and start popping out mob babies.

That does not mean I am a pushover. I was raised in this life. I've been protecting myself and my cousins since my dad died and before that, I'd witnessed too much to ever be a regular kid.

Allessio barks something in Italian and Zoey snaps to attention, all emotion wiped from her face.

"Follow us, Miss Shaughnessy, but do not exit the house until we give the all-clear sign."

"Which is?" Does he just assume we all use the same one?

I guarantee we don't. When we were kids, Ollie taught us it was safe to move when the bunny said so. We still use the bunny signs.

Two fingers spread slightly and pointing upward means the bunny is on alert. When they twitch like a happy bunny, it's safe to move, or enter a new environment. When the bunny ears curl down, he's hiding and so should we.

Allessio holds his index and middle fingers together, straight and pointing upward. "This is all clear."

"Got it." I wait until Ollie gets close enough to whisper. "I like the bunny ears better."

"Using universal symbols telegraphs your purpose." My still irate bodyguard doesn't bother to lower his voice .

No way can the Genovese soldiers miss his criticism. For once, Zoey doesn't respond. She's too busy checking for bogeyman in the naturally secure exit from the house.

The standalone garages with soldier's quarters on the second floor create a barrier parallel to the side of the mansion. The walkway between the two buildings is covered, limiting line of site from the only two directions not blocked by the garage or house.

And one of them is the bay.

My irritation goes through the roof when we reach my college and Allessio tells me they plan to follow me around all day.

I don't have time to argue because I really am late, but I try.

I'm in the middle of a reasonable and compelling (I think) argument for why they should leave when I receive my own text message from Brogan Shaughnessy.

I glare at Allessio. He's not just a Cosa Nostra thug. He's a tattletale.

BS : Behave, Róise. I don't have time to deal with your tantrums. Your new bodyguards are under Miceli's orders. If you don't like the way they guard you, take it up with him .

Yes, I have my uncle listed as BS in my contacts. For Brogan Shaughnessy. If it implies he's full of something else, that's okay too.

It's a long message for Uncle Brogan and that shows how annoyed he is. Unlike some men, the angrier my uncle gets, the more verbose. It's pure BS.

Both kinds.

But the text tells me one important thing. My current situation is 100% on Miceli. Sure, Uncle Brogan could kick up a fuss about it, but why would he?

I'm not a multi-million-dollar weapons deal he doesn't want to sour. I'm just his niece.

Every question I get from classmates throughout the morning, every curious look is fuel to the fire of my growing indignation.

This. This is the one thing I've worked so hard to avoid for the nearly three years I've been attending the university. Being seen as different from the other students with wealthy parents.

This is me being singled out as having a level of danger in my life they don't.

Ollie drops me off and picks me up every day, but that's not so unusual around here.

A security detail trailing me, checking every classroom for threats before going to wait outside? It's a level of intrusion in my life I won't put up with. I have a year and some change before I graduate.

Is it too much to ask for that year to be mine? Me living like the normal woman I won't get to be once I marry a mafia underboss?

Apparently for Miceli De Luca, the fake boyfriend from hell, it is.