Chapter 1

Vance

I haven't been a legal bodyguard in years. When I got sick of making twelve dollars an hour at the strip club I worked at, I went along with the girls to private parties. Instead of twelve dollars an hour, each girl gave me twenty percent of what she made each night.

And my girls made a lot.

But after a while, even that didn't seem like enough. I wanted more. Needed more. And that's how I ended up here, as the personal guard for a member of a prominent mafia family here in NYC.

"Mr. Lore," my boss says as he sits in his leather chair. He puts a cigar to his lips and hands me one of my own.

I take the lighter and light it. The earthy taste hits my tongue, and hazy smoke swirls around me.

"My daughter is getting married in two weeks. Promised to the Vendetti's oldest son. But there's a problem. A few members of their family are not too keen on this union, so that's why I needed the best of the best."

"I wasn't aware your daughter was in a relationship." I usually hear about those things.

He laughs. "She isn't."

I cock my head.

"My daughter knows her role. She's marrying for the betterment of our family business."

I hold back a scoff. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth like them, but at least I can marry who I want. Well, if I had the time to get married.

"How often does she need my services?" I ask.

"Twenty-four seven."

My jaw drops. I've never done a gig that needs that much of my time and energy. I'm not keen on the idea.

"Boss, I'm thankful for the opportunities you've given me over this last year but?—"

"It comes with a two-mill payout," he interrupts.

Two million dollars to babysit his brat for two weeks? Suddenly, the gig doesn't seem so bad. The time and effort don't feel so dreadful.

It feels worth it.

I sit back in my chair. "When does my watch start?"

"I thought that'd change your mind." He smirks. "Tonight, eight p.m. I'll call you with the details, Mr. Lore."

Tonight? I have less than six hours before I'm locked into a twenty-four-hour gig. Fuck me.

* * *

I shove my phone into my pocket and drive toward the restaurant. I look in the rearview mirror and stare at my suitcase.

I'm not feeling great about this job. It doesn't feel right. But a two-mill payout is worth ignoring my feelings. I'm good at my job—that's why they hired me—which means they have genuine concerns about their daughter's wellbeing.

And that concerns me.

I shut off my busy thoughts and pull into the parking lot. A valet meets me at the entrance. I get out of the car, give the man my key, and adjust the sleeves of my suit before going inside.

When I walk in, a hostess guides me to a room off the main dining area, which looks lackluster in comparison. Golden chandeliers reflect the light above my head, for fuck's sake.

There's a lot I'd like to do with two million dollars, and not one of those things involves golden fucking light fixtures. Waste of money. If they grew up poor like I did, they'd realize how tacky and pretentious these extravagancies are.

The room is empty except for a long family table with fancy wooden chairs running along both sides. It's their own personal dining room, only for those within their family.

My boss stands up and greets me with a handshake. He's dressed much better than I am. His suit is tailored precisely to his body. Maybe mine will be, too, once I finish this job.

"Mr. Lore, I'm glad you came," he says. His hand floats between each of his family members. "This is my brother, Tino, and my wife," he tells me before turning to the young brunette beside him. "And this is my daughter, Isabella."

She stands and puts her hand in mine. I've seen pictures of her, but they don't do her justice. She's fucking beautiful. Big, round, rich brown eyes climb up my body, and her full lips pull into a professional smile.

"Nice to meet you," I say, drawing my attention from her and putting it back on my boss.

I nod to his brother and wife, who don't look terribly excited to be here. They have no reason to trust me, though, not like Angelino does. I've taken a bullet for him, and he hopes I can extend that dedication to his daughter. I hope I don't have to.

Angelino's wife is beautiful and is at least a decade his junior. Isabella looks just like her, except with fewer lines around her eyes and mouth.

"I ordered you the steak. It's our finest cut this evening," he says as he pulls a chair out and offers it to me.

I sit down, and a waiter sets the plate in front of me. A creamy pan sauce garnishes it. My mouth waters at the sight, almost as much as it did at the sight of their daughter.

They wait for me to cut into my food before they begin eating. By cutting into this meat and devouring their expensive meal, I officially accept their order of protection. I pick up the knife and fork and slice into the buttery meat, sending blood-tinged grease across my plate. When I put the tender meat into my mouth, they all begin to eat except for Isabella. Her face draws into a frown and I take in every inch of her expression. This doesn't feel like the exciting union he bragged about. There's a heaviness in the room I can't quite put my finger on, but I'll figure it out.

That's my job, and I'm fucking good at it.