Chapter 5

I look around the room at the event, knowing there's enough money in here to feed and clothe a whole fucking Third World country. But almost every single fucker in here is rich because they are doing shady shit, not because they are making an honest living. So, they'd better live it up now; soon, all their fancy shit will be gone. And I, for one, can't wait.

Out of all the shit I do as a guard, these parties are the worst. People look at the waiters like they are peasants. Hell, they even look at me and the other security guards like we're dirt beneath their fancy fucking shoes. Without us, a lot of them would have been slaughtered long ago.

My eyes roam the room, just as they are supposed to, making sure nothing is amiss and nobody is doing anything they shouldn't be doing. This is a huge fundraiser. One that undoubtedly is used to distract the people of Italy from what these monsters are doing behind the scenes. Most of the public truly believes the Romanos are a good family. One that gives back to the community when they can, especially to underprivileged children. But I think some know the truth, or at least suspect it—that for every good deed they do, there were a hundred horrific things done first.

Enzo steps back into the main room. Briar walks beside him, staying close enough that people know they are together, but not so close that she intrudes on conversation while he talks business with some of the other men here. Though she tries to blend, it's obvious she's uncomfortable. And her neck is red and blotchy, telling me exactly what I already know. That she's nervous.

Her honey-blonde hair is pulled into some sort of fancy, low ponytail, falling down her spine. Her black dress hugs her body in a way that makes me curse because I know every single fuck in the room is looking at her. How could they not? She's easily the most beautiful woman here.

She's soft and delicate, trying to seem completely oblivious to everything around her. Her bright blue eyes look around like this is just another night. I find myself wondering if she really is just scared of her uncle, so she'll do whatever he says, or if she has another motive. Whatever it is, if she hasn't already, soon, she'll wish she were back in Georgia.

He ignores her as he talks to person after person. And she continues to stand there like she was made just to serve Enzo fucking Romano.

Pathetic really. Then again, doves aren't known for being that smart. That's what the majority of the population thinks anyway. In reality, they are much more intelligent than they lead people to believe. So smart that back in the day, they were used as messengers because they had a strong ability to navigate their way to places.

Everyone else in the world might look at a dove in a park and think it's dumber than a rock. But the truth is, it's probably thinking the same thing about them. And that leads me to believe one thing …

Briar James might be the biggest con artist of us all.

"Hudson will drive you home," Enzo mutters, giving me only his profile because, of course, he can't look directly at me. "I have business to attend to."

I'm no dummy. By business, he means that the busty, black-haired beauty in the red dress with enough cleavage to suffocate a grown man is giving him the look. And he's not wasting any more time with me, his so-called fiancée, tonight.

I move my fingers around to feel the ring that was delivered to my room this morning. It's huge. And gaudy. And frankly, though many women would kill for this ring, I hate it. Because it means absolutely nothing besides a way to show control over me. But here I am, wearing it. Walking next to a man who makes me call him sir, pretending like I don't want to stab his eyes out and put them in someone's martini.

"Yes, sir," I say softly as he jerks his chin upward at Hudson, who slowly heads our way.

Even through his suit, I can see tattoos peeking out. His arms are massive and pure muscle. I try not to stare too long, scared that Enzo will take notice.

"Take Ms. James back to the crew complex," he commands like I'm a small child or maybe a package. "Return at midnight for me."

Hudson doesn't speak, but simply nods. His hand gently wraps around my upper arm, and he begins marching me out.

I want to scream out that I'm not a toddler. I don't need someone to physically force me out of a party. But I don't know how dangerous of a man he is. I also don't know how close he is with Enzo. So, instead, I say nothing.

As we head outside, we walk up to the same black SUV we rode in before. He opens the back door, never releasing his hold on my arm. As I step up onto the running board, I glance nervously at him. I suppose I'm searching for anything to show that he's a human being. With Beckett and Natasha gone now, it's just me and my psychotic, egotistical fiancé—and this guy.

It sure would feel nice to have an ally.

Once he releases me and shuts the door behind him, I get situated in my seat. As he gets behind the wheel, I look down at my wrist.

"My bracelet," I whisper. Starting to panic, I turn the dome light on and begin to search the SUV. "Fuck!" I cry out. "Shit, shit, shit."

Getting back out of the SUV, Hudson yanks the back door open. "What the hell is going on back here? What are you freaking out about?"

I sniffle, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "My bracelet. It's … it's the only thing I have left from my mom."

I remember when my mom gave it to me. She and my father had been clean and sober for a few months, but even so, I knew my family didn't have the kind of money for jewelry. I was sure either her parents had given it to her or it had been stolen. But for whatever reason, I put it on. The clasp on it is loose. And it's come undone a few times and left me in a panic—just like right now.

He looks toward the building and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's having some sort of internal battle with himself. But finally, he takes my arm. "Come on then. Let's go find it."

I look at him, tears filling my eyes. "Th-thank you," I whisper, not surprised when he says nothing in return.

He doesn't hold on to my arm like I'm a child, but walks directly next to me as we head back inside the event. Everything looks exactly like how we left it. One thing is for sure: no one here noticed that I'd left for those ten minutes.

As we walk around the room, I sigh. "This is useless. There are too many people in here. We'll never find it." I shrug. "Can you bring me back here tomorrow maybe? Once the place clears out?"

Still, he doesn't make eye contact, but keeps his blue eyes straight ahead. "Did you go into any other rooms while you were here? The restroom perhaps?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "But I did go into that back room. The one that has all the pictures of the past and present presidents of this place on the wall. There's a small office there. Enzo went inside it for a meeting and left me in the main room."

"Lead the way," he utters, waving his hand.

Heading toward that room, I push the door open and sweep my eyes around the floor. And that's when I hear it.

"Fuck … yesss ," a female voice cries out. "Fuck, Enzo. You're so big."

"That's right. Keep fucking my cock like the greedy little whore you are," Enzo growls back.

When I look toward the office, the door is open just enough for me to see him sitting in the chair and the girl from earlier straddling him as she moves up and down, riding him.

"Dove," Hudson whispers, and I'm too caught off guard by the whole encounter to overthink why he'd call me that. "Let's get you out of here."

Looking up at him, I nod, not really knowing how to even feel right now. No part of me is jealous. Nor do I give a shit who that man sticks his penis inside of. But I'm not okay with him sleeping around Italy, catching God knows what, and expecting to fuck me too.

As we head out of the room, a glimmer on the floor catches my eye. When I look down, I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face. Or the relief that fills my body. Bending down, I pick my bracelet up quickly before exiting the room and beelining it back outside toward the car.

Once I climb into the back seat, Hudson comes next to the door and reaches for me. Taking the bracelet from my hand, he smoothly flips my hand over and clasps the bracelet around my wrist. His touch alone makes my skin erupt in goose bumps, and I chew my lip nervously.

"There," he mutters, stepping back. "Let's get you home."

This time, it's me who has nothing to say. Because the man who I thought was ruthless … just helped me find my bracelet.

Closing my door, he gets back into the driver's side. This time, he wastes no time tearing out of the parking lot. My stomach grumbles, and I look down at it and frown.

"Um …" I chew the inside of my cheek nervously. "Would it be a bother to, like, stop at a drive-through? Is McDonald's a thing here?"

Aside from traveling with Beckett and Natasha a few times, I haven't traveled at all. And when I've been with them, they certainly don't hit up McDonald's even though they don't know what they are missing.

His eyes shift to mine in the rearview, but only for a split second. "Did you not eat, Ms. James?"

"There wasn't really time," I answer more quietly than intended. "This dress was too tight, so they had to fix it, and then I had to go to the event and wait in the corner during a meeting …" I pause, suddenly nervous that he'll think I'm being ungrateful. "I'm not complaining about that. I … appreciate Enzo bringing me." Yeah. Right. "There just … wasn't really time to eat."

He's quiet for a moment before his lips part. "So … you just saw your fiancé railing some random woman at an event. And now, you want McDonald's?" The words come out more like a thought. Like he's confused as hell and he had to say it out loud.

I consider pretending like I care—like, deep down, it matters to me—but then I realize it really doesn't matter if I care or not. This man isn't dumb; he knows marrying a man like Enzo Romano isn't my life goal.

"I mean, whether he's screwing someone or not, I still need to eat," I answer shyly. "Besides, I'm sure you know by now that this arrangement isn't out of love. So … I don't really care what he does with his willy or who he does it with."

His eyes fly to mine, a crease in his forehead forming. "Uh, all right then."

I don't say anything back, and I sort of expect us to drive back to the house in silence, where I'll inevitably have to raid the cupboards and find something to put in my stomach. Instead, after about five minutes of driving, he pulls into the parking lot of a McDonald's and heads toward the drive-through.

"What do you want?" he grumbles before we reach the speaker.

"Oh, well, I want a Big Mac, a large fry, and a Coke." I pause. "Oh! And an apple pie if they have them. Do they have apple pies here? Are the McDonald's the same?"

He stares at me in the mirror, frowning, before he pulls up and orders everything I rattled off. I should be embarrassed to stuff my face in the presence of such an attractive man. But to be honest, I'm too hungry to care. Besides, he's working for Enzo and Beckett. Despite what they all might think, both are my enemies. So, I don't really give a shit if I look like a pig in front of this man.

Once they pass him my food, he pulls into a parking spot, gets out of the car, and hands it to me.

"Don't ruin your dress," he warns as I begin to take everything out of the bag and set it on my lap.

"I'm sure I won't be wearing it again," I utter. "Enzo doesn't seem like the type of guy who has his woman wear the same dress to two events. None of these people do."

The second the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back. I'm supposed to play the part like I fit in. Instead, I'm here, freaking eating a Big Mac and talking about everyone like I don't belong.

I mean, I don't. And something tells me Hudson already knows that.

"None of these people?" he mumbles.

"Um …" I whisper, pulling my lips to the side. "I mean, I grew up poor. When I needed a pair of shorts, I'd just cut my pants off. So … by these people, I guess what I mean is, rich people. Like Enzo."

"And your uncle Beckett," he says, raising a brow.

"Yeah, well, him too." I shrug.

He eyes me over before he closes the door and gets back into the front seat. And within seconds, we're driving toward the crew house.

"Oh, they gave me an extra pie." I hold it up. "Want it?"

"No," he mutters.

"Are you sure? They are the best." I wrap my hand around the packaging. "And it's nice and warm. Which means the inside is all gooey and even more delicious than usual. Trust me, sometimes, they don't bother warming them, and then they suck."

I realize quickly that I'm rambling—something I do when I'm nervous—so I silently vow to myself to stop.

He doesn't respond, so I take that as a definite no, and I stress-eat the second apple pie to stop myself from talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to converse with me.

As we head toward the house, he never speaks to me again and doesn't look my way either.

But the grumpy bodyguard … well, tonight, he helped me find my bracelet and took me to get food too.