No words pass between us as I guide her down the stairs and sit her in one of the high back chairs. Immature but I pick the seat farthest from Arturo’s usual spot. Mrs. Wilson scurries to the table. Worry lining her face too. Rather than just the usual oatmeal and cantaloupe slice, the housekeeper slides a platter of eggs and bacon across the table too. Before she jerks her hand back in fear from giving Viviana food her boss didn’t approve of. I guess her sympathy makes her brave. And Viviana grateful.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson.”
“You’re welcome ma’am.”
Her eyes shiny as she swipes a slice and shoves the strip to her parted lips. Round breasts tipping into her bowl as she leans forward in her eagerness to get the meat to her mouth.
“I know you’re hungry Princess, but take small, slow bites or it’ll all come back up.”
“Okay.”
The housekeeper may rule her kitchen, but she doesn’t utter a word of protest when I grab the milk out of the fridge and pour Viviana a tall glass. An easy way to get nutrients into her that won’t upset her stomach.
With a shaking hand, she accepts the cup. Fingers trembling so hard the white liquid splashes over the top. Droplets running down the back of her wrist as she brings the cup to her lips. Taking small sips of the drink just like I told her. “Good girl.”
Her gaze meets mine, seeking reassurance. “We’ve got plenty of time. Just eat.”
A few bites of oatmeal. All of the omelet. None of the melon. Color finally hints in her cheeks, and her body stops shivering.
I focus on her calorie count to keep from exploding. This already petite woman was starved for a whole fucking week for just looking at a god damn building. By a motherfucking bastard who practically shits gold and refused to even give her a bite of cereal or a drink of juice.
This shit ends now. I’ve got enough intel to construct the team and pull the trigger. Literally, because I swear to god, even if it fucking kills me, tonight will be her last night in this hellhole.
Harrison and I stand at attention once Nelson’s voice rattles through our ear pieces. They’re back from the charity gala where Arturo could fool the other rich bastards in this city that he actually has an ounce of care and concern for the neglected children of our community. Happiness warms my chest like a pussy. She’s home, and tonight’s her last night with this motherfucker. The final time she has to suffer his merciless hands on her body. His spiteful words in her ears. His brutal punishments for imagined crimes.
After his late night, Arturo won’t go to Sunday mass with her in the morning. With them separated, one half of my team will create a distraction at his biggest warehouse while the rest of my guys will help me grab her from the church. Arturo will be so fucking absorbed with the search warrants and FBI agents’ scrutiny he won’t be thinking about her for hours. Plenty of time for me to get her hundreds of miles away from him. So amazingly perfect, my plan falling into place so fucking easily, I’m almost fucking giddy.
The SUV pulls in slowly and stops a few feet in front of us. The other guard and I split sides to open their doors as well as confirm to Arturo all is well. Men placed along the route from the gate to the interior door provide the crime lord with assurance that no coup attempts occurred in his absence.
I yank the handle, and Arturo slides out first as always. Except this time absolute rage rather than a drunken slack reddens his round face. Fury stiffening his huge body jerking with anger as he spins around and heaves her out.
By her hair.
I cannot even fucking breathe with the fire exploding through me. Motherfucker.
Harrison stands stoic and stationary. Forcing me to do the same. Unable to intervene when she yelps from the backhand across the face. Powerless to keep him from slamming her frail body against the side of the SUV. Incapable to stop his hands from circling her throat and throttling her so hard her tiny feet lift off the ground from the force of his fingers gouging her delicate neck. While her scream fades to nothing but struggling gasps.
“Why are you such a fucking embarrassment?”
Finally he tosses her to the concrete. Heaving and screaming profanities at her while she wheezes for oxygen. He rears back, ready to dole out his favorite punishment to her. Damn it. I have to fucking stop him. “The baby!”
Arturo’s head whips toward me. Savagery blazing in his wild eyes while they bore into mine. “What the fuck did you say?”
Fuck! I have fucked up so fucking bad. But I have no choice. “What if she’s pregnant?”
Sanity finally returns to his crazed mind, and he drops his huge foot back on the ground. But the danger isn’t quite passed yet. His enormous body still ticks with ire. I keep my tone even.
“With your son…or daughter? Your heir?”
Conflicting emotions battle on his face. Questions spin in his expression, glancing from me to her and back again. None of them good. For either of us.
The usual arrogance returns, and he rises tall. Smoothing down his tuxedo jacket as if disgusted with the thought of being disheveled by his actions. By stooping to the crass level of violence reserved for one of his hired henchmen. Stepping over her like she’s garbage spilled on the street, he strides past me.
“Clean that shit up.”
Think. Think. Think. I’ve got to protect her without raising any more suspicion. “Sure. I’ll put her in one of the guest rooms so she won’t disturb you.”
He never even looks back. Just waves his hand in irritated impatience. “Fine. Whatever.”
Too easy. Too quick. We’ll pay for his feigned indifference later. But I can’t worry about that now. When all I can see is her unconscious body. Her shallow breathing. Her bruised face. Damn it. Nothing I can do but scoop her up as gingerly as I can. Although my carefulness doesn’t really matter. She’s out cold. Unaware that I’ve got her. That she’s safe. That she’s loved.
Harrison watches. Mute and motionless with uncertainty. His gaze darting between me and her and the chauffeur who finally exits the vehicle. His suspicions piqued too. All of us fucking bastards for not doing more. For not stopping him. For not saving her.
Uneasy silence fills the house as I carry her to the bedroom closest to the gym. As far away from Arturo as I can sequester her. Not like he can’t find her. But I’ll ensure he has to actually work to locate her. Make seeing her as inconvenient as possible. Maybe not worth his effort. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Her pitiful moan when I lay her on the bed pricks my previously dead heart. That she’s somehow brought back to life. “It’s okay princess. I’m here.”
Not sure if she gives a damn I’m here or not. But, according to her, I’m her friend. The only friend she’s got so I’m better than nothing I guess. After slipping off her glittery heels, I assess her ravished body. So breathtakingly beautiful earlier, radiating with her eagerness to help kids in need. To escape this house. To have an evening of fun.
All ruined once again by that motherfucker. Deep scratches nick her arms and what I can see of her legs, not hidden under her burgundy cocktail dress. Which looks totally uncomfortable fitted around her torso and decorated with thousands of tiny rhinestones. I don’t dare take the long gown off of her. Moretti would have his men kill me in a heartbeat for seeing his wife naked, and I refuse to risk her enduring anymore of his wrath tonight.
Limited with what I can do, I brush away the haphazard strands of hair clinging to her narrow shoulders that bastard ripped out of her head. Some of the agony lining her face releases when I press a cool wet washcloth against the burgeoning red and purple abrasions on her swollen throat. “I’m glad that feels good.”
The respite is short-lived when she fights against the blankets I drape across her. Thrashing and moaning as she struggles against the covers. Fuck! I know she can’t be hot from her relentless trembling. I yank down the satiny edge, and her quivering wrist grazes against my knuckles. Instantly pausing in her battle with the sheet when her skin skims mine. Almost as i
f in relief to find me. I grasp her delicate fingers, entwining them as I lay our coupled hands against the mattress.
I may not be able to comprehend the words she mumbles but her request is crystal clear. She needs me. My touch. My comfort. My protection. I’m sure as hell going to give everything I have to her. “Shhh. Don’t worry, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”
Fuck me if tears don’t sneak out from under her clenched lids and trail down her temples until her breathing finally evens out. Grateful sleep claims her despite the pain she endures. With my free hand, I tuck the comforter tight around her again and settle in for the night. Shaking myself with soft laughter that she can’t hear but hopefully can sense. I’m too damn old to pull another all-nighter but I swear to her nothing and no one will stop me from keeping vigil over her.
Because everything has changed.
Funny how with just one touch, one simple wordless plea, she annihilates the lie I tried my damnedest to tell myself was true. But that bullshit conviction no longer exists. The truth I never could admit was real. Until now. Until she reached for me, and now I’m never fucking letting her go.
This is no longer just a job.
She. Is. Mine.
I don’t care that she’s married. Or pays a debt she doesn’t owe. Or maybe doesn’t want anything more from me than friendship. None of that matters. Viviana is mine.
After a few drowsy blinks, her gorgeous cocoa eyes meet mine. The right one almost too fucking swollen to completely open but of course my princess fights against the hindrance. A slight smile lifts her puffy cheeks once she realizes I’m with her. As happy to see me here as I am to see her awake. Fuck me if I’m not a pussy. “Hi there.”
A difficult swallow strains her battered throat before her lips part. “Good morning.”
“Not quite yet. It’s only four.”
The grin fades from the realization of the time, unware in her damaged state I’ve been keeping guard over her all night.
“Sorry.”
“No worries. I was already up.” I stroke her tangled hair. The fancy twist destroyed from that bastard’s assault. “How are you feeling?”
“Back…hurts.”
Yeah, getting slammed into hard metal will do that to you. “Let’s roll you onto your side, okay?”
Only a slight nod. Exhaustion already settling in from our brief conversation. Caressing her shoulder to make sure she’s not too tender to move. She doesn’t flinch, so I nudge her forward until she rests on her hip. Must not hurt too much as she’s already out again. For the best. She can enjoy the tranquility now before all hell breaks loose. Because once I go upstairs and get cell reception again, I’ll contact my guys to implement plan B.
I grab my gun from my waistband at the tentative tap on the door. Too soft to be fucking Arturo, but I don’t like fucking surprises. Unlatching the lock, which I know wouldn’t keep him out but would at least slow him down, I jerk open the door. Relief loosens my taut muscles from Mrs. Wilson waiting on the other side. Not that I’d hesitate for a fucking second to take on Moretti, but I don’t want Viviana in the middle of a bloodbath.
Scarlet circles dot the housekeeper’s cheeks while she studies the cream carpet. “Mr. Harrison said you might need my help.” She holds up a small stack of clothes clutched in one hand and a basket of small pink and purple bottles in the other. “That she’s…unwell again.”
Not her fault, but the implication still pisses me off. The way she tiptoes around the fact that Arturo beats his wife and everyone else cleans up the mess. As if that resolves the problem. I blow out a deep breath to keep from berating her. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”
She follows me inside, and I cringe from the shocked gasp behind me. Yep, that’s what fucking ‘unwell’ looks like. “She’s half out of it, so I don’t think she’ll feel the pain of us moving her.”
A wobbly nod as she dabs at the tears in her eyes and holds back her sob with a cupped hand over her mouth. My fury softens a bit. The woman cares about her too, but is as helpless as Viviana is to do anything about the situation either.
I slide off the white covers and scoop her up. Pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead once her head rests on my chest. Mrs. Wilson’s disdain be damned. I won’t allow Viviana to think anyone else holds her but me.
The guest bath isn’t overly big, and we have to maneuver cautiously to undress her. I gingerly flip her over and curl her on my shoulder, allowing Mrs. Wilson to unzip her dress, and then lift her torso a few inches so she can slide the sequined fabric out from underneath Viviana’s stomach.
When the housekeeper shimmies off Viviana’s panties, I glue my gaze on the fucking faucet and stroke her back. Fury stabs my heart sharper than a blade from the feel of her delicate bones under my hand as I caress her silky skin while Mrs. Wilson fills the tub. Thanks to that motherfucking asshole my princess is too fucking thin and scrawny. I can’t fucking wait to spoil her with treats and fatten her up.
“Okay, I’m ready for her.”
My eyes remain locked on Viviana’s gorgeous face. Only groaning and frowning for a second once I flip her back over and slide her into the tub. Thank fucking god for the bubbles concealing her body while the older woman bathes her. Wiping away the gravel and dried blood crusted on the scrapes. The smudges of grease and oil from him hurling her onto the fucking garage floor. The mascara smeared across her cheeks from the tears he caused her to shed once again. Bastard.
I stand guard with my back to them. Close enough to grab her if she slips under the water but far enough not to be inappropriate. Mrs. Wilson doesn’t seem to notice my rage. Her focus lasers completely on gently tugging the knots from Viviana’s long strands while the tub empties. Gurgles fill the steamy air from the last droplets bubbling in the drain, and I’m getting impatient for the housekeeper to finish up. Viviana can’t get cold.
“She’s done.”
Fucking finally.
Luckily, Mrs. Wilson drapes a towel around her small frame, obscuring my view of her persecuted wet body. Perfect. Bundling her up, I lift her easily and carry her to the bed. Caressing her cheek when she moans, tensing under the terrycloth. “I’m still here angel.”
I resume my guarding stance near the door to keep from catching any glances of her while she’s dried off and dressed. After a few minutes, I play nurse to Mrs. Wilson’s doctor while she applies ointment to some of Viviana’s scrapes and lays a cold compress on her black eye.
Frustration must swell in the woman too the way she stares at Viviana, slowly shaking her head. Both of us powerless to do anything else to help her until she wakes up again. Then we can at least feed her if she’s able to keep something down.
Once we’re alone again, I take Viviana’s small hand in mine and chuckle. Pondering where in the fuck this nurturing behavior came from. I’ve never taken care of anyone in my life. Never thought I’d want to. Now the only thing I want to do is soothe her and ease all of her agony.
About two hours later she stirs again. Her internal alarm clock going off despite her injuries. No church this morning despite how much she might try to argue with me about going. Another weak smile brightens her pitiful face despite her closed eyes.
“Still morning?”
Genuine laughter fills my chest. Her sense of humor provides proof she’s with me more than last time she woke up. “Yeah, princess it’s about six o’clock.”
Fuck me if she doesn’t struggle to try and sit up. I swear she’s fucking stubborn as hell.
“Hold on. Let me help you.” I pile up some pillows and glide her to a sitting position. Seemingly much more comfortable in her tee shirt and leggings. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.” Yeah, you are angel. She studies my face with her good eye. Maybe convincing herself I’m here. But she doesn’t have to worry. I’m not leaving her again unless that motherfucker kills me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I grab one of the water bottles on the nightstand and uncap the lid, holding t
he rim close to her mouth. “Drink.”
She leans forward of her own accord. Damn it. I didn’t realize how thirsty she was. After four long sips, she purses her lips together.
“Better.”
“Your breakfast will be here soon. No church today.”
Guilt furrows her eyebrows, but she doesn’t fight against my declaration. Instead, she rubs across the quilt hem. Her fingertips grazing mine. Fuck me if she doesn’t spark an inferno inside me from just a ghost of her touch. I scoot closer and relish her sharp intake of breath. Thrilled that I affect her as much as she affects me. Although surprised as hell she doesn’t hate me for not stopping Arturo sooner. Despite how much I despise myself. “This is it Viviana. I won’t ever let him touch you again.”
We’ve avoided speaking directly about the torture during the three months I’ve worked here. An unspoken agreement between us —I attempt to make things a bit more tolerable for her while she bears the burden of willing victim to Arturo’s irrational outbursts. But that’s not enough. Not anymore. Nor for either of us.
“You know I appreciate all that you do for us. I–“
Absurd jealousy races through me, and I clutch her hand. Forgetting my own strength until I see her flinch from my possessive grasp. I loosen my grip but refuse to let her go. Fucking dangerous with the door standing wide open. I don’t give a damn. “No more you and him. That ‘us’ is you and me.”
“No, Roan.”
Her gaze remains on our tangled fingers. A striking contrast of pink and tan. Soft and calloused. Dainty and thick. As different and perfect as we are together.
“Our friendship means more to me that you’ll ever know, and I–“
“Stop resisting me.” I’m nothing but an asshole to keep interrupting her. I can’t listen to her try and deny what we have. Maybe she doesn’t love me yet, but I sure as hell know she doesn’t love him. And I’m just as damn sure I know I’ll treat her so much fucking better. The way she should have been handled and always will be from now on. “You’re leaving him.”
192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance Page 3
