192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  Without argument, she glides into the front seat after I open the passenger door. Which I know with her submissive personality she wouldn’t dare question me, but I’m grateful she doesn’t appear bothered by the change. Hopefully, she’s not pretending.

  “Thank you Roan.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Just like old times. Except this time, I refuse to call her by the name I despise. Instead, I stroke her cheek with only the fear of her withdrawing from my touch to concern me. She leans into my palm, welcoming my gentle affection. The noise and bustle from my diversion down the road fades away. Right now, it’s just me and the woman I love almost purring from my tenderness. Totally unaware of all the other pleasure I can give her. Will give her. Soon.

  Her gaze follows me. Tracking my every movement as I circle the sedan and climb in next to her. Which I welcome so much more than her usual downward scrutiny.

  “Everything’s really okay?”

  Beyond okay, now that you’re with me permanently. “Yes, I’m just making it impossible for Dante to follow us. I won’t ever let him find you.”

  The relief softening her body eases the remaining tension in mine. We have a long way to go before she trusts me completely. But she’s totally worth the effort. And, the wait.

  Viviana squeezes my fingers laced through hers while her other hand curls over my wrist. Holding me tight. As if she’s never going to let me go. “Thank you for lunch. It was a lovely change from my usual selection. I enjoy trying new dishes.”

  Ah yes, pleasant conversation like old times too. A semblance of normalcy to combat the uncertainty from her ruined routine. Yet quite an improvement with her sitting next to me instead of in the back. Twisted sideways in her seat to watch me while I drive. “I’m surprised you never had a cheeseburger before. Like maybe when you were a kid or something.”

  “I guess I could have, but if I did, I don’t remember. My mom died when I was only eight. Then it was just me and my Dad. He didn’t cook very much, so we ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

  No bitterness to her laugh. More wistful than resentful sharing the fond memories of her childhood. Which I’m grateful she experienced. Up until that point anyway.

  I have the file on her. Full of grim statistics about the murder of her mother and the criminal activities of her father. But not the personal details. Not the intimate aspects that reflect the real story. “What about after he died? Who took care of you then?”

  “Arturo. Well, his housekeepers did.”

  The grin dissipates as quickly as my ire grows from the direction of her comments. “He was named my legal guardian, but I never actually saw him or talked to him until we were married. There were nice ladies who came in and cooked and cleaned. His secretary would take me when I had a doctor or dentist appointment, but I didn’t go out very often other than that.”

  Of course she didn’t. Already fucking prisoner to him. “So you were alone.”

  “Not exactly.” Her head tips side to side. Seemingly to find the words for a more accurate description. “His guards were always outside of course and tutors came during the day since I was home schooled. Saturdays and Sundays I was primarily by myself.”

  Maybe not alone but still fucking lonely. Fucking bastard. Keeping her isolated for no actual reason except his selfishness. “What did you do then on weekends?”

  I fucking hate feeling like I’m interrogating her. Although she doesn’t seem offended. Or hold back from revealing more of her past to me. Which is perfect, since she’s going to be my future.

  “I wasn’t allowed to watch TV or have a computer, so I read a lot. He let me have a few art supplies, and I would paint or sketch sometimes.”

  Let me. God, he was a cruel bastard. So fucked up to mistreat a child who probably never asked for a damn thing.

  “I liked to do yoga, and I swam laps in the pool.” Her eyes light up with a joy that I’d kill to ensure she always experiences. “Oh, and I had a dog, Holly, for a while that one of the guards gave me. She was an adorable little black and brown Yorkie. She loved sleeping in my bed with me and snuggled on my lap anytime I sat down. Poor dog, I was such a girlie girl I was always tying bows in her hair and painting her tiny nails.”

  The sweet nostalgia evaporates from her expression along with the exuberance in her tone. “Arturo was furious when he found out. He killed the guard and her. I cried for two weeks after she was gone.”

  Looking up from wherever she’d been lost in her memories, she shakes her head. Haunted by the cruel past gripping her. “Even though I loved her, I wish he had never given her to me. Then they’d both still be alive. Is that weird?”

  Somehow I get the sense she’s really asking me if I think she’s weird. With the psychological abuse she’s endured, I’m surprised she’s this normal. “No, not all. I think it’s selfless to sacrifice what you want to save someone else.”

  She seems pleased by my answer. A bit of absolution she can’t seem to find from anyone else. Including herself.

  “Because it seems like people die a lot because of me.”

  Now that suggestion is fucking crazy. Bearing guilt she doesn’t deserve. I meet her eyes. Dim and sad again with shame I can’t fucking stand. “Not because of you angel. None of this is your fault. No one blames you.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.” Small fingers stroke over the back of my hand. As if consoling me instead of herself. “One of the maids told me that Arturo hated me because I was so bad. That’s why I never received any birthday or Christmas presents or had anyone who loved me or had friends to play with. Because I didn’t deserve any. So I tried really, really hard to be good, but nothing ever changed.”

  Unbelievable. Fucking bitch for telling her something so cruel and insane. No wonder Viviana seeks so much approval and affection. Piercing me to my soul from the lack of emotion in her words. Just acceptance that some bullshit accusation uttered by one of Arturo’s minions so long ago must be true. “I think that lady was a crazy bitch and you shouldn’t give a damn what she said.”

  Just a slight shrug. Regardless of how much I insist, my assertion can’t weaken a conviction she’s been sentenced to for years.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since we left the church. That maybe some of them are like you. That I just think they’re dead, but they’re really not.”

  My chest aches for the hopefulness flooding her voice. Jaded yet still so fucking naïve. “Yeah, maybe.”

  She smiles from that. Nodding her head from my encouraging answer. I’m a lying bastard, but if that’s the idea she hangs onto to maintain her sanity, then I’m not going to dispute the possibility.

  Miles pass by in silence. Lost in her thoughts again. I should let her be. Give her time to contemplate the situation more. Work through the confusion she must feel. But I can’t. Not when I’m plagued by an irrational yet unrelenting feeling that if I don’t keep the conversation going between us, I’ll lose her to her fear. That she’ll be swallowed by the realization I’ve changed her entire life without her permission, and she has no idea what waits for her until we get there. Until I can demonstrate with my actions that I’m not lying. That I won’t give up on helping her have a better life. That she won’t ever have to endure pain from my hands.

  Words aren’t enough anymore. But they have to be enough until we get there. “So did you ever get to do anything fun?”

  Her head tilts. Eyes scanning the crown of the windshield as she thinks about my question. How fucking sad that she has to fucking think about her answer. Nothing pops up instantly like a trip to the beach or getting her driver’s license.

  “For a while I had a manners coach, Miss Elaine. She taught me how to sit like a lady and use the proper fork and talk with people you don’t know to make them feel at ease. We’d practice by getting all dressed up and having tea parties with fancy china and tiny little sandwiches. She even showed me how to dance properly for a ball or gala. I always loved wh
en she came over. She was my favorite of all my teachers. Much more fun than calculus or trigonometry.”

  This time I’m the one to laugh. For a kid who hated school and got by doing just enough to be eligible to play sports, those two words give me the fucking chills. “I bet.”

  “What about you? What things did you do as a kid?”

  My turn to share I guess. Which feels good but strange. Usually I don’t have discussions with the people I rescue, let alone relationships. Just bag ‘em, tag ‘em, and return ‘em. But she makes me do a lot of things very differently. “I have four brothers so what I did was get in trouble. Or try and figure out how to get out of it.”

  A genuine giggle bursts out of her mouth. “Oh wow! What was it like growing up in a house with five boys?”

  “Loud. Messy. Chaotic. Smelly. My mom tried to be super strict and keep us in line, but we managed to give her a ton of grief over the years.”

  “But she still loves you anyway?”

  Concern that I appreciate, yet loathe, darkens her expression. She shouldn’t ever have to doubt a parent’s love. “Yeah, she does. My Dad too. We have our disagreements and stuff, but we love each other.”

  “Good.” Tension uncoils from her body, and she grins again. “Very good.”

  For the next three hours, I entice more laughter from her with stories about broken arms and mangled trampolines and pranks gone wrong until we finally have to stop for the last vehicle switch.

  Sometimes I hate all the political correctness stifling our world, but some of the changes are definitely for the better. And definitely supportive to my personal benefit this afternoon. In the truck stop, I guide her into the family restroom, repeating our amusing procedure from earlier. She pees, I guard. I pee, she blushes.

  With tender kisses before and after that she seems to expect from me, and I’m more than fucking thrilled to provide to her. While my cock strains against its confines. Wanting to get in on the action only my lips have earned thus far. “Let’s get some waters before we head out.”

  Oblivious to the wanton stares of two guys approaching us in the wide hallway leading to the small market, she smiles up at me as we walk. Content to be wrapped in my arm again. Just like I was until these fuckers ruined my pleasure.

  Unwilling to jeopardize her relaxed countenance, I hide my fury from them eye-fucking her while they pass. One of them even has the fucking audacity to turn back and check out her ass once they’re behind us. Motherfucker. I’d stop and beat his ass if she wasn’t so fragile and wounded right now.

  Not that I should be surprised. My princess is fucking gorgeous. Even bundled up in her heavy coat, her innocent beauty can’t be diminished. I only release her to grab two bottles out of the cooler and pay for them. But I don’t have to worry about her drifting too far from me. She shadows my every move. The bright spot in my otherwise dark silhouette.

  Compliant too as always. Not questioning or arguing when we track out a different door than we came in. Crossing over the grassy median to the gray minivan parked at a rundown motel. Out of the line of sight of the gas station’s cameras my guy tampered with, to the hotel, too old and dilapidated to spring for any video surveillance of their own.

  Once we’re inside the beater, I make a quick loop around the perimeter to check our previous vehicle. Just as I anticipated, a thick glaze smears all the interior windows from the aerosol containers I left in the front seat that exploded after we exited. By the time someone figures out the car’s been abandoned, the bleach will have destroyed any evidence of the passengers.

  Some of the tension in my neck and shoulders softens from the confirmation. Our path is untraceable, and now I can focus all my attention and efforts on her. “Only a few more hours, and we’ll be home.”

  “Okay.”

  Her tone sounds anything but okay. She fiddles with the label on her drink, crinkling down the edges before smoothing the white and blue paper against the plastic again. Damn, I’m a dumb fuck for getting a vehicle where she can’t sit close enough to easily hold my hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just…”

  Too many punishments from speaking her mind keep her from answering. “Tell me princess.”

  “I was just wondering if anyone else lives in your house…if anyone…is with you.”

  Fuck me if she’s not adorable. Flustered with what I think might actually be jealousy. “No, I live alone. I’ve always lived by myself. It’s going to be really nice having you there with me.”

  And the radiant smile is back. Thank fucking god. She’s pleased that I’m single. Was single. “I think you’ll like it too. Windows cover the entire back of the house, looking out onto a huge lake. I have a small beach with a deck going into the water and there’s a fire pit built right into the sand. I’ve also got a small boat to take out when the weather warms up.”

  “Really?”

  God, I love her excitement. Relishing the anticipation in her voice. Not all of it’s for me. I’m not that fucking arrogant. But hopefully she’ll soon realize I give all of this to her —share all of this with her —because I really want her to be peaceful and happy. With the house and with me. “Yeah, there’s also a lodge that’s part of the village. They host events for the property owners and the tourists renting houses throughout the year, like fireworks in the summer and a barbeque in the spring. We can check it out if you want to.”

  “I do.” She’s almost breathless with exhilaration. “I really want to.”

  Of course she does. She has a lot of living to make up for from everything she’s missed out on. “Me too.”

  I tell her more about the township. The variety of eclectic restaurants and boutiques primarily targeted to vacationers, but that I think she would enjoy exploring as well.

  “Do they have a church?”

  Of course she would ask me that. And of course, I don’t have a fucking clue since I’ve never gone to mass until I met her. Always figured God would laugh his angelic ass off if a guy like me attempted to repent. “Once we get settled, I’ll find one and take you. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pink tints her lifting cheeks. Matching the crimson hues streaking across the horizon when we pull up to the welcome station at the entrance to my neighborhood. She peeks around me straining to see the view beyond the tall evergreens while we still have a few more minutes of daylight left in these short days. More curious than nervous. Hopefully that continues.

  The security guard leans toward us, giving me a terse smile. Bored and probably a little suspicious. That’s fine. I don’t take offense from people I don’t give a damn about.

  “Good evening, sir. May I see your identification please?”

  He nods when I hand over my license and slides the narrow window closed. Comparing my card and car against the information on his screen. A few quick taps on the keyboard, and he returns to us. Much friendlier now that I’ve proven myself as well as my worth, once he sees which address is mine despite the piece of shit I’m driving.

  “Thank you Mr. Stieler. Have a good night.”

  I pull away, well aware what she’s wondering. Even more aware that she won’t ask. Might as well explain now since she’ll eventually take my real last name. “Stieler is one of my aliases. I used it when I bought the land to keep anyone from tracking me here.”

  Disappointment clouds her face, and her gaze returns to the window. “Oh.”

  So much more than surprise embedded in that single word. Some of the confidence I’ve gained with her lost from a stupid secret that doesn’t have anything to do with us. “I have several pseudonyms I use when I work. My real name is Roman Roan. I used Roan on the assignment to rescue you since I knew I would be there for a while. I didn’t want to mess up. Having a fake name on a piece of paper is a lot different than being called by something you’re not used to.”

  “Roman.”

  My cock twitches in my pants again to hear her try out my real name.

  “
Is it okay if I still call you Roan?”

  No. I don’t know why but I fucking hate that idea. Like she’s keeping a fucking wall between us. My grip tightens on the wheel but I give her a casual grin. Hopefully my agreement seems sincere. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “Okay.” She doesn’t smile back. A tension brewing underneath her drawn face. “What is your work? I thought you were a bodyguard.”

  Damn. I did not want to have this conversation yet. “I’m a mercenary. I do what people pay me to do, if the price is right. Mostly I rescue people. When you’re rich and involved in illegal shit, you’re a target for people who want a ransom or revenge. Usually both.”

  “Not a bodyguard and not Roan.”

  I can’t see her expression in the dim light but I don’t need to. I can hear the realization dawning in her tone. Mulling over all the information I’ve been sharing with her. We drive the rest of the winding road in silence. Neither of us saying a word when I pull into my driveway and wait for the third garage door to lift. And it’s fucking killing me that I’ve ruined everything I’ve built up to this point.

  “So when you told me at the church you never lied to me, that was a lie.”

  Son of a bitch. Too fucking sharp. My princess is too smart for me to think I can get anything past her. “I never lied to you about what’s important. I want you here. I will do anything to protect you. I will never hurt you. All of that is true.”

  What’s also true is that she doesn’t believe me. Doesn’t keep hold of my hand after I help her out of the front seat. Doesn’t look at me with longing like she did before. Doesn’t smile when we step inside the house. Just stands mute next to me in the mud room while I punch the code into the alarm key pad. Waiting for me to tell her what to do. When all I want to do is find a way to make her to understand. To realize what she means to me.