Bastian: A Secret Baby Romance
Page 21
I was in the parking lot when my cell phone rang. As only ten people in the world had the number to my work phone, I knew it had to be important, and pulled it out. “Neiman,” I greeted. “What's up?”
“Daniel, it’s Carlo,” a mid-tone, accented voice said in my ear, and I immediately stiffened. “I need your services.”
“Of course, Don Bertoli,” I said immediately, sliding behind the wheel of my car. “What do you need?”
“First, go home and get some sleep,” he said. “I’ve asked another man to do the rest of your pickups for the night. What did you get done?”
“Williams' Market and the Starlight Club, sir. I was thinking of going to the others closer to closing time. Give them a chance to make sure they have the cash on hand.”
I heard Don Bertoli's warm chuckle, and was pleased. “You’re wise beyond your young years, Daniel. But don’t worry about that tonight. Tomorrow morning at six I want you at Harborview Medical Center to pick up my niece.”
“Adriana?” I asked. Adriana and I had been friends when I was a child, and while I couldn't say the same any longer, we still would run into each other from time to time. “What happened, Boss?”
“Some psycho piece of shit instructor is obsessed with her, stalked her, and killed her roommate this afternoon. Now don't worry, I have a man watching her room right now, but I know Adriana. She’ll want to go back to classes, and you’re the best man for the job. You’re young enough that you won’t stick out too much amongst the college students, but more importantly, I know that you are a man of honor. You’d never allow anyone to harm her.”
“You have my word,” I swore immediately. My benefactor had treated me well in the twenty-five years I'd been under his protection.
“Protect her like she's the most important person in the entire world. If you see Christ himself resurrected and saying Adriana is not one of the saved, you are to slay the Lamb, do you understand?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be there at six.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and I could tell he had something difficult to say. “Daniel, what I say next is not because I don’t love you like one of my own. You've been a better man than many of them, and I look upon you with the same pride that I do my own sons. You know that, right?”
“I do, sir. And I see you as the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father, you know that.”
“And I appreciate that, my boy. But Adriana, she’s blood, and she is the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter. I won’t have her with a man in this kind of business. So I’ll say this again, even though I know you’ve heard it before, if only so that you know exactly where I’m coming from. If you so much as touch her, let alone do what you’ve done with all those other women, I will make sure that your cock is chopped off and stuffed up your ass before you die a miserable death. Understood?”
“Understood,” I said, a fine sweat breaking out on my brow despite the coolness of the evening. “Perfectly.”
“Good. Give me a call in the morning when you are at the hospital. Good night, Daniel.”
“Good night, sir.”
The phone went silent in my ear, and I closed it with an only slightly trembling hand. I'd known Adriana from the first day she came to the Don's house, and she'd for years been that one woman who was always untouchable. Don Bertoli had no problems with my sleeping around, he felt that young men should be virile and if I was a one time only bedmate, that was my choice. He'd even gifted me with some of the girls who worked for him from time to time, including a semi-famous actress who'd done a few science fiction shows in Vancouver — the sort of stuff that had a decent dedicated following of geeks, but didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting any awards.
From the beginning, Adriana had been off limits. Not just to me, but to everyone in the Don's organization, and it was spelled out to us in very clear terms. Touch Adriana Bertoli, and die.
The problem was, she was my weakness. In my twenty-five years on this Earth, I'd trained myself to ignore pain, to ignore exhaustion, and to ignore every temptation. Money meant almost nothing to me — I had enough from what the Don gave me, and he'd taught me how to invest it well so that I would have more than enough when I wanted it. Physical possessions, the same. The only reason I drove a BMW was because as a member of the Bertoli family, it was expected that I drive a nicer class of car than the average jackass on the road. Stylish, understated, and with a sense of power. That’s what a Bertoli man drove, and that’s what I drove.
But sex was both one of my most potent tools and also one of my biggest weaknesses. Oh, the average slut that I went to Pound Town with, I didn't even give a second thought to. I'd never felt guilty fucking just about any woman that caught my attention, and with my cock, who could blame me — it’s not like they’d turn me down. It's not everyday that a woman gets to feel a legitimate nine inches of thick man meat inside them. I can’t help I was blessed with size and endurance — give me five or ten, and I’ll saddle up for round two and round three. Turning your regular Girl Next Door into a cock slut just so happen to be a hobby of mine.
Adriana though, she was different. Sexy, intelligent, and self-assured in a way that no other woman I'd met was, she’d been the subject of some of my earliest masturbation fantasies back when I was in high school and needed to rub one out at least once a day. Where other women would melt at a look from my eyes and a smirk, she always returned my taunts with verve and spice, usually with something along the lines of that once I had her, I'd be the one addicted to her and not the other way around. Not that I would’ve ever touched her if she acted like other women. I am rather fond of my balls, after all, and would prefer to keep them attached.
I started up my Beamer and turned on the lights, taking a deep breath as I put the stick shift into first and pulled out of the strip club's parking lot, and I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. Adriana was the ultimate forbidden fruit, and I had to admit that my greatest goal in life was to have just one night with her.
“Just do your fucking duty,” I reminded myself, hanging a right and driving uptown toward my apartment. It was going on ten thirty, and if I wanted to be fresh-faced and ready to guard Adriana, I had to get back to my apartment quickly and try and get some sleep.
Chapter 3
Adriana
I couldn't believe Daniel when he showed up the next morning at my room. I'd slept like crap, tossing and turning most of the night but not really dropping off until about two in the morning. Even still, a nightmare drove me from my sleep at about five, the morning light glowing in my window and I decided to hell with it. Uncle Carlo had gotten me a private room, so for the next forty-five minutes I gave myself a long sponge bath, sluicing away the dirt and bad feelings from the previous day before washing out my hair in the sink that was in the corner. The water was hot at least, and as I pulled my clothes back on, I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw the streak of paint on my right thumbnail.
“Cheaper than a set of nails,” I joked, thinking about my bad habit of not always cleaning paint off of my clothes as well as I'd like. Rarely a day went by that I didn't find myself slapping my forehead over some missed streak of paint on a pair of pants, a shirt, or my body. I'd even once done a whole dinner with a rather cute guy with a streak of titanium white in between my eyes. It wasn't until the dessert course and he asked if the mark was for Lent that I'd even realized it was there.
A few minutes later, Daniel knocked on the door, and I smoothed my hair back, checking my shirt and pants to make sure I didn't have anything hanging out or a water spot in an embarrassing place. “Come in.”
“Good morning Adriana. Long time no see.”
“How're you doing Dan . . .” I started, before I saw him in the mirror and broke down laughing. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“What?” he asked, slightly miffed. It wasn't that he didn't look handsome, he was debonair to a degree that few men could even hope to attain.
“Gray is better for daytime work,” Daniel said simply, adjusting his tie, which was at least a tasteful purple. “I thought black or blue would be too dark for today.”
I dropped my head and shook it back and forth, flummoxed momentarily. Daniel was the prototype for the perfect Bertoli man, but that didn't mean he was perfect for all times or situations. “Fine, for today only. But Daniel, you can’t wear that if you plan on following me to all of my classes. Remember, I'm a college student, and an art student at that. You wear that monkey suit on campus, and you're going to stand out like a sore thumb.”
He considered my words, then gave me a surly shrug. Even as kids, he'd hated being shown in error by anyone, especially me. “Fine. I wear this when I’m on duty, but I’ll make an exception. What is it college students are wearing nowadays anyway?”
I gaped at him, then laughed. “Seriously? You dress in thousand dollar suits all the time?”
“I don’t mind a pair of jeans and a tank top on my day off, but when on duty, yes. There’s no use putting fuzzy dice in the mirror of a Bentley,” Daniel taunted, falling back into his old banter. “Especially when you've got the engine of a Ferrari like I do. Want a test drive?”
It was an old game between us, using supposedly innocent terms to banter back and forth sexually. It was fun most of the time, and I felt another smile coming on. I needed the immature silliness it seemed. “If you even knew how to get that Ferrari out of the garage, I doubt you'd be able to do much more than first gear anyway. But seriously, what do you have for your non-work wear?”
Daniel thought, then brought his hand up to tick off his wardrobe. “I wear 5.11 for when I do my work at the range, Venum shorts for my martial arts practice, maybe some Under Armour sweats for colder days at the gym. You know I work a lot . . .”
“Enough!” I laughed, glad he hadn't gone into his sock brands. “Just wear some jeans and a t-shirt, maybe a button-down.”
Daniel shrugged dismissively. “I can do that.”
“I'm sure you can,” I said, trying not to laugh again, “and I doubt Uncle Carlo will mind. He’s not the one that has to deal with any APEs.”
“Apes?” Daniel asked, clearly perplexed. He held his hands up, and shook his head. “Never mind, you can fill me in while we drive. So where am I supposed to go shopping for these button-downs? It’s not really my style. I either go professional or as casual as it gets.”
“How about Nordies, for one?” I asked. “You do know what Nordstrom's is, right?”
“Of course,” Daniel replied with some defensive arrogance. I'd realized long ago, he was at his most sarcastic and verbally taunting when he felt threatened or insecure, although I didn't know what it was that caused him to act so around me more than other people. “It's where I like to get my dress shirts. They have some good labels there, ones the Don likes.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing that regardless of what I said, there was nothing that would shake Daniel's devotion to my uncle. Daniel felt he owed his life to him, and strove to be the best, most useful member of the organization possible. Considering he was only twenty-five, non-Italian, and being tasked with protecting me, I'd say he was doing a good job. “Come on, let's go.”
“It's a little early, isn't it?” Daniel asked, checking his watch, which I noticed would have to go too. College students, at least none on my campus, wore Bvlgari watches. “It's not even seven yet.”
“Give me some time to get checked out, and then we can grab some McDonald's, or are you on a special diet too?”
“I try to eat healthy, but no, not really,” Daniel casually said, as if men who looked like him ate fast food on a daily basis. “Let’s go to an IHOP though if you want to eat like that. I can go to town on their pancakes.”
Not even realizing it, I smiled and nodded. “No problem. Let's just get the doctor in here to get me checked out.”
It took us actually until nearly eight, by which I was starving, and as we left the hospital, I was actually looking forward to the day. We got into Daniel's BMW, and I had to remind myself that a lot of his taste was because of his desire to project the right image for Carlo. I wondered what the real Daniel Neiman would want, but then as I sat there, I realized it was probably this car. Gunmetal gray, it purred the whole time he drove, his eyes on the road and his hands at the ideal ten and two. Finally, after about two or three miles, I had to laugh. “Relax, Dan. You're not driving for the Indy 500, nor are your Jason Bourne skills necessary right now.”
“Your uncle thought it was necessary, so I’d say my skills are more than needed right now,” he replied tersely, before cracking a cocky grin. “Well, most of my skills. You can't handle all of them.”
“When you're done practicing with the girls and are ready for a woman, then I might give you a call,” I shot back, laughing. That one had been too easy, he was out of practice. “Seriously though Dan, thanks. It's good to see you, it's been a long time. When was the last time, Christmas?”
“Something like that,” he said, relaxing a millimeter or so in his posture, but mostly in his voice. I could start to hear the ghost of the guy I'd been friends with as a kid, the guy I actually liked. “Hey, there's IHOP up ahead, right next to the mall with the Nordstrom's. I have a feeling you’re going to try to dress me up like an idiot, though.”
“You're hardly an idiot. I could dress you like a Japanese boy band member, and you'd still look impressively heterosexual.”
“Aura, Ade,” he said, using the nickname we'd used among each other since we were kids, just as I was the only person who called him Dan, at least that I knew of. “Just can't help it.”
We parked, and Daniel let me drag him inside the IHOP, where we both ate our fill. For his part, he was not so much tense at attentive, making sure we were seated in the area of the restaurant that gave him the best view of everyone both entering and exiting. When I tried to engage him in conversation, he was slightly distracted, his eyes constantly scanning the room and out the window while he forked his big stack of pancakes along with sausage and maple syrup, never looking down but amazingly never letting a single drop fall onto his suit. It was kind of like watching an android or something eat, and I was reminded again of the nickname one of the other Bertoli men had given him back when he was in high school. He was the Terminator.
Breakfast finished at about nine, and for the next three hours, until just before noon, I helped him with picking out and trying on different outfits, trying to find that right mix that said he was a college kid with enough cash to drive a late model BMW, but not so stuck up that he looked like a douchebag. Of course, I got more than my fair share of eye candy too, and was impressed when he came out in a printed t-shirt. “Jesus Dan, you have any more veins in those biceps and you're going to get kidnapped by the pre-meds to practice doing IVs on.”
“Welcome to the gun show,” he joked, giving me a small flex. “In more ways than one.”
I saw the small bulge under the shirt on his right side, near his hip on the belt line. “Don't tell me, inside the store even?”
“I have my concealed carry permit,” Daniel said with a chuckle. “After all, I'm a perfectly law abiding citizen with no criminal record past two speeding tickets, one when I was a minor.”
“And how big is it exactly?” I didn't realize until after the words were out of my mouth how deeply I'd stepped in it with the comment, but he let me go without too much of a retort
Instead, he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you like to know?”
While I waited for Daniel to get changed after paying — there was no way I was letting him continue wearing that hitman suit, there were enough rumors about the Bertoli name around campus as it was — I got a message on my phone from Uncle. The crime scene investigators had finished
at the apartment, and released it to me to get my things out. “Hey, Dan? Carlo just messaged me, he said that we can go by the apartment and get my things. Do you mind?”
He finished changing and came out, looking impressive in his jeans and polo. “Not at all. He told that after getting your things I was to help you move into a safe house, someplace that’s in another name. I don't know where, I think he's having someone set it up right now.”
“Then before we leave the mall, let's stop and get you a new watch,” I said, noticing again the incongruity. “In fact, take that damn thing off and give it to me, I'll stash it in my bag.”
“What's wrong with the watch?” Daniel said, but began undoing the leather band. At least he wasn't wearing one of those styles that came with gold metal bands. “Not college enough?”
“Not by a long shot,” I said. “You're wearing fifty dollar pair of jeans, a thirty dollar polo, hundred dollar shoes, and a twelve thousand dollar watch. Which part of that strikes you as strange?”
“Fine, fine,” he said, handing me the watch. “But if you scratch it, it's going on your bill. Come on.”
Daniel turned to leave, and I just stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He turned back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”
“The bags?” I asked, indicating the half dozen bags we'd bought. “You know — put those muscles to work and all?”
“My muscles work by making sure you're safe and protected,” Daniel replied evenly. “Not by being your pack horse. Next time, don't buy so much crap, even if it’s for me. It may not be chivalric, but you're going to have to carry your own damn bags.”
It was a struggle, and I know that he could hear the muffled curses under my breath, but I knew he was right. We skipped the watch kiosk though, and I figured if Daniel really wanted to check the time he could look at his phone like a lot of other people did. We went back to his BMW, filling most of the back seat with the bags, and I went around to the passenger seat, getting in. It was only then that Daniel relaxed enough to get in on his side, dropping into his low slung bucket seat nearly silently. Closing the door, he looked at me.