by Jagger Cole
The Bodyguard’s Weakness
Jagger Cole
Contents
The Bodyguard’s Weakness
A Special Present
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
The Scaliami Crime Family
Also by Jagger Cole
About the Author
The Bodyguard’s Weakness
The job is just three simple rules: Protect the mafia don’s granddaughter, make sure she has whatever she needs, and don’t go to bed with and wake up accidentally married to her.
On second thought, there’s a chance those rules aren’t so simple after all…
I’ve worked and bled my whole life to get to where I’m at as a Captain in the Scaliami Syndicate. I’ve pulled no punches. I’ve suffered no BS, not from anyone.
Now, I’m supposed to play bodyguard to a gorgeous, innocent, and very much off-limits mafia princess during her trip to the States. Lucia Scaliami is out of bounds, ill-advised; verboten. Looking at her could cost an eye. Touching her could destroy an empire.
I’m supposed to be keeping her safe. And I’m pretty damn sure I’m not supposed to wind up in bed and in-matrimony with her.
Whoops.
Now, what happens in Vegas could very well put me in the ground. But I don’t care. I’ve seen what I truly want from this life.
And I’ll be damned if I let her get away from me.
A Special Present
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1
Dominic
Fuck me, that’s a great ass.
Whoever made yoga pant leggings a fashion hit deserves a Nobel Prize. Whoever introduced them to the wardrobe of the girl in front of me at the coffee shop deserves to be sainted. Tight, black, and hugging every single inch of those curves.
Hell, I could stand here all day staring at that butt. And the legs attached to it. And the curvy waist, and the long blonde hair. But I don’t have all day. Actually, I barely have ten minutes. I’m not yet, but I’m about to be late for a meeting. And it’s the kind of meeting you make damn fucking sure you ain’t late for.
Being late for a meeting with Micheal Genovisi, the head of the US operations of the Scaliami crime family is a bad idea. Being late for a meeting with Micheal and Don Salvestro Scaliami himself, visiting from Sicily? Well, that could be a fatal idea.
But I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours. I was on a job last night with Vincent, Micheal’s right hand man. Again, that’s an invitation you don’t say no to. When the second in command of the family you’ve bled and killed for says “I have a job for you,” you say when and what. And that’s it. Even if it means pulling an all-nighter. That’s why I’m still standing here in this goddamn cafe line.
Well, that and the ass in front of me.
If I wasn’t dead tired, I’d be heading up the block to the office Micheal keeps here in the Flatiron District of New York. But I’m fading from lack of sleep, and a triple espresso is the only thing that’s going to get me back from the edge.
That is, if this girl in front of me ever manages to make up her fucking mind. Great ass or not, this girl is fucking killing me. Possibly literally, if I don’t get my ass moving soon. My eyes finally drag from her ass. They move up the back of her shimmery top, the gaudy fashionista purse, the perfectly done blonde hair. I glare at her. Hurry. The. Fuck. Up. I mutter to myself.
“No, no, something not sweet? I’m just not sure what I might like.”
I roll my eyes. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s a Starbucks. Who the fuck has never been to a Starbucks before?
“It’s the same damn menu in every store, you know,” I grunt under my breath. The girl stiffens. Shit, maybe not so under my breath. She half turns. She glances at me sidelong through thick dark sunglasses.
“Excuse me?” She’s got an accent. Not a thick one, but I can hear it. Maybe Italian, but what do I know.
“I said it’s the same menu they’ve got everywhere.”
“And?”
“And some people have shit to do,” I grunt. I glance back at the line forming behind me. The guy directly behind me smirks and nods in agreement. So does the lady with a phone to her ear behind him. I turn my attention back to the prima donna standing at the counter. “See?”
She shrugs and looks back at the barista. “Do you have oat milk?”
I groan and roll my eyes. “Hey, princess?”
With her back still to me, she slowly raises a hand. Actually, it’s more of a fist. But then she raises one finger. You can guess which one.
“Cute,” I mutter. I glance at my watch. Fucking hell, I’m out of time. “Look,” I growl at the barista. I pull out a twenty from my wallet. “Triple espresso, please. Keep the change.”
“I’m sorry, is this how it works here?” Blondie with the great ass snaps.
“It’s how it works when you waste everyone’s time, yeah.”
“Well maybe I’d have an easier time ordering if the creep behind me wasn’t staring at my ass.”
I frown. There’s a murmur behind me. I turn around and see the lady on her phone glaring at me. “I wasn’t…”
“Yes, you were.”
The barista guy looks like he wants to be almost literally anywhere else on earth than right here. Blondie turns back to him. “Hmmm…”
“Look, can you please just fucking order? Or stand aside and let everyone else get the fuck on with their live—”
“I’ll take a drip coffee. Grande. Black.”
I stare at the back of her head incredulously. “Are you serious right now?”
She ignores me and slides her card to pay for her coffee. I want to fight it, but I can’t. My eyes lose the fight and drop to her ass one more time. This time when I pull them back up, she’s facing me. To-go coffee in hand, she smirks at me through those sunglasses. And damn, her ass might be amazing, but those lips? God help me.
“Take a picture next time,” she smiles. “It’ll last longer.”
I glare at her. I want to tell her to get fucked. But I can’t. Not because it’s a crowded cafe and that would be socially weird of me to do. But even with sunglasses on, I can tell she’s gorgeous. I mean stunningly, jaw-droppingly gorgeous.
She smirks at me. Her full pouty lips turn up at the corners. “Nice comeback. Now please, order your mocha frappuccino with caramel.”
I glare at her. “It was a triple espresso.”
“Sure it was.” Her smile is totally patronizing. She strolls past me with a smirk. Her hand raises, and she pats my chest. “Have a nice life, douchebag.”
“Go fuck yourself, princess.”
“Well one of us has to get it done, and I can promise, it’s not gonna be you!”
I turn and watch dumbfounded as she strolls out. I’m not gonna lie. I’m staring at that ass. There’s a cough behind me. I turn and see the barista raising a to-go cup to me.
“So do you, uh, want change?”
I glare at him. “Yes.”
I take my phone out in the elevator on the way up to the office. I glare at it. Not my phone. My new, temporary phone. Mine ate shit down a flight of stairs the other day, and I’m waiting for a replacement. In the meantime, I’m using a throwaway iPhone knockoff that Vincent gave me.
It’s fine. It works, and I obviously need a working phone for work. But it’s on the personal side of things where it’s fucking me up. I can do work stuff on my temporary work phone. I’m not installing the dating app I’m a member of on it.
And that’s a big problem.
I know, online dating is dumb as shit. I’ve never been interested in it. Tinder? Nah, fuck that. If I’m so inclined, I’ll meet women face to face, not on a stupid chatting app. But Connect is different. I don’t know why I gave the new dating app a try at all. But I did. And in record time, I get “connected” with BabyBella99.
She’s interesting. She’s smart. She listens to great fucking music. And she’s gorgeous, too. At least from the few cropped pics she’s messaged me. Soft, full lips, dark black hair, and a smile that makes my heart race and my dick hard. She’s sexy as hell, and goddamn is she kinky. We’ve only ever messaged through the app. But we’ve had some seriously hot conversations. I guess you’d call it sexting. Even if I think that’s a ridiculously stupid name.
In short, she’s goddamn perfect. Every single thing about her, that is, aside from the fact that she lives in France.
We’ve been chatting almost daily for months. Except without my phone, there’s no Connect app. No messaging. No BabyBella99. Christ, for all I know, she thinks I’ve ghosted her. So, it’s not just no sleep fucking me up and making me extra on edge. It’s not getting to talk to her.
The elevator door sliding open shakes my head out of my thoughts.
“Cutting it close, Dom.”
I glance up. It’s Vincent, waiting for me in the lobby area of Micheal’s offices. He smirks at my phone. “How’s the piece of shit treating you?”
“Like shit.”
He chuckles.
“Vincent, sorry I’m late. I’m tired as hell and just needed…”
“I’m just busting your balls, Dom. You’re good. Salvestro just got here anyways.” He eyes me. “Thanks again for the work last night.”
The job was a hunt. One of our bookies got hit last night. I mean, that’s part of the deal when you’re running illegal gambling operations. But it wasn’t just the money they were after. Whoever ripped us off also left with the computer server that was at the bookie’s office. The money is one thing. Tracing where the money comes from is more alarming.
So me and some other guys were out all night. Poking around the usual places. Roughing up the usual scumbags for information.
“Anything I can do, you know I’m there.”
He nods. “I do know. And so does Micheal. And it’s not going unnoticed.”
My pride swells. “Just doing my job.”
Vincent rolls his eyes. “Drop the humble bullshit though, okay? You’re not selling it.”
I chuckle. He grins.
“Come on, let’s get in there.”
I follow him down the hallway to one of Micheal’s meeting rooms.
“So, what’s this all about, by the way? Micheal and Salvestro want to see me?”
Vincent glances at me and smirks.
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
“Good or bad?”
He chuckles and stops at the meeting room door. “It’s not bad. Not that kind of bad, at least.”
“So… good?”
“That might be a stretch,” he grunts. He chuckles again. “It’s a job, Dom.”
“What’s the job?”
Vincent turns away and starts to open the door to the meeting room.
“Vincent, what’s the job—”
But Vincent turns the knob and opens the heavy, ornate door. It swings open into the low-lit and opulent meeting room. The air is tinged with cigar smoke. Across from me in big chairs by a marble fireplace, sit two of the most notorious men on earth: Micheal Genovisi and Don Salvestro Scaliami.
Micheal nods at me and stands. “Dominic, come.” He gestures to a chair in front of him and Don Salvestro. “Sit, please.”
I glance at Vincent. He nods to go ahead. I cross the room and shake Micheal’s outstretched hand. Don Salvestro nods at me, though he doesn’t offer a hand. I sit, and the older, silver-haired man with the cane and the cigar smiles at me. He’s in an impeccable three-piece black suit. It reminds me that this little old Italian man is one of the most powerful, richest, and dangerous men on earth.
“Signore Ferrari,” he smiles at me. “We do not know each other very well, do we?”
We’ve actually only met twice before. And by met, I mean being in the same room. I might be rising in the Scaliami ranks. But I’m a nobody to the man at the very top in Sicily.
“No sir, Don Salvestro.”
He looks at me without blinking. My pulse starts to quicken. I start to think back on my performance with my job. Am I in trouble? Did I fuck up somewhere? I frown. That can’t be it. I’ve bled for this family. Hell, I saved Micheal’s very life from a bomb in his house not very long ago.
Maybe it’s a promotion? But if it is, why the fuck is Vincent smirking over Micheal and Salvestro’s shoulders?
“Dominic,” Salvestro grunts quietly in his heavily accented voice. “I have a job for you.”
“Sir?”
“It is a big job. I am picking you because Micheal…” he nods his head towards my boss. “And Vincent, they say you are a good, loyal man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He keeps looking at me without blinking. “Are you?”
I nod. “Si, Don Salvestro. Whatever you need. Whatever the family needs.”
He smiles. “Good. Very good.”
I’ve killed, and I’ve bled for the Scaliami family. I was born into this life, and I’ll die in it. And I’m fine with that. I try and read his face. Does he need me for a hit? Overseeing a new operation? Whatever it is, I’m ready for it. But why the fuck is Vincent smirking?
“I need you to watch something for me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Something very precious to me.” His eyes narrow. “I am picking you because you can be trusted.”
“Absolutely, Don Salvestro,” I growl. “Whatever it is…”
“She.”
I frown. “Pardon?”
“She,” Salvestro smiles. “Not it. She. My granddaughter is here in the states visiting. She wants to see things and have a real… how do you say it… sight see trip? And I need someone to watch her. To keep her safe from our enemies. She is young, so she needs a guardian while she travels.”
My jaw tenses. Hang the fuck on. What? Is this a goddamn babysitting job? His granddaughter? What am I going to do, bring her to fucking Disney World? Have a tea party? I look up and Vincent is doing everything he can to not laugh out loud.
Don Salvestro turns towards a door opposite the one I came through. “Topolina!” He calls with a smile.
Little mouse. Are you fucking kidding me?
“Lucia, mi amore, come!”
The door starts to open. I frown and clear my throat. “Don Salvestro, all due respect.” My mind if whirling. “Sir, I appreciate the confidence, but I’m not sure I’m qualified to watch a child—”
“Grandpapa.”
My eyes dart back to the door as it opens. My heart stops beating, and my jaw drops hard. What. The. Fuck.
The first thing I see is the Starbucks cup. I don’t have to guess what’s in it, because I know. Grande drip coffee, black. My gaze raises. I see the sparkly top. The gaudy purse. The long blonde hair.
She’s not wearing sunglasses this time. My dark eyes lock with her baby-blues. Recognition hits as ha
rd as it just hit me. Her face pales. Her full, pouty pink lips fall open.
“You,” she croaks, staring at me.
Don Salvestro just smiles. “Dominic, I would like you to meet my darling granddaughter, Lucia. Lucia, this is your new bodyguard, Dominic.”
She stares at me in horror. I stare right back with dread. Dread and visions of that goddamn perfect ass of hers.
Her bodyguard? Yeah, I’m fucked.
2
Lucia
I pace the large office quietly. The coffee is warm in my hands. I sip it slowly while taking in the view. I’m no stranger to opulence and fancy offices. But the view is different. Back in Sicily, I lived at my grandfather’s coastal estate. Romanesque walls and gardens, Mediterranean courtyards and pools, and all the modern trappings of wealth and power.
But my view there is of the ocean and the olive trees. In France, where I’ve been going to University, the view isn’t much different. The school is outside Marseille, on the Riviera. Lots of gorgeous views of the Mediterranean, old Roman walls, and of course, olive trees.
But this is new. I look out over a slightly foggy New York City and smile. I like the energy here. It’s different. New York is like a firecracker in your face. It’s one of the reasons I asked to travel for a little bit. I needed a break from my life.
The other reason of course is what’s coming in my future. I’m not in the dark about what my family is or does. And I know my grandfather, though he loves me dearly, is old school. I’ve heard the hinted conversations about “securing alliances.” I know what that means. It means marriage. If we’re getting technical, it means “arranged” marriage.
