by Jagger Cole
I frown out the window. That’s what awaits me. Marrying the son of some other crime family to “secure alliances.” How medieval. I look down and blow the steam off my coffee. It makes me think of the cafe. And that leads my thoughts to the man I just met.
Well, met isn’t really the word. Crossed paths with, perhaps? I roll my eyes at myself. Sure, he was gorgeous and hot. The strong jaw, the smoldering dark eyes. That dark hair and broad, muscled shoulders. I even touched his rock-hard chest when I patted it patronizing.
I tremble. Okay, he was hot. But he was also just another typical American douchebag. An impatient one at that. I smile when I remember flipping him off. Take that, douchebag. Infuriatingly hot douchebag though he was.
But he’s no HardDaddy, I blush to myself. I reach into my purse like it’s instinct and pull out my phone. I open the app with giddy anticipation. But then I frown. Still no message back. I shrug, sigh, and put the phone away.
I know a girl like me has no place being on dating apps. Not when I’m from the world I’m from. Being on an app like Connect is downright dangerous for me. And definitely for any men I might talk to. I mean my grandfather is the head of one of the largest, most powerful crime syndicates in the world.
Luckily, there aren’t “men” I’m talking to on the dating app. There’s just the singular man: HardDaddy. We don’t know each other’s names. But that’s part of the excitement. That’s part of what makes me so tingly and achy for him, I think. I’ve seen his handsome smile, and pictures of his shirtless torso that make my pulse race.
And then there’s our texting. Or sexting is the better word for it. I blush deeply and tremble. In the real world, I’m a twenty-one-year-old, never-been-kissed, mob princess virgin. On Connect, HardDaddy turns me into a sultry, confident, sex goddess.
He makes me crave things. He makes me tremble with lust just thinking about him. My pulse throbs in my veins thinking about the filthy hot things we say to each other over the apps messaging system. The way he calls me his babygirl. The way I call him sir, or… I blush. Or daddy.
I groan, blush, and roll my eyes. He’s the hottest sexual experience of my life, and it’s all over text messaging. It’s so lame, and yet it’s so hot I keep coming back for more. But now, I wonder if I’ve scared him off. The anonymity of it is definitely what makes it so hot. And I worry that I’ve ruined that. HardDaddy is in the US. I don’t even know where. But when I knew I was visiting last minute, I told him. I said I was going to be in the US and traveling. And that I thought it would be fun to... well, to make our fantasies something more real.
That was two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. Nice fucking going, self.
I scowl, sip my coffee, and stare out at the city again. I try not to think about possibly ruining my hot online affair with my mystery man. Instead, I focus on where I am. I’ve been to New York before, for a few quick trips. That was when I was living here in the states.
I was born in Italy to an American mother and a Scaliami father. But my mom passed when I was two. My dad, the heir to the Scaliami throne, raised me as best he could. But it was mostly nannies. When I was nine, his hard partying lifestyle finally caught up with him. When the car crash took him, my grandfather stepped in and sent me to live with my mom’s aunt in North Carolina.
I used to have no idea why he did it. But in hindsight. I think he wanted to give me a shot at not living under the shadow of the Scaliami name. It didn’t last long though. Great Aunt Carol died when I was fourteen, so back to Sicily, to my grandfather’s estate I went.
So, it’s nice to be back here. Even if I probably blew it with HardDaddy.
I roll my eyes at myself. What was I thinking? That the sexy guy who makes my panties melt with text messages was going to be “the one?” That I’d travel here and he’d finally be the one to relieve me of my stupid virginity?
I know. It’s ridiculous to still be hanging on to it at twenty-one. Especially when I come from the world I do. Wealth, fancy parties, glamorous people, etc. But what can I say: I’m picky. I’ve never wanted to “just do it” or “get it over with.”
I hear murmured talking out in the meeting room. I groan. That’s the one part of this trip that’s going to suck. My grandfather wants me to meet my “escort” for my travels here. I roll my eyes. It’s a very nice way of saying “nanny.”
Jesus Christ, like I need a babysitter. Yes, I know the dangers that come with having Scaliami as a last name. But still. This is ridiculous.
“Topolina!”
I smile at my grandpa calling my nickname. I go to the door and take a breath. Time to meet my stupid bodyguard. I’m imagining some hulking knuckle-dragger of a guy. Some monosyllabic grunt who’s going to shit all over my fun for this trip.
God, it’s probably a good thing I never connected with HardDaddy about meeting. He’d probably end up dead.
I sigh and push the door open.
“Lucia, mi amore, come!”
I smile at my grandfather. “Grandpapa—”
I freeze. I can see there are other men in the room. But I barely see Micheal Genovisi and his second in command. But I do see the third man, facing me. My skin prickles. My jaw drops.
“You,” I hiss.
My grandfather smiles. “Dominic, I would like you to meet my darling granddaughter, Lucia. Lucia, this is your new bodyguard, Dominic.”
Dominic. The hot American douchebag from the cafe has a name. He also has a job: being my fucking bodyguard. I blink. The world seems to pause around me. This can’t be real. No freaking way is this real.
“My…” I shake my head. “My bodyguard?”
“Si, amore,” my grandfather smiles. “Lucia, we talked about this. For your travels.”
The asshole—Dominic—is staring at me with the same shock on his face that’s on mine. He looks pale. Maybe a little pissed off. I glare at him and swallow.
“No… no, Grandpapa. I don’t need…”
“You do, amore. I am sorry, but you do. Vincent?” He glances over his shoulder at Micheal’s second in command.
“Your grandfather is right, Ms. Scaliami,” he growls. “In Sicily, you’re surrounded by the family and guards. Here, things are different. You’re exposed here.”
I frown and tremble. “Am I in danger?”
“No, not immediately. But you’re exposed. With Dominic, you won’t be.”
For one second, the idea of being “exposed” with the stupidly gorgeous dark-haired bodyguard seeps into my head. I look at those dark, smoldering eyes. I remember the firm, thick muscles of his chest under my hand. I tremble and blush. Then I scowl.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Dominic isn’t a babysitter, Lucia,” Micheal says gently. But over his shoulder, I see Vincent smirking at Dominic. The younger man looks back at Vincent and scowls. I grin. Interesting. He’s being railroaded into this too.
My smile curls wider. Good. I can use that. I don’t want him around, and he doesn’t want me around. This, I can work with.
“Your quarters are ready here in the city, Ms. Scaliami,” Vincent grunts. “The building is ours, and secure. And of course, Dominic will be there too for whatever you need.”
I blink quickly. I turn to him and frown. “In the building?”
“In the apartment.”
I pale. What?! Not only do I have a fucking babysitter, but he’s going to be my freaking roommate too?!
“Grandpapa…”
“No, Lucia,” he sighs. “It is safest this way. You know we have many enemies. And Vincent is correct. You are more exposed here in America.” He smiles. “You are too precious to me, topolina.”
Little mouse. I smile warmly at the nickname he’s always used for me. But when I glance back at Dominic, the smile fades. This is going to be terrible. Not only do I have a freaking babysitter, who’s going to be living with me while I’m here. But he’s crazy hot. Dangerously hot.
“Dominic, this is Lucia’s travel itin
erary for the next twenty-four hours.”
Vincent passes a sheet of paper to Dominic. I groan. This is such a buzzkill. Here I was ready to hop on a private jet to—
“Vegas?!” Dominic looks up from the paper. His brow is furrowed thickly. “Las Vegas.” His eyes slide to mine, and I tremble. “You want to go to fu—” he swallows. “You want to go to Las Vegas?”
“I am going to Las Vegas,” I say tersely. “Tonight.” To have fun. To find some excitement. But I’m guessing neither of those things are happening now with buzzkill here along for the ride.
“Sir,” Dominic turns to my grandfather. “I don’t think this is a good idea. If you’re worried about exposure…”
“You’ll travel by private jet, and your accommodations are under fake names,” Vincent shrugs. “And you’ll be there, Dom. We’re not worried. Again, the exposure is something to think about, but there’s no immediate threat. With you there, we’re confident that things should be fine.”
“Si, with you protecting my granddaughter, things will be safe, no?”
Dominic squirms under my grandfather’s gaze. Good, I smirk to myself.
“Yes, of course, Don Salvestro.”
“Good, good.”
Dominic’s jaw grinds. He glances at me. Since I’m standing behind everyone else, I take the opportunity to flip him off with a smile. His jaw clenches tighter.
“So, when do we…” he glances at the itinerary. His eyes widen. “This says we’re leaving…” he looks at his wristwatch. “Now?”
“Yep,” I say sweetly. “All ready to go!”
“But…”
“I packed you a bag,” Vincent grins at Dominic. He nods at a small suitcase to the side of the room.
My grandfather stands. He holds a hand out as Dominic scrambles to his feet. “You are doing me a great favor in doing this for me, Dominic. After, we should talk about…” he smiles and glance at Micheal. “Your position within this organization.”
It might be shitty, but I immediately see my leverage. Dominic doesn’t want to be a babysitter, and I don’t want one either. But he’s got a promotion dangling in front of him if everything goes smoothly. For me, that’s what you’d call leverage.
That’s called me getting whatever I want and doing what I want on this trip.
“The car to take you to Micheal’s plane is downstairs,” Vincent grunts. “Ms. Scaliami’s luggage is already at the apartment, save her travel bag.”
“Oh, Dominic,” I say sweetly. “It’s in there, in the office. If you would bring that down to the car.” I smile like a bitch at him. “Try not to scuff it?”
He glares at me. I tremble. Oh this is going to be fun.
Well, that or a complete disaster.
3
Dominic
The engines hum. Outside, the cloudy New York afternoon streaks past the jet. This is a fucking disaster.
We haven’t said a damn word to each other since we left Micheal’s offices. Lucia’s been on her phone the whole time. I’ve been glaring out the window—first in the car and now in the plane—and wondering what the fuck I did to deserve this.
It’s an important job, I get that. And it’s got even more weight to it because it’s a direct favor for Don Salvestro. I get that too. And I think it’s pretty clear that doing this for him means a promotion within the family when it’s over.
But first, I need to survive this fucking job.
It should be easy. She’s not a kid, and we’re not going to Disney World. She’s a twenty-one-year-old young woman. This should be a cakewalk of just shadowing her and keeping an eye out for trouble. Except something tells me, she’s the trouble.
Gorgeous, rich, and privileged. And with an attitude to boot? This girl has “brat” written all over her. This is not going to be a walk in the park. The snippy little “fetch my bags” comment? Yeah, fuck that. Even if it was payback for me telling her to go fuck herself back in the cafe? Fuck that.
She’s also not stupid. I saw the way her eyes lit up when her grandfather all but told me this would mean a promotion. She grinned when he said that, and I know damn well why. Because now she’s got leverage. I sigh and glare out the window.
“So are you going to be a silent grump the whole trip?”
I turn. Lucia is curled in the seat facing me in the luxurious jet. A small glint of sunlight comes through the window. It illuminates her hair and the side of her face. For a minute, I’m almost caught off guard with just how damn gorgeous she is. But I frown. I shake that shit away.
I can’t think of her like that. Not a fucking chance. I’m barely going to survive this train wreck of a job as is. Desiring her isn’t going to help one fucking bit. And besides that, this girl has princess written all over her.
Rich, pampered, spoiled rotten. Vincent caught me up to speed before we left for the airport. She’s not just Salvestro’s granddaughter. She’s his everything. His only son, Nestor, went and married an American model. She died when Lucia was two. Then Nestor, a semi-famous actress, and a large quantity of cocaine wrapped themselves around a telephone poll in a Lamborghini when Lucia was nine. So, she’s Grampa Salvestro’s whole world.
Even if she wasn’t a Scalimi. Even if she had no connection to my boss’s boss. She’s still trouble. She might be hot as hell. But I don’t play games. Fuck that. No matter how gorgeous a girl is, no one’s worth jumping through hoops for.
“Well?” she needles.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
Lucia grins. “Are you still freaking out that you told your boss’s darling little granddaughter to go fuck herself?”
I grit my teeth. Lucia smiles like a cat.
“You could just apologize. I swear, I’m perfectly willing to let it go. Bygones be bygones and all that.” She smiles sweetly at me. But it’s dripping with brattiness.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
I resist the urge to linger on her frown. I turn away instead to hide my own smug grin. She wasn’t expecting that. I bet this girl is used to guys fawning over her. She’s used to “the help” falling over backwards to make her every whim a reality. She wants to play mind games? She can go right on ahead.
The stewardess steps into the main cabin with a smile and walks over. “Can I get you two anything?”
“Champagne?”
She smiles at Lucia’s request. “Of course, miss. Sir?”
“Water, thanks.”
Lucia rolls her eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. It’s like three in the afternoon.”
“And we’re on a luxury private jet going to Vegas,” she sighs heavily. “My God, did they seriously pick the wettest blanket they could find to be my shadow?”
“That’s Mr. Wet Blanket to you, thanks,” I grunt. I look up at the stewardess. “You know what, let’s go wild.”
Lucia’s frown fades into an eager grin. “See, I knew you had it in—”
“I’ll take some lemon slices with that water. And you know what? Let’s make it sparkling.” I turn to smile at Lucia. “It’s Vegas, after all.”
She rolls her eyes as the stewardess walks away. “So lame.”
“I’m working.”
“Well, work on taking that stick out of your ass.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I close my eyes. Fuck. The lack of sleep is about to catch up with me hard.
“Wait, are you sleeping?”
“Trying to,” I grunt.
“Well, wake up!”
“No.”
Lucia sighs heavily. “Look, I don’t get many breaks or vacations like this, okay?”
I snort. “Yeah, I bet it’s tough being a mob princess without a care in the world.”
She glares at me. “You could try being a little nicer, you know.”
“I could.”
Her glare hardens. “I could try telling my grandfather what a massive dick you are, and we could see where that gets you.”
I frown. Lucia smiles sweetly.
&n
bsp; “Let’s get something straight, princess,” I grunt. “My job is to protect you. It’s not to humor or amuse you. It’s not to gab with you or drink champagne with you. If the stewardess tries to kidnap you for ransom, I’m all over it. Barring that, I haven’t slept in thirty-something hours, and I need to fucking sleep. Do you mind?”
Lucia sucks her plump lip between her teeth. Her eyes narrow. “Fine,” she finally huffs. “Fine, take a nap. Old man.”
“Enjoy your champagne.”
I close my eyes. I’m out before the stewardess gets back with the sparkling water.
The limo takes us from the airport to the hotel on the strip. Unlike whatever insane living arrangement we’ve got waiting in New York, here, we’ve got separate spaces. I’m in the room next door though, with a door between the rooms just in case.
About eighteen seconds after I’ve set my bag down, there’s a knock at the connecting door.
“What?”
“Open up!”
“No,” I grunt. All I want is some goddamn peace and quiet. I want some space from the very tempting, but very, very off-limits little brat next door. I want a drink, and I want my goddamn real phone so I can hop on Connect and see what BabyBella99 is up to.
“Help, help, I’m being kidnapped, Dom,” Lucia says in a totally bland voice. I roll my eyes and walk over. I swing it open and instantly suck in a breath.
She looks good. Fuck, she looks too good. She’s in a shimmering silver club dress with strappy black stilettos. My eyes drink her in. I groan and try and stop the automatic response of my cock surging in my pants.
“Oh yay, you saved me,” she deadpans.
“What do you want, Lucia?”
“To go out.”
I shake my head. “No.”
She frowns. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. Way too many variables. And we don’t have a team, just me.”
“It wasn’t a request, Dom,” she mutters. “I’m going out.”
“No, you’re—”
“What are you going to do, tie me to the bed?”
