Gabe

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Principessa is watching me.

I force myself to relax, unclenching my fists and keeping my face neutral as I stare at Denaro. Years of practice hiding my pent-up aggression are coming in handy, but inside, the rage twists and morphs as I suppress the urge to fucking kill him.

"I'm just so sick of it all," Mrs. Ryder is saying, her voice trembling as tears stream down her face. She's rocking back and forth, her voice slurred, looking as if she's about to pass out. "Every time we think we've got the upper hand, he finds yet another way to ruin my life."

Denaro looks up from where he's crouched by Evangeline's mother, pretending to comfort her, but there's a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk on his face. It's so faint that no one else sees it, but I do.

And I want to kill him.

Him acting like her doting boyfriend instead of just a casual hook-up was never part of the plan, but Denaro is an opportunist. He spots a chance and seizes it, which is exactly what he's doing now. These new headlines have given him the perfect opportunity to exploit their vulnerability and fear, embedding himself into their lives so deeply that no one will suspect him when things go wrong.

Evangeline's hard exterior falters, and I've never wanted to protect her more. This morning made it clear. For weeks now, I've been convincing myself she's invincible, that she'll bounce back from the Denaro scam and carry on with her life as if nothing happened, but I was wrong. My freedom is nothing compared to what it would cost me. What it would cost her.

This arrangement with Denaro ends today. I'll tell him it's over and tell Piccola I quit. 

She'll be safe. 

He's still playing the attentive boyfriend while the others go back and forth. My chest rises and falls, struggling to keep my rage in check. Every fiber of my being is coiled like a spring, ready to snap at any moment. The urge to lash out, to tear him apart, burns through me, barely contained by the thin veneer of professionalism I'm desperately clinging to.

"Look, nothing has changed, baby," Denaro says, his tone disturbingly calm as he smooths his jacket and places a comforting hand on Mrs. Ryder's shoulder. "These headlines are unfavorable, but we knew they'd come out during the trial anyway. If we stick to the PR plan, the press will forget about it soon enough and move on to something else."

That manipulative bastard. Nothing is ever a coincidence with him—everything is calculated. He knew the news would shake them up and is making sure they're still prominent enough to attend the gala. If they quit, it's over.

"He's right," Evangeline says softly. "We can still come back from this. I'll make more appearances, do whatever you need. People will talk about this for a few weeks and then forget. They always do."

That's the guilt talking. I've felt the same way about my father—that instinct to protect them despite all the bullshit they put you through. It's human nature to love your family, even when they're the ones hurting you.

I run a hand through my hair, trying not to look at her. I've seen this side of her before—the caring, protective side that hides her pain to comfort others. I saw it the first day I met her, with her mother on the phone, and every day since. The only time she allows herself to seem even slightly vulnerable is when we're alone.

She trusts me, I realize.

She just doesn't know it.

"Exactly," says Lilith, the infamous head of the PR team. She paces with an almost-empty wine glass in hand, her movements precise and deliberate. "James has twisted the narrative for too long. We need to take control. Right now, you and your mother are being painted as enablers—villains hiding your father's secrets. We need to shift the story and frame you both as the real victims."

"They are the victims," I say sharply.

Stu gives me a single look that says shut the fuck up. As security detail, we're here to be seen, not heard—a comforting presence in a tough situation—but under no circumstances are we to believe that our opinions are warranted or appreciated.

Clearly, Evangeline disagrees. She looks up at me, surprised I'd defend her but not exactly annoyed.

"Not in the eyes of the media," Lilith replies, her tone ruthless and efficient. "To them, Evangeline has spent years perfecting this good girl image and pretending to be close with her father. To them, she might as well be complicit. If we want to get ahead of this and whatever else James plans to leak, we need to be proactive. We'll leak stories to TMZ about what life with your father was like, how you've been estranged for years. We'll also need to create a big enough distraction that first week of the trial." She looks at Kat. "We think we have an idea."

All eyes turn to Kat. She looks exhausted, which isn't surprising given the workload she always seems to carry. She handles everything—from the calendar to emails, appointments, and everything in between. Unlike me, who occasionally gets time off, she never seems to take a break.

"The first day of your father's trial happens to be the same date as Kael's premiere," Kat says to Evangeline, pushing a curtain of blonde hair behind her ear. "It's in Miami. Lilith thinks if you turn up to your ex's premiere with Jude as your date, it's all people will want to talk about. People have been speculating for months about what happened between you and Kael, whether you'll get back together or not. This is the drama we need."

Evangeline doesn't say anything. I want to step in and tell them it doesn't sound like they're thinking of how hard it will probably be for her to have to face the asshole who cheated on her. But Evangeline is already nodding along in a way that eases her mother's shoulders.

"Fine," she says. "I don't want to be here for the first day of the trial anyway."

All I can think is fuck. Quitting as her bodyguard now would leave her a sitting duck.

Denaro looks at me now, raising an eyebrow as he pulls a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He casually lights it, taking a drag as the smoke curls around him. "Anything we need to consider from a security standpoint?"

All eyes are on Stu and me. I look around at the room full of people I'd never be surrounded by if it weren't for this job. But despite the wealth and status, all I see are tears and stress. I'm starting to think it doesn't matter how much money is in the bank.

Suffering is human nature.

I look at Evangeline now, and something in me softens. The only thing I care about right now is protecting her, and there's no room for shortcuts or bending the rules when it comes to her safety. If she's going to Miami, we have to be ready. So I say, "Yeah, Evangeline needs more security."

The betrayal that flashes across her face is only a fraction of what it would be if she knew the truth about me. Ignoring the stab of guilt, I continue, "We were chased by paparazzi last night and had to stay at a hotel. It'll be worse during the first week of the trial, and adding a trip to Miami only increases the danger. Whether she goes away or not, Evangeline needs more security for the duration of the trial. I'll be putting in an official request from GSS to have more security in place by the end of next week."

I hear some disapproving murmurs, but it's Denaro I focus on. His eyebrows are pinched tight, and he's looking at me like he wants to kill me. No doubt he expected me to say everything was fine on the security front, to talk up how great of a job I'm doing keeping Evangeline safe. He wanted me to reassure them all. I stare back at him, daring him to say something.

"Good idea," he finally says, squeezing Mrs. Ryder's hand with practiced sympathy. "Nothing is more important than safety." He turns to her with an earnest look. "I can recommend someone if you'd prefer it was someone we know."

Fuck.

Mrs. Ryder clings to him harder and nods. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Whoever he recommends will be one of his minions there to keep a close eye on me no doubt. In trying to keep Piccola safe, I've just put her in more danger.

I steal a glance at her. There's anger in her eyes worse than when she found that tracker in her bag, but she doesn't understand what we're dealing with here. It's not just her stalker I'm trying to protect her from; it's the monster sitting next to her mother.

It's me.

As the conversation shifts to logistics, Mrs. Ryder's sobs quiet down to soft hiccups. Stu catches my eye, and we silently step away from the living room, slipping through the double French doors that lead out onto the patio. We walk the perimeter in silence, the weight of the situation heavy on my mind. I'm still searching for a way to handle Denaro.

We continue our sweep around the back of the mansion, moving past the pool and toward the gazebo that overlooks the mountains. The silence stretches on in a way that's got me uneasy. I can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down, even though he hasn't said a word.

Finally, he turns to me, his face partially hidden in the shadows. "If you ever take Evangeline away like that without telling me again, I'll personally make sure you never work in LA again."

It's taking everything I have right now not to lose the last of my control. If I had my way, I'd remind him that I don't work for him, that since he doesn't work for GSS, I technically don't have to tell him anything. He's lucky I keep him in the loop at all. But I can't afford to have him on my back too. I need him on my side. "It won't happen again."

His eyebrow arches. He didn't expect that. "Good."

"I'm going to check out front," I say, then make my way around to the front of the house. I lean against the side wall to compose myself, staring at the driveway lit up like a damn Christmas tree. All I can think is their electric bill must be expensive.

The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel forces me to straighten. I turn to find Denaro walking out, his posture relaxed as he casually takes a spot next to me on the wall. I don't move a muscle. I have no idea what cameras might be around this part of the house, and one wrong move could ruin everything.

"Preying on their trauma," I say, my voice eerily low, almost lost in the distant chatter from inside. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any worse."

Denaro smirks, pulling another cigarette from his pocket with a practiced flick and lighting the end with a slow. He takes a long drag, then blows out the smoke, watching me with detached amusement. "I hate to break it to you, but what do you think you're doing?"

"What we agreed on," I say, running a hand through my hair, my fingers scraping the sweat from my brow. "You becoming one of the family wasn't part of it."

"I'm ensuring shit happens the way it's supposed to," he says, his gaze cold as he watches the smoke drift away. "She called me having a meltdown. If that bitch ends up in rehab, our entire operation was for nothing. Speaking of which, it wasn't very smart of you to add extra security. In fact, I'd go as far as saying it was pretty fucking stupid. Care to explain the logic?"

I lean my head back against the wall, the rough surface pressing into my skin, arms folded tightly across my chest. "The logic is she needs more protection. As for you and I"—I give him a once-over—"we're done. As soon as we're back from Miami, I'm out."

He rolls his eyes. "You're not out, Loretto. Stop being impulsive."

"Enjoy your life, Denaro."

He grabs my arm as I start to turn, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're not the only one whose shit is on the line," he hisses. "I have a lot of people relying on a cut from this."

I raise an eyebrow. "That sounds like a you problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." He leans closer, breath stinking of alcohol. "I can just as easily make it Evangeline's problem. Are you really willing to risk her life?"

I whip around, my face inches from his, my anger barely contained as I grab him by the front of his t-shirt. "If you so much as lay a hand on her—"

"You'll what?" he hisses through his cigarette, his voice a low snarl as he presses a cold, hard object against my ribs. I realize with a jolt that it's a gun. "If you fuck this up, it's not you I'm coming for first. It's her."

I don't back down, don't release my grip on his shirt, even with the gun pressed against my chest. Part of me still thinks landing one good punch would be worth the risk.

"I didn't spend months buttering up her mother just to have you mess it all up now," he snarls. "If you back out of this now, I'll make sure she pays for it in ways you don't even want to imagine."

Slowly, I release my iron grip on his shirt, one finger at a time, stepping back with my eyes narrowed so hard it's a wonder they haven't popped out of my skull. If it weren't for the fact that no one else would be around to protect Piccola from him, I'd kill him where he stands.

"There we go," he says calmly, tucking his gun away with a casual flick of his wrist. "Now that your tantrum is over, we need to talk about Stu. He's becoming a problem. I'll have him handled."

"No." My voice barely sounds like my own. "I need him."

Denaro's eyes narrow, but he doesn't argue any further. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads back inside. I lean against the wall, letting out a long, ragged breath as I think of a plan for Miami. With Denaro out of his fucking mind, I'll need someone I can trust on my team to have my back—someone like Jack. And I'll have to ramp up our security measures in ways Piccola is going to hate, but I don't care.

She can hate me all she wants.

As long as she's safe.