Gabe

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The princess is on the move.

I pull out my phone, checking the location of the tag I planted in her purse before we left. Good. One more second in this pretentious club, and I'd have lost my damn mind. One more second enduring Piccola's games would've done the same thing, but I'm trying not to think about that.

Straightening up, I roll back my sleeves and step outside to call for the car. I should have known something was off the moment she pressed herself against me, murmuring about feeling unsatisfied. But instead of questioning it, I let myself be drawn in by those red lips, tempted to risk everything just to know how they'd taste.

A mistake I won't make twice.

Within minutes, a sleek black SUV pulls up to the curb. I slide into the back seat and direct the driver to the latest location. As I pinch the screen to zoom in, the red dot grows larger, and I can almost picture Evangeline's teasing smirk, convinced she's outsmarted me.

As a bodyguard, there are certain boundaries you learn not to cross. But as a pawn for Denaro? My concern for Evangeline goes beyond this job; she's my one shot at freedom, and that means bending a few rules.

I glance out the window, watching the city blur by in streaks of neon light. She's not like any client I've ever had, that's for sure. I'm used to dealing with wealthy businessmen whose only requirements are privacy, discretion, and the occasional help with covering up their extramarital affairs.

Evangeline is different. She's unpredictable, for one—fiercely defiant and determined to make my job as difficult as possible. For reasons I can't fully grasp, it seems like she's made it her mission to challenge me. Unfortunately for her, she's the only thing standing between me and millions of dollars.

I lean back in my seat, irritated by the traffic. The streets are packed, every inch of space on the boulevard filled with cars. Suddenly, a group of women in revealing dresses stroll across the street, illuminated by the club lights and streetlamps.

It's not hard to see why people are drawn to this city—the bright lights, the billboards, the allure of something better. There's an unmistakable energy here, like finding a life raft in a storm. A single opportunity could change your life forever if you're patient enough to wait for it.

That was my father—always chasing some elusive big break. It took bailiffs, addiction, and losing his wife to make him realize that the world he dreamed of belonged to people like Evangeline, not us.

A lesson I won't ever forget.

"What's the holdup?" I bark at the driver as we slow to a stop.

He stares at me in the rearview mirror, mutters something about traffic, and closes the partition. I grit my teeth and try to calm down, but the longer it takes us to find her, the less I feel like playing her games.

I've sacrificed everything to buy my freedom from Denaro—my credibility as a bodyguard, my integrity. If something goes wrong tonight, if I don't get that money, all of this will have been for nothing.

My watch lights up with a message, and for a brief second, I think it might be her. It's not—it's Stu, checking in on her even though it's his night off. I slip the phone back into my pocket, annoyance prickling at me. Stu's lack of trust in me is becoming a problem, one I'll have to deal with sooner or later. But right now, I have more immediate matters to handle.

The driver finally pulls up to a stop in front of a rundown club in Compton. It's the last place I expected to find her, but maybe that's the point.

"Circle around," I tell the driver, stepping out. "We won't be long." Without waiting, I pass the bouncer and step into the club, ignoring the stench of smoke and sweat to scan the crowd for Evangeline.

It doesn't take me long to find her. She's at the bar with Kat, almost unrecognizable from the woman I left an hour ago. I take in her messy bun and makeup-free face, scanning the oversized cardigan she's draped over her expensive dress. The thick-framed glasses she's added to her Girl-Next-Door ensemble screams stuffy librarian.

Fuck, she's sexy as hell.

I step forward, ready to throw her over my shoulder if I have to. She's tested my patience for too long. But then she laughs at something Kat says, her smile genuine, her posture relaxed in a way I've rarely seen. And for a moment, I can't bring myself to ruin her fun.

Not yet.

Instead, my eyes follow her to the dance floor, tracing the curves of her body beneath the dim lights. Right now, I'm not her bodyguard; I'm like any other man in this room, unable to tear my gaze from her.

The guy next to her tries to inch closer, his intentions clear, but he's met with an invisible barrier she's erected around herself and Kat. She looks happy for once, her dark hair flowing down her back as her bun unravels, her smile bright. Something dangerous stirs within me as I step closer, tracking her every move. Not because it's my job, either.

I want to.

Don't be reckless.

You'd ruin her.

I force myself to scan the bar again, assessing for potential threats. This part of the job has always come naturally to me. I've been on high alert ever since I was a kid. When one parent is AWOL, and the other finds pleasure in using his kids as his punching bags, you learn to sharpen your situational awareness early on. Now, it's second nature.

My eyes sweep over the crowd, noting exits, potential hazards, and anyone who looks out of place. Everything seems secure, no red flags. I watch her again. 

My throat tightens as I take her in. The way her body moves, the soft curve of her waist, the subtle arch of her back—it's all too easy to forget why I'm here, and that's a problem.

I release a slow breath. It's been weeks, if not months, since I've had sex. I've been stuck in work mode, focused solely on learning everything I need to know about Principessa. There hasn't been any time for anything else. I tell myself that's why I can't look away from her. Not because I'm remotely attracted to some pampered princess from Bel Air, but because it's been a while.

It doesn't take long for her to catch the attention of some asshole. I inch closer as he leans in, whispering something in her ear, and I wait for her to push him away like she's done with the others. But this time, she smiles, and the two of them begin to dance.

My eyes narrow, darkening with irritation. I step forward, trying to get a better view of them, when a petite woman suddenly blocks my path, firmly pressing her hand against my chest.

"Hey," she slurs, her breath reeking of vodka and mint. "Buy a girl a drink?"

I ignore her, my attention fixed on the asshole who's now making Evangeline smile. He moves closer, his hand sliding down to her lower back, fingers trailing along her spine. I tense but don't move. Who she lets touch her isn't my business—my job is to protect her, and that means following the rules, even if it's the last thing I want to do right now.

"So," the woman hanging off my arm says, her hand still pressed to my chest, "how about that drink?"

Evangeline turns in my direction. I suddenly spin my admirer around, burying my face in her neck. She giggles, taken aback by the sudden attention. "Or we could just skip to the good part," she suggests.

I lock eyes with her. On any other night, I might have found her attractive. Blonde hair, big eyes, curves in all the right places. But even with her hand on my chest and that suggestive look in her eyes, I feel nothing.

Too easy.

When I turn, the princess is gone.

Fuck. This woman is going to be the death of me. Ignoring the headache forming at my temples, I scan the club, searching for her. I spot her in the corner with Kat, slipping into one of the leather booths. Pushing past the drunk woman, I make my way to the bar closest to them, positioning myself at an angle where I can keep an eye on them without being too obvious.

The bartender approaches, and I order a drink just to have something in my hand. Truthfully, I could use the shot after the night I've had, but there's one rule I refuse to break: no drinking on the job.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see that asshole from earlier seated at their booth. He leans in, saying something to her, and she nods politely before casually surveying the bar, as if already bored.

The moment our eyes meet, my pulse quickens. Her lips part slightly, eyes widening with a mix of surprise and something seductive. I take a slow breath as my gaze drifts over her face. In another world, she's the type of woman I'd take home in a heartbeat. But in this reality?

She's a means to an end.

Bracing myself, I watch as she makes her way over to me, settling onto the stool beside mine. She's sitting too close, close enough that I catch the sweet scent of her perfume and feel her thigh brush against mine as she crosses her legs. Her warm breath tickles my skin when she leans in to speak.

"Congratulations," she says softly, her voice slightly slurred. "You found me." She angles her chin, using her fingers to brush a piece of lint off my shirt. "Want to know your prize?"

I meet her teasing smile with a steady gaze. She's playing me, just like she probably does with Stu, thinking she can manipulate me with a little charm. But she's wrong. I grab her hand, pulling it away, my voice low and firm. "I don't have time for games, Piccola."

"You're in LA, Mr. Loretto. Everything's a game."

I release her hand as if it burns, her soft skin a dangerous distraction. My eyes drift down to her exposed neck, following the curve of her necklace to the hint of cleavage beneath her cardigan. That necklace?

That's why I'm here.

"Fun's over," I say, turning away from her. "I'm taking you home."

"You want to take me home, Mr. Loretto?"

Her words hit me like a shot of whiskey, burning on the way down. I meet her daring gaze, and for a split second, an image flashes through my mind—her on those fancy marble counters, back arched, legs wrapped around me. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to silence her with a kiss. "Let's go."

"Wait." Her hand rests on my arm before I can move, sending an electric jolt through me. "Before you lock me back up in my tower, at least tell me how you found me."

Her defiant smirk awakens something dark inside me, the part that wants to punish her for toying with me. Leaning in, I brush against her side as I reach into her purse, feeling her breath catch. I pull out the tracker and step back, holding it out to her in the palm of my hand.

She stares at it for a long moment before snatching it from me, examining it closely. "You put a tracker in my bag?"

I don't reply, refusing to entertain any sense of remorse. Once sympathy seeps in, guilt isn't far behind. After that? It's game over. I grab her arm, intending to guide her back through the crowd when the asshole from her booth starts heading our way.

"Hey," he says, ignoring me to look at Evangeline. "This guy bothering you, Eva?"

Just as he's about to touch her shoulder, I step forward, grabbing his arm. My eyes narrow. My priority right now as Evangeline's bodyguard is still to keep her safe.

"She's fine," I warn. "We're leaving."

Evangeline doesn't move. Asshole gives me a smug look, as if daring me to do something. Withdrawing his arm from mine, he casually places it on my shoulder like we're old buddies.

"Listen," he begins as I slowly turn to face him, "I'm no expert on body language or anything, but it seems like she doesn't wanna leave, so why don't you fuck off?"

I can feel the muscles in my jaw tighten, my thumb grazing along my jawline as I resist the urge to tear his arm off. He's lucky I'm fucking working, but even that won't save him for long. Just as I'm about to step forward, Evangeline slips between us, placing a firm hand on my chest to keep me still.

"Everything's fine," she says, her tone even as she presses her palm against me. "My friend's right. We were just leaving."

Asshole mutters something unintelligible, throwing one last glare my way before pushing past Evangeline and heading back to his booth. She turns to grab her purse from the counter, and when she faces me again, there's a familiar scowl on her face.

"We're finished here, Mr. Loretto. For good." With that, she strides over to Kat, taking her hand and leading her toward the exit.

They barely reach the sidewalk outside when I catch up, grabbing Evangeline's hand and spinning her around to face me. My patience is wearing thin, and I'm done playing her games. With my free hand, I call for the car.

"I knew you were unprofessional," she snaps, "but planting a tracker in my purse? That's low, even for you. Not to mention illegal."

I release her arm, shifting my focus to ushering Kat into the waiting car. Kat shoots me a glare but complies, slipping into the back seat without protest. I turn back to Evangeline, extending a hand as if trying to tame a wild horse.

She ignores it, her eyes flashing with defiance.

Irritation flares, pushing me closer to her. "Listen to me," I warn as I scan the street for any onlookers. "Whether you like it or not, your father's arrest puts you in danger. You're lucky I got here before one of his crazed fans did."

She slips out from under my arm as I try to guide her toward the car, refusing to be pacified. "Don't pretend to care about me. You don't even know me."

My jaw tightens as I notice passersby starting to stare, the last thing we need is to make headlines tonight. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper. "I care because it's my job to care. Now get in the car."

She raises her chin stubbornly. "What if I don't want to go anywhere with you?"

I close the last sliver of space between us, roughly pressing my mouth to her ear. "I'm not asking, Piccola. Unless you want pictures of you thrown over my shoulder on the front page tomorrow, get in the fucking car."

She pulls back and glares at me, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she weighs her options. "I meant what I said. After tonight, I never want to see or speak to you again."

"I should be so lucky," I mutter and guide her into the car, closing the door behind her with a click. It's as if an invisible barrier forms around her the moment she buckles her seatbelt. Not even Kat's comforting squeeze on her arm seems to break through.

I remind myself that her feelings aren't my concern. I never promised her trust or honesty—only safety. And in a city like this, that's the best she can hope for.

The driver drops off Kat first, then heads for Bel Air. True to her word, Evangeline remains silent the entire ride, her gaze fixed on the blur of palm trees outside the window.

I run a hand across my stubble, the unease settling in my gut. I've fucked up big time, that much is clear. If I don't find a way to fix this before Denaro catches wind of it, my debts will be the least of my worries.

Pushing my pride aside, I lean closer to Evangeline, feeling her shoulder tense as it brushes against mine. "I know you don't want another bodyguard," I say, my voice low, "but it's my job to do whatever I have to in order to protect you."

She stiffens at the sound of my voice, turning until our noses almost touch. Neither of us flinches; it's a standoff. "Stu would never put a tracker in my purse."

"Stu can't keep you safe," I say. "I can."

There's a moment where her eyes darken, and I can't tell if she's about to kiss me or slap me. She settles on neither, instead brushing her hair back from her face before turning away to face the front. "Some things matter more than safety."

"Nothing matters more than safety, Piccola."

She looks away. "If you truly believe that, then I feel sorry for you."

I watch as her mask slides back into place, the impenetrable force field stronger than ever. I've pushed her too far, forgetting she's more than just a paycheck—she's my client, and I've crossed a line. Now, any chance of settling my debts and securing my freedom is slipping through my fingers.

The car slows as we approach her driveway. Before I can say anything else, Evangeline unfastens her seatbelt and flees the car with one final glare, slamming the door in my face.

I lean back against the headrest, pressing my fists against the leather as I imagine the look on Denaro's face when I have to tell him I fucked up. The princess is gone, and with her, our access to millions of dollars.

I'm a dead man walking.