Gabe

____________________

Control.

It's what I live for, the one thing that's kept everything running smoothly. Now, I'm beginning to lose it—because of her.

My hand grips my whiskey glass, fighting the urge to down the shot despite my no-drinking-on-the-job rule. This is my punishment for making a deal with the devil. Watching the woman I simultaneously hate and want to fuck be groped by some wealthy movie star.

Taking a deep breath, I scan the club again, squinting through the flashing strobe lights, ignoring the topless cocktail waitress passing by. I've been to the Red Lace Club once before with a client and hated it then too. It's every wealthy businessman's wet dream, filled with loud house music, more drugs than you can imagine, and topless cocktail girls tossing out the occasional free shot. The fact that this asshole brought her here on their first date says a lot about his intentions for tonight. I'm on high alert.

Satisfied there's no one approaching their alcove, I look over my shoulder again, if only to get another glimpse of her in that dress. Her attention is elsewhere, focused on something in her hand. A flicker of uncertainty crosses her eyes. She raises something small to her lips with a deliberate slowness.

Fuck.

Don't do it, Piccola.

Her eyes dart to mine as the pill nears her mouth. She hasn't given the signal that she wants me to intervene, but I don't care. Before the pill can reach her lips, I'm out of my seat and towering over them, driven by the sudden urge to protect her.

"Mr. Loretto," she says, glancing briefly at Jude, who eyes me with disdain. But his attention is off Evangeline, allowing her to lower her hand with visible relief in her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

It's not exactly protocol for a bodyguard to intrude on his client's date, and Jude Henry's the type to complain to GSS if he perceives me as a threat, so I tread carefully. "Your mother is on the phone," I say, reaching into my pocket and holding it out. "She couldn't reach you on yours."

A hint of a smile touches her lips as she turns to Jude, feigning disappointment. "I'm sorry, Jude. My mother is overly protective these days. I'll be right back." She stands, smoothing her hands down the side of her dress, subtly drawing his gaze, before she follows me through the club to a quieter hallway.

"Why didn't you do the signal?" I growl, pulling her close to me. The house music is almost as loud out here as it is in there. I raise my voice, making sure she can hear me. "You're supposed to let me know if you're in trouble."

There's an undercurrent of anger in my voice, directed more at myself than at her. I should have been more vigilant, noticed sooner that she was uncomfortable, signal or not. Instead, I was thinking about her dress.

"I thought if I did the signal, you'd take it too seriously and haul me out of here over your shoulder," she says, her eyes narrowing. "You have a tendency to do that."

My jaw clenches at the thought of her legs wrapped over my shoulder. "Don't tempt me," I say, gripping her wrist firmer, feeling its warmth and fragility under my touch. We've barely been here thirty minutes, and I've already had my fill of watching him eye fuck her. "How much longer are you going to pretend to be interested in him?"

"I'm not pretending," she says, tilting her head. "I like him."

A faint smirk crosses my lips as I lean closer, gently tucking a strand of her hair back before whispering near her ear, "You're a terrible actress, Piccola."

She shivers under my touch, confirming my suspicions. He's been finding ways to touch her all night, and she's barely reacted. "And you sound like a jealous boyfriend, Mr. Loretto. Why is that?"

"I'm not jealous," I murmur, lowering my face to hers. Her breath grazes my lips, sending a jolt through me. "I'm saving you from disappointment. A man who talks about himself non-stop is just as selfish in bed."

She presses closer, her breasts nearly spilling out of that little black dress, eyes full of mischief as she stares up at me, daring me to break first. "Thanks for the warning," she says, "but I'm used to men disappointing me."

Fire burns in my throat as I look down at her. My self-restraint is nearing its limit. "I'd never disappoint you, Piccola." I slide my hand up her thigh, feeling the smoothness of her skin under my thumb. Her lips part as she runs a hand down my chest. Just a taste. One. Get it out of my system, then focus on the job.

"Prove it," she says, her eyes begging me to touch her.

My mouth grazes along her jaw, barely touching the skin. Her fingers bunch impatiently in my shirt as she waits for me to reach her lips. I want to grab the back of her head, a fistful of hair in hand, and crash my mouth to hers. I want to push her against this wall and punish her for all these games. But I won't. "Only if you beg first."

Her eyes snap open, blazing with pure disdain. She won't beg––I'd been counting on that to save my life. "The only time you'll make me beg is when I'm asking the cops to go easy on me after they find your dead body," she says, turning and heading back to her alcove without a second look.

To him.

Jealousy courses through me as I take my spot by the bar. Movie Boy's grimy hand is already back on her thigh, the same thigh I was caressing earlier, wishing I could feel them wrapped around me. I've made plenty of mistakes in my life, but kissing her, fucking her, would be the worst.

Fuck, this is a mess.

As this kid continues to namedrop every celebrity he's ever met, Evangeline shifts her gaze to me. His hand makes its way to her waist, making every muscle in me clench. I want to rip him away from her, whisk her out of here and protect her from scumbags like him, even while knowing how fucking hypocritical that makes me.

The princess senses my frustration, feeds off it. She tilts her head, red lips catching the light and shining under the flashes as she brushes her dark hair over one shoulder, revealing her long neck. Leaning forward, I see her nodding along to whatever Movie Boy is saying, but those green eyes are fixed on me.

A sharp pang of jealousy spikes in my chest, but I shove it down. I see why Stu struggles to keep work and his personal feelings for her separate. She draws you in, blurring those hard lines out of focus. The biggest risk for a bodyguard is getting too close to a client, and I'm dangerously close to that line.

The waitress removes the empty bottle of champagne from their table. Piccola's eyes are glazed, and she's struggling to stay balanced in her seat. She finishes her glass, her laughter piercing through me as she whispers in Jude's ear. I'm protecting her from the biggest threat to her safety, and she's punishing me for it.

Scratch that. Her biggest threat just slid into the chair next to Jude, grinning with the effortless charm only a seasoned con artist can pull off.

Denaro.

A vein in my neck throbs as I glare at him. It's the kind of club he'd come to regularly, but tonight, the same night as Evangeline's date with Jude? Not a coincidence.

The sight of them talking knots my stomach. He could be telling her anything—spilling our entire plan for all I know. He's a loose cannon, reckless, and hot-headed, the exact opposite of someone you'd want in any kind of scheme. But there's nothing I can do about it now.

My suspicion that this isn't a coincidence is confirmed when he turns and gestures for me to join them.

It's a set-up.

"It's a small world," Evangeline says casually as I approach their table. Her eyes briefly flick to Jude's hand on her thigh, causing me to glance down instinctively before meeting her gaze. I notice a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Jude's friend, Caleb, mentioned you used to be his bodyguard. He's the one who recommended you to my mother."

"It is a small world," I say, my eyes fixed on Caleb's. "Let's catch up." I rise without waiting for a reply and head toward the far side of the bar, expecting him to follow. He's beside me before I complete the turn, his smirk slimy enough to provoke me into doing something I'll regret.

Ordering a shot, I say, "What are you doing, Denaro?"

"I came to ask you the same thing," he says, leaning on the counter. There's a layer of blood under his fingernails, unusual for him. He typically gets his henchmen to do his dirty work. "You've been ignoring my calls. I wanted to make sure you weren't having second thoughts." He glances over his shoulder at Evangeline, assessing her with a predatory look that strikes something protective in me. "That she hadn't interfered with our arrangement."

"She hasn't." I keep my expression closed-off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching me react. "There's nothing to report until I lay eyes on the safe."

"And when will that be?"

"When she trusts me enough to show it to me."

Denaro knocks back his shot, setting the glass firmly on the marble counter before turning to me. "I want to believe you," he says, his expression now a blank mask, devoid of emotion. "I really do, but something doesn't sit right, Loretto. I sense hesitation."

"Any hesitation on my part comes from whether I can trust you not to jeopardize this," I growl. "We have her within reach. The house is mapped, the cameras are in place. The only thing I haven't accounted for is you acting irrationally."

His cold stare stays on me for a long time, neither of us backing down. It's bold to confront someone like Denaro this way, but my position grants me leverage. He relies on my help for pulling off this scam, giving me an edge over his usual associates.

"Fine," he says sharply, getting to his feet. "But I expect regular updates, regardless of whether there's new information. This is my fucking operation, and I need to be kept informed." He shoves his way through the crowd as I lift my tumbler of whiskey to my lips, downing the shot despite being on duty. Right now, I fucking need it.

Over my shoulder, Evangeline does the same, downing another champagne as though she's had enough of feigning enjoyment for the night. When she's four glasses deep and struggling to stay upright, I lose my patience and step in.

"You've had enough," I say, slipping my arm under her waist. "We're leaving."

Evangeline, for once, doesn't argue, merely muttering something incoherent. But Jude's hand flies out as he tries to block my access to her. "Not yet," he says, tugging her arm. "We haven't had our end-of-the-night kiss outside. Lilith said—"

"I don't care what Lilith said," I state calmly, helping Evangeline to her feet. "You're not going to lay a fucking hand on her." Supporting her weight as she leans against me, head resting on my shoulder, I lead her through the dimly lit club toward one of the back exits I had scoped out earlier.

The thumping bass and the flicker of lights fade behind us as we step into the cool air. Evangeline takes a long breath as we turn the corner, only to find paparazzi waiting in the back street like vultures.

"Crap" she breathes in my ear, barely standing upright. "They can't photograph me like this. It will ruin everything."

I don't need telling twice. With my arm around her waist, I guide her down the street and into a side alley before summoning a car. As soon as it's on its way, I position Evangeline against the wall, using my body to support hers. She gazes up at me, her cheeks flushed pink, her red lipstick faded to reveal her natural lips tinted pink. Mascara smudges slightly in the corners of her eyes.

"I think the world is spinning," she says as the car arrives. Scooping her into my arms, I carry her to the door, open it, and settle her into the backseat as her eyelids flutter closed. "Is the world spinning?"

I smirk and tuck a strand of hair away from her face. "I think you've had too much to drink, Piccola."

"I know." She rests her head on my shoulder, making me flinch. "It was reckless, but it was the only way I was getting through that date." Her breath brushes against my neck, sending a sudden tension rippling through my body. "Which reminds me, I should have thanked you for stepping in earlier. Normally, I'd stand up for myself, but I couldn't risk offending him."

I turn my face away from her neck, her sweet perfume and exposed skin making my heart race. "I won't pretend to understand why."

"It's complicated." Her eyes hold mine for a second longer than I can handle before focusing on the seat in front. "My mother still believes this Crisis Management plan will protect my reputation once my father's trial begins. It means I can't risk doing anything to jeopardize that, though I doubt Jude will want to speak to me again after tonight."

"You don't sound convinced the plan will work."

"It won't." There's no hesitation, just a somber finality in her tone that stabs me with sympathy. "Not even the best Crisis Management team in the world can save me once the truth about my father comes out."

Half of me is itching to know what she expects will come out in the press once the trial starts. If I know, I can prepare for it. But from her expression, she's not ready to discuss it, and I won't push her. "Why go along with it then?"

"Protecting my reputation is the only thing that keeps my mother together," she says finally. "Her reputation and all her hard work was destroyed by my father. For years, he dragged their reputations through the mud, but somehow, when the dust settled, he was the only one who came out clean. That's why she cares so much about my image, and why I can't just walk away. I know this whole situation makes me seem like a monster, but I have to protect her. No one else will."

My jaw tightens into a hard line. I turn away from her, gaze fixed on the window, battling the guilt inside. There's a monster in this car, and it's not her.

The car can't reach her house soon enough. As soon as the driver pulls up, I open the door and lift a half-asleep Evangeline into my arms, carrying her to the front door. With one hand, I punch in the security code while she wraps her arms around my neck, resting her cheek against my chest as I lead her upstairs. If I thought the car ride was torture, this is pure hell.

I nudge her bedroom door open with my foot and gently lay her on the four-poster bed. Her room is still a mess, much like the night I scoped out her jewelry, though there are fewer plates by her nightstand. She nestles into the covers, her emerald eyes fixed on me, her lips a soft pink. Sitting beside her, I take her foot in my hand and remove her stiletto, then repeat the process with the other.

"Now you know my darkest secret," she says, watching me as I unbuckle the straps. "I'm messy."

If only you knew mine. I lean closer, my voice soft as she rests her cheek on the pillow, her eyelids already fluttering softly. "Your secret is safe with me, Piccola."

Her lips gently curl into a smile as I pull the duvet over her, tucking her in. After a moment, her breathing slows, and just when I think she's asleep, she murmurs, "Even though you hate me, I'm glad it was you protecting me tonight. Stu would be so mad at me right now over the whole ecstasy thing."

The words settle deep in my gut. Slowly, with a sudden reluctance to touch her, I brush the hair from her face. "I don't hate you, Piccola," I finally whisper as she closes her eyes, drifting into sleep.

That's the problem.