Her Cruel Bodyguard - Bonus Prologue - Faye Pierce

Her Cruel Bodyguard – Bonus Prologue

Fabio

Six Years Ago

“Have you seen Eva?” Salvatore alters my train of thought, his face disgruntled in that way that tells me he is a little irritated by something or someone, in this case, would be Eva.

“No,” I continue by folding the sleeves of my black dress shirt.

“It’s her birthday. My father said something about her not liking her cake, so we got her three extra cakes. Can you tell her to get the hell back inside if you find her?”

“Have you checked the…” I flick my hand in the direction of her soon-to-be studio. She recently picked up this thing with photography and requested a studio for her eighteenth birthday.

“I will burn that place to the ground pretty soon,” he clicks his teeth. If you find her, tell her to come inside,” he shoots a stare in the direction of the soon-to-be studio.

“She is allowed to do whatever she wants, Salvatore, and if she wants to own a studio, so fucking be it,” I stand from the passenger seat of my car and adjust myself, waiting for him to take a cue and leave.

I left the door open because I needed fresh air. I needed to think of the best way to end the Bratva problem. Boris, some Russian idiot who had killed Emanuele’s wife four years ago, is at it again, and I hate that Emanuele is choosing to tread with caution.

“Yeah, whatever,” Salvatore starts to go back inside.

“What did you say?” I knit my brows together, and he stops.

“I was referring to Eva and her wanting a studio,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he corrects. “Fabio,” he swallows.

I know he is a rebellious child, but his father seems more interested in preening him into leader material. I will beat the rudeness out of him, and his father will thank me for it.

“I will get Eva,” I flip him off, and he nods and then goes inside the house. He is such a clumsy fellow. And this new thing about his pants not staying on his waist is getting on my nerves.

He doesn’t look over his shoulder because he knows I am watching him. Instead, he pulls his jeans up, jeans that are a little too small, and even his fucking white T-shirt looks like he got it for someone way younger than him.

I wait until I am sure he has disappeared inside, then let my eyes wander to the soon-to-be studio. I saw her go in there earlier.

I didn’t want to go after her.

She seemed a little sad, and I get it. She is still not used to spending her birthdays without her mother. This is the fourth birthday in a row that she will be spending without her mother or celebrating without friends because her father is still trying to be cautious after losing his wife.

Emanuele is still mourning, and no one knows for how long.

I head for the studio, wishing I could do something to improve her day. I already ordered a camera for her but that might not mean much because her father is more than capable of providing her with whatever brand of camera she needs. He will double it as compensation for his shortcomings.

She wants the warmth and love that used to exist in this home, but we cannot provide that.

I stop in front of the studio and knock on the door.

She doesn’t answer, but I know she is inside because I see the light coming from the crack on the sides of the door. I invite myself in, moving the still-under-construction door aside, and then once inside, I move it back into place.

“Eva,” my voice echoes, and I shove both hands in my pockets, staring at wide blue, teary eyes staring up at me from where she sits on the floor.

“I want to be alone,” she sniffles, and I take long strides to cover the space, then crouch in front of her.

“Hey,” I tuck her hair behind her ears, and she leans her head into my touch. “It’s your eighteenth birthday.”

“And I hate my cake,” she sniffs.

“Is it the cake?” My eyes drop to the tip of a bottle behind her and then back to her eyes. “You look good.”

She likes being a good child and has no difficulty being Miss Sunshine. But today, she has a mini dress on, a body-hugging burgundy dress that I am assuming she wore to feel like her new age. Eva has always been the glasses, jeans, and T-shirt kind of girl.

“I miss her,” she lets out finally.

“We all do,” I drop my hand when I notice I am stroking her ear.

“Will it ever be the same again?” She stares into my soul, and I wish I had the answers she seeks. But I only have the truth, so I shake my head, offering her what I have.

Her mother is not coming back. Her father is never going to be the same man, except if, by some fucking miracle, his heart finds a way to heal. She will never have the luxury of doing whatever she wants and having as many friends as she wants.

“I don’t want to celebrate my birthday,” she sits straighter, folding her legs in front of her. “I want to be by myself.”

I nod. “Three extra cakes came in for you.”

She grunts, “It’s not about the cake. I told my father that I miss my mother, and he assumed it was about the cake she used to bake me. I just need him to stop hurting too,” she sniffs.

“Give it time.” I am tired of talking, so I flex my mouth and think of a way to end this conversation. A way to make her happy would be to bring the conversation to a better end: “Do you have a birthday wish?”

She shakes her head. “I am good.”

“Nothing I can do to make today better for you?” I bunch, trying to bring my face to her level.

“If I tell you what I truly want, you won’t give it to me,” she shrugs. “So, no.”

What could she possibly want that I can’t give her? This is Eva, for goodness’ sake. What can Eva possibly want?

“Try me,” I hold her gaze, and she shakes her head, looking away. “Eva,” I reach for her chin and tilt her face back to face me, locking our eyes. “Try me.”

“Kiss me,” she chews her lower lip. “Please,” she swallows air.

“Are you drunk, Eva?” I let go of her chin and reach behind her to pull out an almost empty bottle of vodka.

She leans forward, and I am the one drawing backward like she is a venomous snake about to bite me. “Would that make my request viable?”

“Eva, I am not kissing you,” I say. I stand, and she stands with me a little too quickly, almost losing her balance. I sweep in to steady her, her body pressing awareness into mine.

I have seen her. I notice her. She is the daughter of my fucking boss and best friend. Her feelings are all over the place. So many fucking reasons to let her be and pretend tonight never happened. That she never said those words, tearing the veil we have both been hiding behind.

“But you want to. I know you do,” she tips. “I want you to.”

“I can’t,” I shake my head, but I am still holding her around the waist, telling myself I am doing it to help her stand without falling, but I know I can feel my cock straining.

“You wanted to know what would make me happy, that’s all I want,” she shrugs. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“If I kiss you, there is no going back,” my mouth says one thing, and my hands are unto another, dragging up her arms to cradle her face.

I didn’t want her confessing about her fantasies. They should remain a secret for both our sakes.

“I don’t think I will ever want to go back,” she stands taller.

I can’t say why I lose it, but I do. I slam my lips against hers and steal her first kiss. She tastes like vodka, but also warm and naive. She has no idea what to do with her tongue or how to place her lips, so I teach her.

She breathes, shoving her soft body into me, and one of my hands goes to her back to press her body harder against mine, and I’m afraid she can feel my cock straining for her through the fabric.

I slip my tongue in, and this time, she catches on fast. She follows my lead, kissing me back, her hands searching around and all over me for where and what to hold on to.

No. No. Fucking no.

I pull away. “Fuck,” I stagger back, refusing to meet her eyes. “Fuck,” I turn away, hiding my face from her.

“Fabio…”

“Get back inside, Eva,” I growl, and I feel her flinch back. I don’t waste any more time inside the studio; I take long strides out, knocking over the door.

I need a quick fuck.

I haven’t fucked in a while, thanks to the problem Boris keeps dishing at us.

If I had fucked, I wouldn’t have lost control like that.

Fuck.

I let the veil down. And while I will make myself forget this after tonight, I can at least whisper the truth to myself now.

I kissed her because I wanted to.

I have wanted to for some time now.

Shame on me.