The Bodyguard's Betrayal

Chapter Four

Gabe

________________

Babysitting a spoiled celebrity is proving harder than I'd anticipated. 

I down my second shot of whiskey, scanning the bar while trying to forget how defeated she'd looked when I left her this morning. Media-trained and a pro at maintaining composure, she'd aced every interview this week and somehow redirected every question about her father to something more frivolous. But clearly, that level of talent comes at a price. By the time she'd wrapped up this morning, that fiery side I'd seen of her was nowhere to be seen. 

I remind myself it's a good thing. I don't need more incidents like the one in her dressing room. I don't need to think about her lips or imagine what else they'd be good for besides giving me a hard time. I don't need to be thinking about her, period.

Staring at the empty glass, I release a slow breath. It's hard to believe that just this morning, I was walking around fancy shoots and sitting in rooms with silk sofas and champagne. Now, it's back to dark, dingy bars and cheap whiskey.

Where I belong.

Another image of her crosses my mind. This time, she's in the dress I saw in the picture in her hallway. Her lips are red and parted, her eyes looking up at me, bright and seductive and— Fuck.

I'm glad when the door swings open and Denaro strides in. At thirty, he's four years older than me, but you wouldn't guess it from his baby face and bright blue eyes. Despite that innocent appearance, the guy is a total sociopath.

I can't figure out why. His parents are nice enough, if a bit obnoxious, and his brother and sister are hard workers. Given my background, you'd think Denaro would be the more well-adjusted one between the two of us.

Unlike Denaro, who grew up broke but surrounded by a loving family, I just grew up broke. My parents—an Italian mother and an American father—divorced when I was young, and my mother took me back to Italy to live with my grandmother before abandoning me as well.

When my grandmother died, I was forced to move back to the States at fourteen to live with my abusive, deadbeat father—a bitter man who preferred the bottle over his kids. Needless to say, I don't have many happy family memories. The only good that came from all of it is my half-brother, Mack—I love that kid to death.

"Loretto," Denaro says and sits on the seat next to me, grabbing the beer I ordered him. Half-turning, he pins those unnervingly blue eyes on me and grins. "The man himself. Got an update for me?"

I keep my eyes locked on the row of whiskey bottles lining the wall, tightening my grip around my shot glass. "I haven't had the chance to explore the house thoroughly yet, but there's a locked room upstairs with a keypad. I think there's a safe inside."

"What kind?"

"I don't know," I reply, attempting to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "That's not the kind of question I can ask at this stage without raising red flags." He's pissing me off, but I can't put my finger on why. It's not like he's more irritating than usual, but something about this conversation makes me uneasy.

Denaro shrugs and sips his beer. "Well, we can assume whatever kind she has will take a while to break into, which means we'll only have one opportunity. We need to pick a night when she's away for the whole evening. What do you know about her schedule?"

"She has a few interviews, photoshoots, and some club appearances, but nothing lasting more than a few hours. There's a gala in a few months, but—"

"The First Choice gala?"