Page 8 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“I am.”

“Still no.”

He stands abruptly, his fists clenched on the desk. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do,” I reply evenly. “I’d be a poor security lead if I didn’t.” I cock my head to the side. “And are you trying to threaten me? Because that might not get you the results you want.”

We lock eyes for a few tense seconds. I’m not sure what he’s searching for, but eventually, his shoulders slump. “No,” he admits gruffly, though we both know he’s lying. “What I mean is, you know who I am, but my daughter? She’s the complete opposite. You seem like the type to fight for the innocent, the widows, and the orphans. She’s just that.”

I keep my expression neutral. I highly doubt anyone sharing this man’s genes and house can truly be innocent, but I hold my tongue as we seem to be making progress.

“I’m not a glorified babysitter. I won’t be anyone’s servant,” I state firmly.

“It’s not forever. Being my daughter’s security isn’t a job for just anyone. She’s the most precious asset I have.”

His words briefly stir my sympathy for the so-called Mafia princess.An asset… how loving.

“For how long?” I ask, taking the bait.

“A year, maybe less. Once I get her married off, she’ll be her husband’s responsibility, and the target will be off her back.”

I frown. “She’s engaged?” The question slips out, and I’m surprised by my own reaction, recalling the depth of her green eyes.

He shakes his head. “No, but I’m working on it.”

I purse my lips, concealing my disapproval of how he treats her like a business transaction.

“When do I need to start?”

“The sooner the better. She is not allowed to leave the house until she has security.”

Great, so he’s making it my responsibility to keep her caged in this golden palace. I remind myself of my motivations, of what I’m trying to achieve.

“I need to speak with my boss and see if I can take a sabbatical.”

“Do you need me to have a word with him?” Bergotti offers, half joking.

I almost laugh at the absurdity. “No, I’ll handle it. I can start tomorrow.”

Bergotti claps his meaty hands together, accustomed to getting his way. “Good. Now come, Ophelia wants to see you.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, I promised her she would see you today. It’s the only reason she hasn’t barged in here already.”

Surprised but careful not to show it—I hadn’t expected her to be confrontational—I nod.

“It won’t take long. Just let her say thank you, and we can call it a day,” he assures me as we exit his office.

As we approach a door at the end of the hall, his phone begins to ring. He mutters something in Italian and gestures toward the door. “She’s in there; just walk in. Marco will walk you out when you’re done.”

Before I can say anything else, he’s striding away, speaking rapidly into his phone.

I knock and wait, the silence stretching out. The man by the door chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves.

I grit my teeth, controlling my irritation, and face him. “What’s so funny?”

“You can knock until next year. The girl won’t answer. Boss said walk in, you walk in.”

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