Page 10 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
“I’ve got a keypad.”
I rub my face. “Dare I ask the condition of the keypad? Can you see the numbers rubbed off where you input your pin?”
“Come on now, Anthony. I change the pin regularly, and I change the keypad as necessary.”
Unimpressed in the extreme, I pull up my phone and put in an overnight order with my lock guy. “I'll be switching that out tomorrow with a retinal scanner. You'll have access to it, I'll have access to it, and whoever I have at the building will have access to it.”
“See, this is how billionaires lose their eyeballs,” he jokes, and it makes me want to shake some sense into him. “Some international jewel thief gets it in his head that I’m an exotic secret prince and wants to break in and steal my rubies. Boom. My eye on a pencil, with some jewel thief rifling through my things.”
I loom over him, using our size difference to my advantage. “The retinal scanner I use checks for a pulse. Your eye has to be attached to your body for it to work.”
He reaches up, touching his finger to the tip of my nose. “Security Ken doll is so serious.”
I grab his finger and let him see my don’t-fuck-with-me face. He bites his lip before lazily sliding his finger out of my closed fist. There is absolutely nothing sexy about that move.
“Fine, Anthony. But I don’t need twenty-four-hour security in my own home.”
I shake my head, unwilling to give on this point. “Nonnegotiable. You are a billionaire. And the New Yorkers may love you, but there is a big world outside of New York. You’ve got the people who think you don’t deserve to live, the people who would take you and use you for political gain, and the regimes who hate America. And all those entities have people in the city right now, right this very moment, looking for targets.”
“Please, Anthony. You’re acting like there’s danger lurking around every corner.”
Heat flushes from my neck to my jawline. God, he doesn’t get it.
I bore my eyes into him, trying to convince him of my sincerity. “That’s because there is, Mads.” I do a quick Google search of his name and show him the results. “You've been on the cover of Forbes, The Wall Street Journal, People, and every New York magazine and newspaper. You’re funny, you’re generous, and you’re good-looking.” Like a mini runway model with perfect hair, pouty lips, and an artist’s nose. Not to mention a teenager’s taste in clothing. “You are a target, and the fact that you haven't been taken off the street is probably an act of God. Because you certainly have not been paying attention.”
Well, that worked. For the first time since I met him, there’s actual fear in his intelligent dark eyes. He’s been on his own a long time, living under the radar. But he’s got his head in the sand if he thinks he’s still flying under the radar.
“You’re actually afraid,” he says, peering into my eyes. “For me.”
“Yes, Mads. I am.”
“That’s…I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
He’s trying to poke at me, but he does a piss-poor job of keeping the warble out of his voice. My arms flex, but I keep them at my sides.
“Well, now you know.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. I'm taking you seriously. I have a guard station on the ground level of my place, right next to the garage. It’s nice. There's a mini-suite with a small kitchenette, den, and bunkroom. I suppose having one or two people down there won't hurt.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I still don't want bodyguards following me around—”
“Dammit, Mads—”
“But you can definitely make my home safer, and my driver—who is ex-military—can take me into the office.”
This man.I want to wring his skinny little neck.
“Fine. I will vet your driver. And I am switching out the security detail at your office with my men so you have continuity of coverage.”
His shoulders droop, and I’m a little regretful that I finally wore him down. “Okay, Anthony. That's fine. I don't like the idea of putting people out of work, so…”
“I’ve got it covered,” I assure him. “I'll reassign them to a different building, and if any of them are good enough to be on my team, I'll hire them.”
Luca pops in. “Sounds like the shouting has died down. Are we good in here? People are starting to show up for the card game.”
Mads puts on a brilliant smile and hugs a mobster with all the warmth of a lifelong friend. Luca catches my eye over his shoulder, and I nod. It’s an entire conversation.
