Page 110 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
MADS
I waketo the sound of happiness: Anthony playing Vivaldi on his viola. I could get used to this. In fact, I could thrive under all this love and attention and art.
We’ve spent the week at Anthony's apartment wrapped in each other, fucking, binge-watching the latest queer shows, and listening to classical music as we cook together.
Anthony prefers the queer pirates while I prefer the queer schoolboys, which led to a good-natured argument, which led to more fucking. Win-win.
Yesterday was The Godfather marathon. I was so afraid I wouldn’t like it, but I did. The more murdery aspects were a little too close to home given the violence of the last week, but it kind of made me understand Anthony’s code, even if it is vastly different from the omertà of Don Corleone.
“So…that means Luca is a don, right? Should we be calling him Don Stefano?” I ask Anthony, curled up against him.
“Honestly, that would offend him more than the joking,” he responds, tightening his hold on me. “Only the people he holds at arm’s length call him Don. He’s trying to move away from the concept of the crime family entirely, though I’m not sure if we’ll ever be fully dissolved.”
“I hope you and Luca can keep the good parts.”
“We’re damn well going to try.”
* * *
I do own a company,though, and together we decided that today is a good day to show my face, such as it is. I regret not letting Anders give me his top-secret fix-it injection because we’ve had to be careful around my healing nose.
Worse are the looks Anthony gives me when his eyes land on the bruising under my eyes. I hate that it makes him sad, but a teeny tiny part of me preens that it bothers him so much. Like my new friend Anders would say, that ain’t right.
Eh, I survived an international kidnapping. I can fucking preen if I want to.
Anthony insists on being my in-person bodyguard for the next few days, at least until we get confirmation the Russians have backed off. Something tells me that having a few dozen of their best operatives erased off the map might make them rethink coming after me.
Or I might be a bigger target. I'm not sure which. Either way, the hottie crew from Texas apparently works with the kind of organization that can take on international threats. When Anthony didn’t push for details, I decided I shouldn’t either.
Before we left for Jakarta, I directed my engineers to retest our earlier, non-weapons grade polymers and determine if any would get the job done. I’m happy to say we already have a formulation that does the trick, even if it's not quite as sleek and sexy-thin.
I can't undo the United States government’s access to the original formulation, but I have been chatting with my father, and he believes he now has enough sway to ban the export of the critical mineral, which will cut off supply from all entities, including the United States. I'm sure that will set off another round of diplomatic headaches, but it will no longer be my headache.
As for my family…we are in a better spot than before. The gay shit is less distasteful when a contingent of queer badasses show up and save the day. My mother is still a little stand-offish, but my father has started sending me funny TikTok videos along with his parliamentary updates.
Progress, I suppose.
One of my sisters is interested in technology. Ryder is surprisingly interested in mentoring her, and we have plans to fly her to New York later this summer if it’s safe.
With my favorite coffee in hand, Anthony at my side, and concealer under my eyes, I grin as the elevator doors open to the shared workspace. I love the steady hum of people hard at work together.
“Oh look, the conquering heroes,” Ryder deadpans, smirking. “Check your email. The head of the US warmonger committee is pissed you're not planning to build in India anymore.”
“Should I concern myself with the fact that you’re snooping into my politically treacherous emails?”
“Why start now?” she asks, running her split tongue over both her top and bottom lips at the same time.
“True story.”
She curtsies and turns to Anthony, giving him a sharp salute.
“Hey, Anthony—I’ve got some updates for your team, plus a few electronic goodies to check out. You got a minute?”
He bows his head and follows her, turning back for a moment to send me a soft smile before continuing down the hall to research and development.
Harrison approaches me, a little more anxious than usual. “How's it going today, boss?”
“Good. We’re pissing off the right people, I think.”
