She's beautiful. That's the first thing I notice, and I hate that I notice it. Golden hair cascading over bare shoulders. A smile that promises trouble. Eyes the color of honey, tilted up at the camera with an expression I can only describe asdaring. She's in some kind of club, based on the lighting, wearing a dress that's more suggestion than fabric, a champagne glass raised in a toast to whoever's photographing her.
I flip to the next page. A tabloid printout. The headline screams something about "HEIRESS PARTIES UNTIL DAWN"—I don't bother reading the rest.
Next page. Another tabloid. Wild yacht weekend. Exclusive photos. More skin than clothing.
Next page. A gossip blog. "WHICH BILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER WAS SPOTTED LEAVING A CLUB AT 4 AM WITHTWODATES?"
I close the folder.
"No."
Marco raises an eyebrow. "That wasn't a request."
"Find someone else. I'm not spending my days chasing some party princess around Miami while she blows through Daddy's money and collects Instagram followers."
"Nico—"
"I'm serious." I push the folder back across the desk. "This is babysitting a spoiled brat. Give it to someone who needs the resume padding. I have actual security concerns to manage. Vulnerabilities in the network, threats to assess, a family that's still bleeding from—"
I stop myself. Don't say her name.
Marco's expression softens slightly. Just for a moment. Then the Don is back, all business.
"This matters, Nico. I wouldn't be sending you otherwise. Keep her alive, keep her out of the tabloids, and don't ask questions about who she is or why she needs protecting. The less you know, the cleaner this stays."
I don't like it. I don't like any of it. But Marco's never steered me wrong.
"Send Tommaso. He's good."
"Tommaso doesn't have your patience."
I almost laugh at that. "You think I have patience forthis?" I tap the folder. "For a woman who thinks four AM is a reasonable bedtime and clothing is optional?"
"I think you're the only one who won't end up in her bed or in a tabloid." Marco's voice hardens. "I need someone who can't be seduced, bribed, or charmed. Someone who won't be dazzled by the lifestyle or tempted by the access. That's you, Nico. Like it or not."
"I don't."
"Noted." He pushes the folder back toward me. "Your flight leaves tomorrow at six AM. You'll be based in Miami for the duration. I've arranged an apartment near her residence. Details are in the file."
I don't pick up the folder. "How long?"
"As long as it takes to neutralize the threat."
"That could be months."
"Yes."
Marco leans back in his chair, studying me. "There's one more thing. While you're down there, I need you to check in on a place called La Sirena. It's a cabaret club—upscale, members only. We have an interest in it."
"What kind of interest?"
"The kind where we've invested significantly and I want to make sure our investment is being managed properly." He waves a hand. "You'll have full access. Use it if you need a base of operations, or just keep an eye on things. Report back anything that seems off."
A cabaret club. In Miami. Full of exactly the kind of excess I've spent my adult life avoiding.
"Anything else? Want me to take up salsa dancing while I'm there?"
"Don't tempt me."
