“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I say flatly, putting the book down in my lap.
“Boss disagrees with that opinion. And what he says goes around here,” Raffaello settles into the chair across from me, kicking his legs out and crossing his feet, making himself comfortable. “So you might as well get used to my company. I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not leaving the property, like he demanded so eloquently yesterday. There are guards everywhere. What exactly do you think is going to happen to me between Emmanuel's room and my own?”
He shrugs, putting his hands behind his head in complete nonchalance.
“Not my job to think. It’s my job to do what the Boss wants. And he wants me to stick to you like glue and make sure nothing happens.” He grins then, and there’s something knowing in his expression that makes me uncomfortable. “You look familiar. I’ve thought that since that first night at the orphanage, you know. Have we met before?”
My heart skips a beat. “No.”
“You sure about that? I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He tilts his head, studying me with those sharp eyes. “Maybe at a family event? A wedding? Or a funeral?”
Shit.
“I don’t have a family.” I lie — it comes easily, practiced. “Orphan, remember? You must be thinking of someone else.”
“Maybe.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s just, you’ve got this way of moving. Like you’re used to being watched. Used to being mindful and careful. Most normal people don’t do that.”
I force myself not to stiffen under his gaze, meeting his eyes with what I hope is a soft and unsure expression. Acting as innocent as I can. “After ten years in an orphanage, privacy isn’t exactly something I’m used to. With that many children to take care of and people coming and going constantly, you learn to be aware of your surroundings.”
“Mmmm.” He’s still watching me with interest. “You know, I spent some time in upper Manhattan a few years back. Did some odd jobs when I first got put on security, the Boss’s father was Don then, we were negotiating with the head of the Triads at the time. I attended a few gatherings, met some interesting people.”
My blood goes cold, but I fight to keep my expression neutral, praying that the color hasn’t drained from my face. “That sounds interesting to be sure.”
“Yeah, interesting is a good word. The Triads are very particular about their protocol. Very formal.” He leans forward, moving his elbows to his knees as he does so, studying me. “There was this one event, a daughter’s birthday celebration. Big production, lots of important people. The birthday girl had a younger sister who was like a shadow; she had this way of holding herself. Very proper, very careful, watchful, and like a wraith almost. You remind me of her.”
He knows,full-blown panic creeps in, and I fight the urge to run. Even if he doesn’t truly know, hasn’t put it all together yet, he suspects.
I know exactly what event he’s talking about. It was my older sister’s birthday, father had been presenting her to the other families. Hoping to have marriage negotiations spark from the event, but everyone had been distracted by my rare appearance, and it had angered him.
I need to shut this down before he connects the dots fully.
“I’m sure there are lots of women who carry themselves… carefully. It can’t be that unique.” I say dismissively while standing up, tucking the book under my arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Emmanuel.”
“Of course,” Raffaello stands as well, moving to follow me.
“That’s really not necessary-”
“Boss’s orders.” His tone is pleasant but firm. “Wherever you go, I go. Please, save us both the trouble of arguing about it every single minute. Otherwise, it’s going to be one hell of a long month.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath before stepping off again, acutely aware of Raffaello trailing behind me like an obnoxiously persistent shadow.
Two days later, I’ve had enough. It’s been two days of Raffaello following me everywhere, questioning me at every turn, and I’m ready to lose my mind.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s outside my door waiting. When I go to Emmanuel’s room, he’s there trailing behind me. When I take Emmanuel to the library to read, Raffaello sits in a chair nearby. When we go to the garden for our daily walk, he trails behind us at a semi-discrete distance.
The only time I’m fully alone is when I’m in my room with the door closed, and even then, I’m acutely aware of his presence just outside.
It’s suffocating.
And what’s worse is that he keeps dropping little hints. Little comments that suggest he knows more about my background than he is outright saying.
“You know, you hold your chopsticks the traditional way. Not many Americans know how to do that.”
“Where’d you learn Mandarin?”
“You sure you’ve never worn a qipoa? That’s what she wore that day, red silk with gold embroidery. I’ll never forget, very striking.”
