CHAPTER TWO
MASSIO
My brother Miko has provided me with a file on my new role as a bodyguard for little Theodora Jennings. A spoiled rich kid whose father was once the target of my envy, but as I stare back at the man before me, I’m really starting to wonder what the hell I was thinking.
Ford Jennings is a potbellied, gray-haired old prick who probably has problems locating his micro prick. He tilts his head from side to side, surveying me with narrowed eyes. He won’t find anything remotely like the boy he may have been aware of nineteen years ago. The one his wife divorced to be with him.
My physique has doubled, and I have an array of tattoos from my neck to my thighs. Ink coats my hands with a collection of skulls, crosses, and weapons. I’m proud of my body; I might be aging, but I’m in damn good shape.
I glance around his mediocre office. Dark-pine wood desk, a signature bookcase with books nobody reads, given the dust I can see from here, and a fake painting hangs that no doubt houses the family safe behind it. All very predictable.
“Your name is vaguely familiar.” He strokes the gray bristles on his chin.
I lift a shoulder. “Massio is popular in the Mafia world. Marino even more so.” I’m thankful Sal gave me the honor of taking on his last name. Not only was it recognition for how far I’d immersed myself in the Mafia lifestyle and dedicated my life to La Familia, but it also gave me the perfect opportunity to wipe away any mistakes of my past and start a new life under the protection and guidance of La Familia.
I was happy to be a foot soldier while dating Veronica. I wanted a normal life more, and Sal said I always had one foot out of the door, something that changed the second she left.
The moment she became another man’s wife, I developed an anger that the Mafia world welcomed, and I was no longer happy being a foot soldier, an errand boy so to speak. I wanted more. I wanted to go as far as I could, create a name for myself in the underworld, and becoming the Mafia don’s bodyguard and right-hand man was what my fury helped achieve.
And now, finally, I’ll have the vengeance that’s been brewing for a lifetime.
“You come highly recommended.” He continues. “My daughter, she’s…” He pauses, thinking, and if I hadn’t researched the man and his legal capabilities, I’d have thought he was nothing short of being slow.
A brat?I want to say, but opt for the politer option, given I barely know the man and his relationship with his little princess. Hell, I don’t want to get fired before I’ve even started.
“Trying?”
He throws his head back on a laugh. His stomach wobbles and his chin shakes. “Yes. Yes. She’s very trying, my daughter. Very trying, indeed.”
He hasn’t said her name yet. Is the dimwit even aware of it? My lip twitches at the thought.
“Yes. She can be”—he winces—“a little difficult at times.” His eyes meet mine. “I need you to rein her in, but keep her safe.” He points toward me, with jest dancing in his eyes.
It grabs my attention because although he’s trying to make light of a situation, this is a bodyguard job, and this is the first time he’s actually mentioned her safety.
Alert, I lean forward in my chair and give him my full attention. “Is she in danger? Is there something I should be aware of?” I might not like the girl, but I sure as hell don’t want her death on my conscience. Not until I’ve had my fun with her, at least.
Maybe I’m about to get the action I’ve been craving for months.
He waves a hand at me. “Oh, nothing to worry about. We’ve had a couple of incidents, but nothing recent to concern yourself too much with.”
Nothing to concern myself too much with? I scan the buffoon’s face.
He’s serious.
“Then why the bodyguard? What incidents?” I snipe out.
He grimaces and tilts his head from side to side while twisting his lips. “She gets herself into sticky situations. You know how teenage girls are. A little drama here and there,” he sputters on a laugh.
I stare back at him, emotionless.
Hell no, I don’t know shit about teenage girls. The only personal experience I’ve had with a teenager was when I was one myself, and the teenage girl I knew kicked me in the balls. After declaring our love for one another, she divorced me and married an old bastard so she could carry the latest handbag around while becoming a socialite. The very same old bastard who is still alive and kicking even though he looks two seconds away from suffering a coronary.
“Not really,” I deadpan. “Enlighten me.”
He chuckles again, and I don’t know whether he realizes it or not, but I’m not a person who cares for amusement, especially when something’s not remotely funny.
“Well…” He rolls his head. “She claims she was attacked at a party.” My eyebrows shoot up. Claims? Is the little minx an attention seeker like her mother too? “Then she says she was followed.” He blows out a deep breath and smacks his desk. “Look, Massio, I’m going to level with you, we had… an incident when she was younger.” His eyes lock on mine.
