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It’s a ritual, this drive past her workplace, as much a part of my morning routine as the coffee I drink, the papers I read, or the men I kill.
We park in the usual spot and she comes into view, right on time.
I shouldn’t watch her but I do. I can’t resist this angel that walks among men. My tesoro. My treasure. The only thing in this world I desire more than money.
Her hair, a deep chestnut brown shot through with strands of gold where the sun catches it, cascades in loose waves down her back, framing a face of delicate beauty.
Her features are softly rounded, the kind of face that carries a natural innocence, eyes wide and alert, scanning her surroundings with an unconscious wariness.
She’s anxious, nervous, all the damn time. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to worry, that I’ll protect her. But I don’t. Get her involved in my world and she’s doomed. I won’t have her innocence crushed by the darkness of my life.
She’s clad in a simple white shirt and black knee length skirt, her uniform. The fabric clings to her form, hinting at the gorgeous curves beneath.
Over the shirt, she wears a jacket far too thin for the chill that lingers in the air. She’s got a book under her arm. History, again. All she ever reads.
She brushes a loose strand of hair from her face and my cock twitches. Everything she does makes me ache to be inside her. She pulls her jacket tighter around her as a breeze whispers down the street, a shiver passing through her.
I want to warm her up in my bed, crush her under my bulk, force those legs of hers apart and slide home.
As she nears the store, something’s amiss. She looks at something on the door and then spins on her heels, heading back the way she came.
Without thinking, I climb out. “Wait here,” I say to my driver, my decision made before I even fully comprehend its implications.
I climb out and read the note pinned to the door. Closed permanently due to tough economic conditions.
I follow her on foot, a silent guardian trailing just out of sight. It doesn’t take long to reach her place, a shitty little one story that reeks of poverty. I watch as she heads inside. She’s unaware of my presence.
I remain hidden, telling myself to turn back, to let her be. I can’t keep doing this. Sooner or later someone will see us together. That will make her a target for Garibaldi.
I need to leave, put her out of my mind. Get back to doing what I do best; business.
I’m about to walk away when I see a car pull up. Three men step out. My blood runs cold; they’re low level enforcers, debt collectors working for Garibaldi. What do they want with her place?
I call Luca, my voice low but firm. “Come to my location,” I instruct, giving him the address. “Tell Tony to get me another clean up crew.”
As I approach her house, they make their way around back. I follow them. I know this will change everything. The delicate balance I’ve maintained is about to tip.
I’m going to kill three of Garibaldi’s debt collectors. This could be the spark that reignites the war. Get dozens of good men killed.
I don’t care. I can’t leave her to those assholes, no matter what trouble it causes for me.
I get to the back door in time to find the three of them oblivious to the fact they’re about to die. Her shirt is ripped open, lacy bra on show, chest heaving.
The men have their hands on her, filthy fingers gripping on my angel’s body. The sight of her, so vulnerable and scared, ignites something primal within me, a protective instinct laced with pure possessive fury.
She is mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet, and the sight of another man touching her is intolerable. These three are dead.
I’m on the first man before he can even react, my hands finding his throat with practiced ease. He gasps for air, clawing at my hands, but my grip only tightens. I can’t control the tempest of rage within me, not when it comes to her safety.
I hurl him against the nearest wall, his body crumpling to the floor with a thud that echoes through the sparsely furnished room.
The poor security of the house, the thin walls, and the trash strewn all over—it fuels my anger. She deserves so much better than this.
The other two assholes freeze for a split second, their faces a mix of shock and recognition. They know who I am, what I’m capable of.
They run for it. I should catch both but my fury overwhelms my self control. I manage to get hold of one, choking the life from him as he pleads for her to save him from me.
My angel watches in silence, glad to see her attacker dying. A moment later, he’s a corpse at our feet.
