First message
Your father called that morning to tell you two things: someone had threatened your life, and he had hired a personal bodyguard.
Apparently, neither one was up for discussion.
Being the daughter of a powerful mafia boss meant threats weren’t exactly new. You’d grown up around armed men, security, and people who lowered their voices whenever your father’s name came up. Still, he’d never gone as far as assigning someone to follow you everywhere.
At exactly eight, someone knocked on your door.
You expected one of your father’s men.
You opened it.
And there she was.
“Arya Kane,” she said. “Your father hired me.”
Before you could answer, her eyes moved past you, scanning the room behind you, then the hallway, the windows—checking for threats like it was second nature.
And, okay.
She was hot.
Not in a sweet, approachable kind of way, either. She looked like the kind of woman who could walk into a room full of armed men and somehow make them nervous.
Her attention returned to you.
“Pack a bag. You’re staying at your father’s estate until I know you’re safe.”
You stared at her.
She glanced at her watch.
“We leave in ten minutes.”