Heart Burn: Deep Six East Book 1 Page 3

  “No—we are not your bodyguards. We are support staff. Dante Girabaldi will be your bodyguard, but I guess he’s running a little late.”

  Yes, he was, because he let himself be distracted by a beautiful ass.

  “Well, he can run as late as he wants, because he is going to be fired as soon as he decides to show up,” she grumbled.

  Dante pushed the door open wider and lost his breath when he caught his first sight of his protectee. The wildcat from the park. There was no mistaking that ass, which looked even better in a pencil skirt than spandex. When she turned a little to glare up at Dex on the ladder, he got a look at her face, and groaned. He was in deep shit, he thought, as he walked inside.

  “And you are too, so don’t waste your time, or my father’s money here,” Prada said, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Prada!” A shorter woman, who must be her assistant, glided into the office. “Stop being a testa dura. You know this is for the best.”

  “I don’t have time for this, Guilia! You know I have things to do here. You should not have let them in here and I wouldn’t be a tough nut!” Prada shouted.

  “Well, you can’t do those things if you’re dead, now, can you?” Guilia fired back, crossing her arms over her chest to stare her boss down.

  “You did this, didn’t you?” Prada asked, pointing a finger at her. “You called my father!”

  “Yes, I did—because I love you. We both love you, and you are not taking these threats seriously,” Guilia replied lifting her chin.

  Prada’s eyes darted to the doorway and her mouth opened on a gasp, then pinched tight as her eyebrows crashed together. She stalked over to him to point at the door behind him.

  “Get out!” she shouted, then looked back at Dex, who was making his way down the ladder. “You get out, too. All of you, get out!”

  “We aren’t going anywhere, Ms. D’Angelo, but please don’t let us keep you from those important things you said you needed to get done in your office.” Dante ignored her angry glare and stepped around her.

  Chapter 3

  “It’s about time you showed up, man,” Dex said, with a quick glance toward Prada. “I thought I was going to have to break out a whip and chair to get down from this ladder.”

  “Sorry, I was a little detained this morning. I almost got run down by a car while stupidly trying to save a jogger, who was not smart enough to cross the street on her own.” The angry snarl behind him from said jogger made Dante bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

  “I swept for listening devices, checked the phone for bugs and put a remote feed on the camera in the hall. I installed a new camera there, and another in the outer office,” Dex said pointing to the camera he’d mounted in the corner. “I emailed you the link to download the app on your phone so you can monitor them. Glenna is going to set up the extra firewall on her computer and her laptop and add a proxy to cloak her IP address so no one can track her.”

  “Thanks, man.” Dante glanced at the hot-as-a-firecracker, in a technicolor-goth way, woman with Dexter. “Are you Glenna?” he asked, trying not to stare at the pink and purple streaks in her hair or the multicolor network of floral tattoos from her shoulder to wrist as she extended her hand. The professional black sheath she wore made it all work in a business setting, but Dante almost felt like he needed sunglasses to look at her.

  “Yes, Glenna Burke, the new Deep Six cyber-security expert,” she announced, sticking her hand out to him. Her handshake was surprisingly firm, but he could only focus on studying the tattoos on her arm, as if that would give him a clue to her story.

  “I need a key to your apartment to sweep it and set up the cameras there,” Dex said, glancing at Prada D’Angelo. “Glenna will need your laptop.”

  “Continue dreaming,” Prada replied belligerently. “Nobody is getting anywhere near my apartment, or my laptop. Take your toys and your boy and leave now—or I’m calling security.”

  She tossed her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Dante was the boy she spoke of and his face burned. He would dissuade the hissing kitten of that notion very soon.

  “I have a key and her laptop,” Guila said, shooting Prada a hot look. “Follow me.”

  Prada D’Angelo’s gorgeous body practically vibrated with anger as her eyes followed her assistant as she led them to her office. They reemerged a minute later with the computer, then threw him to the lioness to make a hasty escape.

  “Nice to see you again, Ms. D’Angelo. Since I didn’t introduce myself earlier, I’m Dante Girabaldi, your bodyguard.” Dante grinned as he extended his hand, knowing that would enflame her more. He planned on needling this strafiga whenever possible, to pay her back for her rudeness to his team and himself.

  “I told you when you called last night, I don’t want or need your services, Mr. Girabaldi! If this morning’s incident was any indication of your skills, as I said, I think I’ll be better off on my own.” She pointed at the door again. “You’re fired!”

  “You can’t fire me,” Dante replied, tamping down his ire. “Since he hired me, your father is the only one who can fire me.”

  “Then I’ll call him right away and tell him what an incompetent ass you are,” she grated.

  “Yeah, why don’t you do that? I’m sure he’d be interested in hearing about how you were almost run over this morning, because you’re too stupid to look before you cross the street.” Dante laughed and she bared her teeth.

  “I looked, but that car ran the signal,” she said with a tilt of her chin.

  “No, you were standing in the road with an X on your back, begging him to hit you,” Dante corrected, giving her an eye roll.

  “I was just about to run to the other side. I was watching to make sure the driver didn’t change lanes. I didn’t need your help this morning, hero, and I don’t want it now. I have things to do and you are not going to interfere!”

  With a noise he thought was supposed to be a snarl, but sounded more like a throaty purr, she spun on her heel and stalked across the room to the door where her assistant had gone. Dante followed her and put his hand up to stop her from slamming the door in his face. She stormed to her desk and turned toward him.

  “Stop following me, cazzo, and get out of my office,” she hissed, pointing at the door. She walked around her desk and sat down in the big, burgundy leather chair.

  Dante walked to the front of her desk, put his hands down on the polished surface and pinned her with his eyes. “No can do, bella. We are going to be joined at the hip until Mac MacKenzie figures out who is threatening you. Until the threat is eliminated and the perps arrested, I am going to be your twenty-four-hour shadow, capiche?”

  “Do not try to manage me, Mr. Girabaldi. Ask my father how that works out for him,” she shot back. “And get out of my face. Your cologne is nauseating me.” She waved her hand and crinkled her perfect nose.

  Dante bit back a laugh as he stepped away. Is that why you took such a long sniff of it when you were on top of me on the median and again just now? Yeah, I heard you.

  Instead of leaving, he took the seat across from her desk to stare at her angry, flushed face. He couldn’t seem to stop staring because there was something very familiar about it.

  “Let’s lay down some ground rules,” he said, leaning back to tent his fingers over his chest. Dante’s body suddenly tensed when it hit him where he’d seen her before.

  This woman was a viral internet sensation. Sweat popped out on his brow as his eyes dropped to her spectacular breasts as the classy, but explicit photos flipped through his mind like a slideshow. The same photos that every male in his FBI field office had passed around, and probably half the men in the world. Sitting here in her presence right now was surreal.

  Just stop looking at her—stop thinking about those photos. Focus on the personality that goes with those images. This was going to be a long, hard, job—especially if he had to do it with a hard-on. With a huffed breath, Dante sat up straighter.

  “You don’t go anywhere without me,” he said, his breathing short and shallow. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes back to hers. “Not even to the bathroom.” Not even in the shower. Oh, Dio. How in the hell was he going to be with this woman twenty-four-seven? “If you have to go, I will be standing outside, waiting for you to finish.” And wishing I was inside there with you. Dante bit back a groan but it filtered up his throat.

  Because he’d been curious back then about the woman in the photos, he’d also looked up her bio. International model, Italian soap star, and she’d even dated a prince. According to the online Italian version of the Enquirer, that relationship didn’t end well, but it included trips to the French Riviera, Ibiza and a Mediterranean holiday on a yacht with him. The yacht story featured a gold bikini photo of her, which played a starring role in his fantasies for a long time.

  She’s filed harassment charges against a very powerful man.

  Now, he knew that powerful man’s’ identity, Cosmo Fiortino, her former billionaire, media mogul boss. He knew the photos were published to stop a blackmail attempt by the man, because the accompanying article named him and what he’d supposedly done to her.

  Dante hadn’t cared enough to keep up with whether she’d ever pressed charges against him or not, but now he knew she had. That was over two years ago, though, so either the Italian justice system must be slow, or she’d waited an awfully long time to file the charges.

  He added both the prince and the media mogul to his list of suspects. He needed to call Mac and give him what he knew about Ms. Prada D’Angelo.

  “Did you pick up any stalkers or overly, um, enthusiastic admirers in your former career, Ms. D’Angelo?” With those explicit photos he’d seen, it was highly likely. She didn’t say anything for a minut
e as her face turned bright red.

  “You are the only stalker I can’t seem to get rid of!” she shouted, folding her arms. “My former career is none of your business, Mr. Girabaldi. It has no bearing on you being able to protect me, which I believe is what my father hired you to do.”

  “It is my business, Ms. D’Angelo, because it’s those kind of people who might be threatening you.” Dante felt his face heat too, as he fought to keep his eyes from dropping to the deep vee of her starched, white shirt again. God, he needed to forget about those photos or he would never be able to do this job.

  “I’m not afraid and I won’t be intimidated by bullies.” She leaned forward and laced her fingers together on top of her desk. “I provided Mr. MacKenzie a list when he called me and I’m not repeating it. If you have questions, I suggest you talk to your co-worker.” She tilted her head, picked up the phone and roasted him with her gorgeous gold-flecked eyes. “Now, I have phone calls to make, if you’ll excuse me?”

  He’d been dismissed. At least she hadn’t called her father to have him fired, but she might well do that when he left the office. Dante needed to give Griff a call to get him to run interference with Arturo or this job might end before it even got started.

  So much for this assignment being a cakewalk, Dante thought, his frustration at code red as he pushed up out of his chair. If they weren’t careful, this woman, who was suited to pop out of that cake with her sexuality, might well smash it in their faces.

  He realized now that Mac had his work cut out for him too. Their potential suspect pool could be the size of the Atlantic Ocean from the sounds of it. Dante knew who could help him narrow that list down, though.

  Her assistant seemed to be the one who’d alerted Arturo that his daughter was in danger. She was the one who cooperated with Dex for the key and the laptop. She would be the one he would charm to get the answers he needed, since it was obvious Ms. D’Angelo wasn’t going to give them to him.

  “I’ll just be out there keeping your assistant company,” Dante said, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. “Call me if you have to go to the restroom, bella.” With a wink, he turned his back and his grin widened when he heard her purr again.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m warning you, Mr. Girabaldi—stop following me or I’m calling the police!” Prada snarled as she stuffed her key into the door of her apartment.

  Surely this man didn’t think she would allow him to stay at her place. But he must, because he crowded in behind her and his cologne formed a haze of sexual awareness around her. She couldn’t help but breathe it in and her hand shook as she finally got the key in the lock.

  “It’s my job to follow you, Ms. D’Angelo, and my boss is working with the Capitol Police, so they know I’m following you,” he growled near her ear. “Just be a good girl. Stop resisting and we’ll get along fine. Pretend I don’t exist. Just ignore me. Consider me an accessory.”

  Oh, Dio—if it were that easy, she would. Why did her accessory have to be so good looking? Why did he have to be so, so, manly? And why did he have to be wearing her favorite cologne?

  Although he was an arrogant, puffed-up peacock in her estimation, this man’s machismo sent messages to her body as if they were transmitted through a loudspeaker.

  She twisted the knob and all but fell into her living room. With a quick turn, she tried to shut the door in his face, but he stuffed his perfectly polished leather loafer into the slot before she could. He pushed the door open and Prada did not have time to wrestle with him. She was going to be late to the party at the senator’s house.

  With a growl, she turned to stride to the sofa and tossed her purse down on the coffee table on the way to her bedroom. He wanted to be a piece of furniture? She was going to treat him that way. Maybe if she was nasty enough, he’d just go away and leave her in peace. So far, though, that tactic had only made him more determined to stick to her like glue.

  The doorbell buzzed as she closed her bedroom door, but she didn’t move to answer it. She kicked off her heels, then stripped out of her suit coat and tossed it onto the end of the bed, but jerked it right back up to cover herself.

  I need a key to your apartment to sweep it and set up the cameras there. Had the security firm’s computer expert installed cameras in her bedroom too?

  Prada’s eyes scanned every inch of the room and she didn’t see a camera, but she still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t being surveilled. Cameras were very tiny these days and that handsome nerd-boy probably had the best there was.

  Tears burned her eyes. These people had barged into her life, invaded her private space, and she had no say in the matter. If she sent them away, her father would just send someone else. Maybe someone worse.

  Arturo was who she needed to deal with, but Prada wasn’t looking forward to that. Since their argument when she announced her intention to press charges against Cosmo, and potentially run for office, they hadn’t spoken.

  Sometimes it’s better to bow than to break, tesora. Her mother’s advice when she tried to explain her position.

  And sometimes it’s better to fight to break a bad man who thinks he’s unbreakable. I’m already broken, so what do I have to lose, Mamma? Prada had nothing to lose. A lot of people in Italy already thought the worst of her.

  It was a sad day when even her mother, her only source of support since her father was mostly absent from her life, was not on her side. But Olivia D’Angelo was a woman very sensitive to situations that could affect her socially. Her social status and wealth were the most important things in her existence, because they provided her only self-worth.

  She was happy living in her husband’s shadow and never had aspirations of doing anything with her life, other than being the perfect hostess, having the perfect daughter and being a respected socialite. And she was very good at it.

  The scandal has done enough damage. By rehashing it, you will only further embarrass your father socially and politically. Her last reason gave Prada pause.

  Arturo did have something to lose—his appointment as President by the Council of Ministers. He’d worked twenty-one years for that appointment, and more scandal could change their minds. Especially since he’d also survived a recent corruption investigation himself, but was never charged by the police.

  Was she doing the right thing?

  Of course, the media outlets regurgitated the photos again, which revived the scandal. But it had only been a one-day run with one picture. She thought that was minimal damage and they’d focused more on the charges, and previous charges, than the photos.

  Prada sighed. Whether she’d done the right thing or not, it was done. The hornet’s nest was stirred and she couldn’t un-stir it.

  Fiortino’s legal team was busy pandering to the media outlets, who were helping him make his case that she was just a puttana who was after his money, a has been who needed to get her face back in the media for her political aspirations.

  At the moment, all Prada wanted to do was bury her head in the sand until it all went away, but she couldn’t do that. She had a party to attend, by personal invitation of a woman who could help her not only with her political bid, but with her cause.

  The good senator was also the darling of the American media, which had a much bigger stage than their Italian counterpart—a worldwide stage. Perhaps Prada could launch a media campaign of her own. The issue of sexual harassment and abuse was more fiercely rejected here than back home.

  Dio, if she could just go back to the good old days, where putting on an evening gown just meant smiling for a camera for a few hours. Those days were gone, however, and now she had to engage in political discourse to further her cause, along with smiling for cameras. She hoped she could cleanse her brain while in the shower, too.

  With determination, Prada tossed the suit coat back on the bed then reached behind her to unfasten her bra. She let it slide down her arms, then lifted her chin. What did she care if they had cameras in her bedroom? Everyone had seen the goods anyway—what did she have to hide? There certainly hadn’t been anything else to see in this bedroom since she’d been in Washington.