Guarding The Bratty Mafia Heiress

Vittoria This is insane. How am I supposed to survive on a ranch? What do people even do there? "Ti voglio tanto bene." Mamma kisses my cheeks, her lips trembling slightly against my skin. "See you soon, amore mio." I barely manage a nod. "Yeah, love you too," I mutter, though my voice sounds smaller than I want it to. "Be careful, tesoro," she whispers, gripping my shoulders. "Again, listen to Cooper. He knows what he is doing." "I heard you the first time, Mamma," I say, even though listening to anyone has never been my strong suit. Papà stands close to Cooper, nodding toward a duffel bag one of his men, Dante, is loading into the trunk. "That is one million dollars in cash. Everything else has been provided. Keep her safe," he says to Cooper. "I will, Mr. Giordano," Cooper replies, his voice annoyingly confident. "You better. That is my daughter," Papà warns, his gaze sharp enough to pierce skin. The words should warm me, but instead, all I hear is that is my pawn, who needs to survive long enough to marry Antonio Calafiori. Dante approaches them. "Everything has been loaded." Cooper gazes into the trunk, then turns to me. "Ten bags? There won't be paparazzi obsessing over your outfits." "These are essentials," I argue, crossing my arms. "What if I need different clothes for different weather?" Cooper rubs his temple, taking a deep breath. Mamma touches my arm. "Vittoria, please. Try not to be stubborn." "I am cooperating!" I protest, glaring at her. "I'm getting in the car, aren't I?" We both get into the car, and the heat hits me immediately. "Why the hell is it so hot?" I wave my hands frantically in front of my face. "Did you steal this from a junkyard?" "This is the same car your maid drives. It's meant to fool the hitman into thinking you're still in Italy, buying us time," he says, glancing at me briefly. "If it's too hot, take your top off." I blink. "Excuse me? Are you seriously suggesting I strip in front of you?" "I'm giving you options. You can keep complaining, or you can do what is comfortable," he says. I eye him with a slow, dangerous smirk. "Are you sure you love dick? Because I'm sensing a lot of sexual tension in the air." "For the second time, I don't swing that way. And even if I did, you're not my type," he says, tone clipped. That stings more than it should, probably because Cooper is ruggedly handsome, the kind of man who could make nuns question their vows. "What is your type exactly?" I press, letting the sarcasm drip like venom. "Let me guess, dumb twinks with LA accents and a personality of a toad?" "Intelligent, confident, sexy men who crave being dominated in bed," he answers calmly, his eyes still fixed on the road. "So you're into BDSM," I say, keeping my voice steady, though my pulse jumps. "Explains why you're so damn sadistic." "I dabble a bit. Nothing extreme just whips, cuffs, and spanking," he replies, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Don't get any ideas, though. I'm not planning on teaching you any lessons," he adds, switching lanes. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Fck, that sounds hot. Too bad he is gay, and I'm engaged to someone else. "Well, send my sympathy to the men you have traumatized. I'm sure most of them need therapy after being in your orbit." "That's strange," he says, one corner of his mouth twitching like he is trying not to smile. "I usually have to file restraining orders for people stalking me." I completely get why those guys are drawn to him. One taste of Cooper's irresistible daddy vibe, and I would be just as clingy, labels be damned. "Bullsht. Keep telling yourself that," I mutter, forcing a laugh that comes out more jealous than amused. "They are probably just crazy men with severe daddy issues." "Whatever you say, brat. Here is your passport," he says, tossing it toward me. "It's Vittoria, asshole." I snap, snatching it out of the air. "And I swear, if you call me that one more time..." "You will what?" he challenges, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Btch to your father?" "I only express justified frustration!" I spit, opening the booklet. Seeing my new identity churns my stomach. "I'm sure there is a difference," he says dryly, driving to the private airport. "Your cover story is in the folder behind your seat." I reach back and grab it, flipping through pages of fabricated documents. "These AI pictures of me, are crazy." "The more real it looks, the safer you are," he says. "Memorize everything. Your life might depend on it." "Jesus, no pressure or anything," I mutter. We drive in silence for a few minutes before Cooper speaks again. "Your father told me you speak three languages?" "Four, actually. English, French, Spanish, and obviously Italian." I reply, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. "What, surprised the mafia princess has actual skills?" "A little," he admits. "It might come in handy. Houston attracts all types." The jet waiting at the private airport makes it all feel real because it isn't ours. I'm no longer Vittoria Giordano. I'm Arianna fcking nobody. A man in a pilot's uniform greets us at the stairs. "Mr. Hayes? We're ready for departure whenever you are." "Thank you, Captain," Cooper says, then turns to me. "After you, princess." "It's Arianna now," I correct him bitterly as I climb the stairs. Inside the jet, a flight attendant with a tight smile approaches. "Can I get you anything before takeoff? Water? Coffee?" "Champagne," I say automatically. "Water for both of us," Cooper interrupts, giving me a pointed look. I slump into my seat, the weight of my new reality crushing down on me. "This is going to be hell, isn't it?" "Probably," Cooper agrees, settling into the seat across from me.