Daddy’s Brutal Best Friend

  A Mafia Age Gap Romance

  Kasi Ryan

  Contents

  1. The New Guy

  2. Dangerous Dreams

  3. Salacious Encounters

  4. Standby

  5. Something Stupid

  6. Impulsive

  7. Work Struggles

  8. Just This Once

  9. New Meaning of Abstinence

  10. Clean Break

  11. A Looming Storm

  12. Pause or Pursuit

  13. I Don’t Need You

  14. Shootout

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  The New Guy

  Sage

  I grew up around a lot of jaded, secretive men in my life. My father’s business antics made sure of that. So it’s easy to spot the man tasked with checking in on me before he even makes it to the counter of my workplace, where he will inevitably order the same drink he always requests when he has to stop by.

  I slide the warm mug over the counter and flash Peter a mock smile. “Peter. You’re early today. Something must be wrong.”

  My father’s associate shrugs, handing over a bill too large to pay for a simple cup of coffee and insists I keep the rest as a tip.

  I always find it ironic how my father would rather pay Peter to come by and check on me, than he would just pick up the phone and maybe, just maybe, lend me some money when it’s needed.

  Lately, it’s been needed more often than not, but my father made it clear his wallet was closed to me.

  “You act as though I’m in a time crunch, Sage. It’s not like you’re on a schedule with me, I’m just instructed to come and visit you from time to time and occasionally watch your back,” he says, sipping the mocha cup of coffee slowly. “So, how are things?”

  I roll my eyes. “You know damn well how things are going,” I spit. “You follow my every move, Peter. Stop acting like this is an infrequent checkup.”

  His tired, gray eyes scan across the slow morning of the Steaming Cup, the coffee shop I’ve worked at for years in order to pay rent for my modest apartment in downtown Seattle. Although that paycheck has been dwindling down more and more every season, I enjoy the simplicity of my work.

  “I saw your mail,” he says, breaking his façade of watching me from an acceptable distance. “You have another final notice before they evict you, Sage. Why didn’t you tell me you were behind on rent? I could talk to Heston and maybe—”

  “He won’t help,” I breathe, thankful the morning is slow and the lack of customers gives way to this conversation. “I’ve asked my father a million times for financial help, Peter. You know he cut me off when mom died. I didn’t even get any of her assets. He wants to pretend I’m not a DiMarco at all.”

  Peter sets down his mug, uninterested in the last half of it left. “He loves you, Sage. He just wants to protect you from his world.”

  “So why are you here today? You only approach me when something is wrong.”

  His features nudge a smile, though it’s forced and unreliable. “Well, it’s actually not bad news this time. I’m going abroad for some time and your father elected a new guy to keep an eye on you while I’m away.”

  I scan the room, finding an attractive, albeit stoic man in the corner of the coffee shop, brooding and taut in his slouched position. I can make out the green eyes that beam toward me, a few gold flakes gracing that intense glare.

  I turn away from his focus, though his eyes still drill holes through my icy blond hair. “I don’t need a guard, Peter. Tell my father to drop his silly babysitting program.”

  Peter digs through his wallet, sliding over a few more large bills I wouldn’t agree to take unless I absolutely needed it. I stuff the wad into my apron pocket and hang my head in shame.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Sage,” Peter purrs. “Just let the guy look after you. He’s a good man and he is very close to your father. If he relays that you’re safe and there’s nothing to worry about, then maybe your father will drop the order he has to protect you. You know why Heston has to be careful. If not for what happened in the past, then maybe—”

  I shoot him a warning look. Peter drops the topic.

  I try to ignore the migraine coming over me. “Can you at least tell me his name? He obviously isn’t interested in coming over to introduce himself.”

  “He’s just business oriented, not much of a personal guy, but he’s steadfast,” Peter hums. “Nico Vitale.” He turns, ready to leave after saving my ass from eviction—again—but stops to add in warning, “Don’t piss him off, please. He can be strict.”

  Strict.

  I don’t want to consider how easy it would be to mess with my new watchdog, but he stays in the same booth until the end of my shift. I pack up my tips, thankful for Peter’s donation, and I step out onto the sidewalk in the cool Seattle breeze.

  It’s one of those days where I wish I had a car, but my father is the only rich DiMarco left. I’m just the daughter he pretends he never had, all in order to give me a normal life. Normally, fathers communicate with their daughters.

  What’s not normal is a hunky gentleman stalking a few paces behind me as I meander home.

  Peter and the other guards in my past never got too close, never really stood out in public, so I hardly ever recognized them until they came into the coffee shop or stepped in to ask a question or two so they could update my father.

  This guard is different.

  He’s four or five steps behind me as I stalk home and I can’t stand feeling like I’m on a leash with one of my father’s various soldiers. I stop dead in my tracks headed home, facing the man who thinks he has some kind of protective possession over me just because my father said so.

  “Nico,” I breathe, my eyes wide as I line up the size of him in front of me.

  He’s easily ten inches taller than me, his dark brown hair sprinkled with grey blushes that somehow adds to the well-defined attractiveness of his features. I swallow hard, feeling like I’m being crushed under the weight of the world just because of his narrow, full focus on me before him.

  “Yes, Princess?”

  I scoff in horror. “Excuse me?”

  His lips tug a crooked, amused smile. “You’re the princess of the DiMarco family. That’s what your dad said, at least.”

  I can’t help the warmth that flushes through my face. “If you know my dad, then you know that I am his invisible child. If I was a princess, I would be headed home to the DiMarco mansion on the coast but I’m not, I’m his forgotten daughter left to fend for herself and I don’t need you breathing down my neck.”

  He holds his muscular arms behind his back, a hint of a tattoo curving around his flexed bicep. “Wasn’t aware I was breathing down your neck,” he says in a slick tone, leaning forward to add tauntingly, “Princess.”

  My brows knit. Peter said this guy was strict but in fact, I think he’s just a cocky asshole.

  “You shouldn’t even be talking to me,” I gripe, flustered.

  “You stopped me, Princess.”

  I can’t determine why but hearing him call me a princess almost makes me want to reach up to my scalp and feel for a crown. He speaks with such conviction. I can’t determine if it’s arrogance or confidence.

  Perhaps both.

  “If you’re my new babysitter, then you should keep a distance because I don’t agree with my dad’s rule about having me watched all the time if he’s too damn cowardly to talk to me himself!”

  I aim to storm off, to leave this broad muscle of a man in my wake, but the moment I step off the curb, his hand is curled firmly around my arm. He jolts backward, sending us both tumbling to the sidewalk. I land on my back, my head smacking the concrete hard, but my shoulders are saved by his extended forearm, bracing my impact.

  “What the—!” I start, infuriated.

  The moment I open my mouth to scold him, a bus comes barreling down the road I mistakenly took for a crosswalk. My eyes follow the huge automobile that almost just flattened me into the Seattle roadway.

  Looking at my new guard next, his pride is even more inflamed than before but he did just save my life, so I let it slide. Only this one time though.

  I blink back blurry spots and Nico presses his palm to my cheek, trying to steady the direction of my spinning gaze. His angular jaw and stern expression are simple and attractive.

  It’s also the last thing I see before I fall into complete unconsciousness.

  Chapter 2

  Dangerous Dreams

  Sage

  I jolt awake in a fresh, humid panic that I know too well. It’s the same nightmare I’ve had since I was a teenager, and it consumes me, even while I try to beat it back down. But in that panic, I find confusion.

  I’m in my bed, somewhere I hadn’t put myself.

  Sprinting into the bathroom, I throw on the light, rip my shirt off and glare down at the sight of my bare back in the mirror just to check my sanity. The dreadful nightmare where my back is cut and bloody is nothing but a mangled, pinkish scar in reality.

  The scar, the memory from my discarded past, stays there—behind me.

  “What are you looking at?”

  I yelp in shock, hurrying to find my shirt but realizing I tossed it aside when I ran in here. I cover my chest with my arms, my heart punching against the wall of my chest tirelessly while I glare up at the brute in the doorway I had only assumed left when I went to sleep.

&nbs
p; “What are you doing here?”

  “You hit your head and passed out. I carried you home. Relax, Princess.”

  “Fuck, Nico,” I pant, fighting back tears. “Then at least knock.”

  He leans against the frame of the door and brings his knuckles to the wall, tapping them briefly. “There. Now I’ve knocked. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  I shake all over, still rattled after my nightmare of a memory. “No, I’m not. It’s just—where is my shirt?”

  He leans down, pulling my top from behind the door and holds it up. When I reach for it, he retracts, refusing to hand it over but gladly dangling it in front of my face. I keep my forearm pinned across my nipples, cold and erect, but it does little to hide my naked pose before him.

  “You want the shirt? Then tell me what startled you first,” Nico orders in stern command.

  In a final ditch effort to ignore his line of questioning, I decide to plow right past him, but he’s far too muscular and much too stern to allow that to happen. Instead, I bump right into his side and he drops the shirt, looping a warm arm around my hips and pulling me back into the bathroom.

  He’s trapped me here on purpose and his hand finally leaves my lower back, sparking a trail of warm chills to ignite around my surface. I turn on instinct, trying to hide my newly blushing cheeks.

  His fingertips find my spine and he drags a loose touch over my scar. “Is this what you were looking at, Princess?”

  I swallow hard, only answering in a modest nod.

  He turns me around and pulls my shirt over my head, helping me wiggle back into it at once. I shiver, though I’m not cold, trying to block the memory of what that ugly scar looks like on my back and how it came to fruition in the first place.

  “What caused that mark?”

  “A stupid mistake,” I groan. “One my father won’t let me forget.”

  I anticipate that to be enough of an answer to leave me alone, but he hardly seems satisfied, still blocking the doorway and refusing to let me pass. I feel so small in his glare, but his eyes are emerald and bright tonight—beautiful and rare and raw.

  “I like that scar,” he whispers in confession. “It’s attractive.”

  My brow furrows. “What are you talking about? It’s hideous and it shouldn’t be there.”

  He only shrugs at first, his lower lip tucked between his pearly white teeth. His hands come forward, his arms glistening in the dim, yellow light of the bathroom vanity and the tattoos he bears come into view. He’s strong, and obviously insistent, having me turn my back to him for a second time tonight.

  He uses one finger to lift the hem of my shirt up, admiring the atrocious blemish that lies beneath it.

  “It’s so sexy, Princess.”

  I want to weep with such a claim, that word never associated with that horrible mark in my life. I’ve made it a point to always keep it hidden, not that anyone has ever seen me naked before tonight, but I’ve made it a point in my life to hide my single, biggest regret.

  “Just like you.”

  I turn quickly, confused. “Wh—What are you saying?”

  He doesn’t show a hint of remorse from that assessment. He leans forward, his lips pouting slightly and looking way too delicious to be real. “You. Are. Sexy.”

  I take a prudent step back. “Nico, you can’t say things like that. My father would—he would—”

  “He doesn’t have to know I said it.”

  I stare at this man and the gall he carries with him naturally. He must either be too brave for his own good, or he has a death wish and knows it will play out in favor of my father ripping Nico’s throat out of his neck.

  “You’re a soldier for my father,” I say, speaking so low it’s as if my bathroom is wired with microphones . . . which it could be. My father is thorough and stringent. “I’m not even supposed to acknowledge your existence, Nico.”

  “Well look at that,” he purrs sensually. “We’ve both broken the rules.”

  I’m the secret daughter of the DiMarco family crime syndicate. I am probably on government lists, on secret operation watches in dark-tinted vans, and I know for a fact I’m on the radar of every single enemy my father has ever run over.

  He denies me validation as his daughter because if I’m invisible, I can’t get hurt by his world. So how am I supposed to take such outright flirtatious interest from a man who couldn’t be much younger than my father, but also works for him directly?

  “Sorry if I overstepped,” he growls, standing straight while my eyes catch the impression of arousal in his jeans. “I just thought you should know that your scar doesn’t hurt your looks. It enhances it, Princess.”

  Something warm and thrilling settles into my stomach. I don’t know if it’s the mere compliment I have never heard before, or the fact that breaking my father’s rules is perhaps the only real joy I find in my life these days.

  Seeing that opportunity in this masculine, muscular, complimentary man doesn’t sound so bad.

  He turns to leave and I would stop him physically, as if I had a chance, but instead I speak up.

  “Kiss me.”

  He stops cold in his tracks, looking over his shoulder to watch me shivering in place like a wet, cold kitten in the park searching for affection. My stomach is filled to the brim with nerves and I want to burst, but I can’t—at least, not so soon.

  “But, Princess, like you said; your father would kill us both.”

  “He would have to come talk to me first, and we both know he won’t do that.”

  He folds his arms over his chest and grins in interest. “You’re almost half my age and your father is my boss. He’s also the most dangerous man on the West Coast. I’m not sure you understand the severity of what you’re asking from me.”

  I sulk ever so slightly, my nerves still bubbling up but I ignore it, swallow it, and try to remain a calm, pale shell of a woman on the outside like it doesn’t affect me to be rejected. My last name has run off every single opportunity to find companionship in my life.

  How is Nico any different?

  “Forget it,” I pant, pushing past him.

  His hand finds my wrist, his other planting on my hip. He moves me so swiftly that I see spots, lifted onto the sink’s edge when my sight settles. He slides his warm fingertips under the back of my shirt, pinning me between him and the mirror with a light graze of my scar to continue the lure.

  “Fuck it,” he hums, bringing his lips to my cheek and sparking little trails of kisses on my jaw. “I guess we will have one more secret to keep from your father.”

  The kiss he dives into my lips starts out gentle, evolving into something that is savage and hungry.

  Chapter 3

  Salacious Encounters

  Sage

  We kiss for what feels like an hour. I’m not entirely sure it’s normal. I’ve never kissed a man before, nor would I know if I’m any good at it or not, so I’m thankful that Nico doesn’t seem to mind, or notice, my lack of experience.

  He pulls back for a second, his features taut and strained while our foreheads rest together. He’s so damn warm and incredibly smooth in touch for a man so brute and rugged in appearance.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, selfishly afraid he’s going to tell me I kiss like a fish gasping for water.

  He closes his eyes, hiding those charming emeralds from sight. “I promised your father I would look after you. This is most certainly not what he meant.”

  “You wanted to kiss me before,” I mutter, leaning into his solid chest. “Why is it a bad thing now?”

  His eyes finally grace mine yet again and he hesitates. He doesn’t even seem like a man who would pause and reconsider, and I think we both realize that. We’re both not acting within our normal scope of actions.

  “If we keep kissing, it’s going to lead to something more. If that happens, your father is going to ask me how you’re doing and if you’re safe and I’ll have to tell him everything you did, everything you saw and everything you said and that will mean I’ll have to tell him . . . this.”