Page 2

B oyd

I listen to the boss, getting angrier by the second, but I do my best to keep my expression neutral. I’ve always liked Massimo. He’s fair, like his father, and treats me with respect. Most of the time. Right now, it sounds like I’m being punished.

“You want me to look after some fucking brat?” I grumble. “I have to babysit her?”

“She’s my wife’s best friend,” Massimo sighs. “And we owe her something . If she wants to cash in her personal favor for this, then tradition says I have to honor it. Within reason.”

I glare at the boss lady’s best friend over Massimo’s shoulder. I haven’t forgotten Sarah. She’s a pretty little thing. Blonde bob, blue eyes, and a gorgeous body with curves that are impossible not to notice.

She immediately darts around the corner when she realizes I’m glaring at her.

“What the fuck am I going to tell her, exactly?” I ask, turning my attention back to Massimo. “We don’t talk about shit like that, especially with reporters.”

“She’s not a reporter.” Massimo waves a hand.

“She’s just a true crime podcaster. Hardly anybody listens to it.

You can share a few things with her. Leave out the names.

You know what we can and can’t talk about.

Take her around Las Vegas and share a few stories about the old days.

The kind of stuff she’d overhear at Rafferty’s. ”

“Legends and tall tales?” I mutter. “What a waste of a personal favor. If I had one of those… fuck!”

“Just keep her out of my hair, Boyd,” Massimo says.

“I’m busy as fuck since my father’s abrupt retirement, and I’ve got a baby on the way.

She’ll only be here a few days. She already won some money counting cards, so I doubt she’ll stay much longer.

Look after her until she’s gone. Keep her out of trouble. ”

“Alright, you’re the boss.” I shake my head. “But I’d rather be sent back to The Gutter than babysit some fucking brat.”

“Do this for me, and I’ll make sure your next assignment is much better than The Gutter,” Massimo says. “I mean that. I know you’ve been killing time and waiting for something since Erica’s coup. I’ll get you back on the streets where you belong.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I scoff, unsure if I believe him. “I’ll handle it.”

Massimo walks back into the hallway, and I grab my stuff. My cigarettes go in the front pocket of my shirt. My Glock goes in the back of my belt, and I conceal it with my suit jacket. I say goodbye to the other guys in the room, then see Sarah waiting for me at the door.

“Let’s get this over with,” I sigh.

Sarah looks up at me with a beautiful smile when I approach, but I notice bags under her eyes. She’s had a few restless nights recently. She’s not the only one.

I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than show her around Las Vegas and tell a bunch of stories. I could make that smile a lot wider and make damn sure she can’t raise her head off the pillow for a while. I might even get a good night’s sleep for a change, too.

“H-hi, Boyd,” she says, tilting her head in the most adorable way imaginable. “We met at the wedding…”

“I remember you, Sarah,” I interrupt. It’s hard to forget a pretty little thing like her. “The boss said you need a tour guide for a few days.”

“As long as you’re a good narrator,” she replies. “I need stories a lot more than a tour.”

“Sure,” I grunt. “Follow me.”

A good narrator? I’m the most unreliable narrator ever. Especially when it comes to telling stories about the Morandi family. But I follow orders. Even to my detriment. That’s how I got on Salvatore Morandi’s shit list and why I’ve been sitting on the sidelines since Erica’s coup attempt.

Now I’m a fucking babysitter. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

I lead Sarah to the side door of the casino, and motion for her to follow me.

I see her pull a disposable vape out of her purse and take a couple of hits.

The scent of strawberries and cream permeates the air for a moment before dissipating.

I feel the gnaw for a cigarette, but wait until we’re in the SUV before I tuck one between my lips.

“Mind cracking a window?” she asks, scooting toward hers.

“Can’t handle the real thing, huh?” I chuckle, cranking the SUV and lowering my window.

“I used to smoke, actually,” she answers, looking slightly offended and pulling the vape out of her purse again. “These days, I stick to things with a little more flavor.”

“Because you can’t handle the real thing,” I say again, reaching for my lighter.

Sarah’s brow furrows, then she reaches over and snatches the cigarette out of my lips. My reflexes are fast enough to stop her, but I let her take it. I watch her flip the unfiltered cigarette in her hand a couple of times, then I spark my lighter and offer her the flame.

“Since you can handle it,” I say, some sarcasm in my voice.

“Mine had filters,” she says, flipping the cigarette again before pressing it between her lips.

“Training cigarettes,” I joke, watching her ease the tip into the fire, which plumes for a moment.

Sarah takes a drag and immediately coughs. She shakes her head and gags.

“Those things would kill me in a month!” she spits out, cracking her window and preparing to toss the cigarette into the parking lot.

“No, no, little girl,” I say, finding some amusement in her reaction. “You lit it, so you’re going to finish it.”

“Fine,” she mutters, holding it in her fingers and taking a much smaller puff.

I’d put most girls over my knee if they snatched a cigarette out of my mouth like that. Sarah’s lucky she’s best friends with the boss’s new bride.

“And I’m not a little girl!” she adds, shooting me a glare as she releases a tiny puff of smoke from her mouth.

I laugh under my breath. She might not be a little girl, but she’s acting like a brat.

I light a cigarette of my own, pull the SUV out of the casino parking lot, and crawl down the Las Vegas strip. Sarah looks like she’s closer to gagging than talking, so I get a few minutes of peace and quiet.

I can’t believe Massimo is making me look after his wife’s best friend.

I used to be a bodyguard, and not just any bodyguard, either.

As soon as Emilio and Erica were married, Salvatore picked me to serve as his new daughter-in-law’s bodyguard.

It was a position of honor. You don’t get any closer to the top without sitting at the fucking table.

“So, where are you taking me first?” Sarah coughs, taking another tiny draw from her cigarette. “And more important, what kind of stories are you going to tell me? I need really juicy stuff for my podcast.”

“That’s how you make a living?” I chuckle, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke out the window. “Telling stories on a fucking podcast?”

“I wouldn’t call it a living,” she admits. “But it could be, with the right content. That’s where you come in, Big Boyd.”

“Boyd’s fine,” I rumble.

“Doesn’t everyone call you Big Boyd?” she questions, tilting her head in the most adorable way again.

“No, I tolerate Big Boyd from the people who are too important to correct,” I growl. “You wouldn’t like it if I called you little Sarah, would you?”

“That’s not the same thing.” Her nose wrinkles. “That’s demeaning. Big Boyd sounds pretty cool.”

“Not when you’ve heard it your entire life,” I grumble.

The playground when I was a kid. Gym class, when I got older. First, it was Big Fat Boyd, but after I trimmed off the baby fat, they dropped the part that really pissed me off. By then, I was big enough to throw them across the damn playground if they didn’t.

“Okay, Boyd ,” she relents. “You still didn’t answer my questions.”

“Boss said to show you around and tell you some stories, so that’s what I’m going to do,” I say. “It’ll be the kind of stuff you overhear at Rafferty’s, so don’t get any crazy ideas. I’m not telling you where any of the bodies are buried.”

“You can tell me where the bodies are buried,” she says eagerly—too eagerly. “I won’t use anything that would get you guys in trouble! I’m pretty trustworthy. I haven’t said a word about what happened with Erica.”

My face sours when she mentions Erica’s name. She’s the reason I’ve fallen from grace.

“Better make sure you never do,” I warn. “I know a guy in Ireland who loves to buy pretty blondes who are better off without their tongues.”

Sarah’s face pales for a moment, but she quickly recovers, takes one last drag from her cigarette, and tosses what is left. She didn’t finish it, but I’ll let that slide.

“You have nothing to worry about with me!” she says, taking a big puff from her vape—probably to get rid of the taste in her mouth. “I understand boundaries and I stay inside them.”

“Maybe we have that in common,” I say, taking a few quick drags and tossing my cigarette out the window. “Boundaries are good. I like boundaries.”

“Right, the Mafia code.” She nods sagely, like she understands it.

“You know that’s barely a thing these days, right?” I chuckle. “Not with most families, at least. If you don’t evolve, you get stagnant, and that’s how you get killed by someone who comes up with a better way of doing things.”

“Could I quote you on that?” she asks, her eyes getting adorably wide.

“No,” I snap.

“Then what did you mean by boundaries? I mean, what kind do you have?” she asks, her pretty blue eyes flickering with curiosity.

“Well…” I say, fighting the urge to reach for another smoke. I really do need to quit. “First, nothing I say to you better ever get repeated on a fucking podcast. Yours or any other. Got it, Sarah?”

“Y-yes,” she stammers, fiddling with her vape in her hand.

“I’ll tell you what you can use. I’ll be crystal fucking clear about it.

And because I do the job I’ve been given, and do it well, you will let me hear your damn podcast, before you air anything loosely related to the stories I’m going to tell you.

Got that, too?” I turn into a parking lot and shoot her a glare.

“I-I understand.” She cowers a little. “But sometimes I’m live.”

“Not this time,” I say harshly, and she cowers again.

Okay, too strong, but necessary. I relax a little, find a parking space and exhale a long sigh. Despite putting the fear of something in her, I still take precautions and tap the button on the side of my phone.

My phone has a frequency masker that blocks any nearby recording devices. A jammer. All they hear is a hum. It was recently hacked, due to a flaw in the coding, but that’s been fixed now. The person who hacked it also fixed it, oddly enough.

“So, boundaries,” I mutter, rolling my window up. “First, I don’t hurt women unless it’s necessary, and it takes a lot for it to be necessary. I might spank one, if I think she needs it.” I level my gaze on her as I say it.

“Oh!” She jumps in her seat a little.

“Kids are completely off limits, unless they start shit,” I continue, barely missing a beat. “I don’t check ID if someone is coming at me with a knife.”

“U-understandable,” she says, squirming as she settles back into the leather.

“I follow orders, but I don’t go looking for trouble. Ever. Respecting other people’s boundaries is part of keeping mine where they are,” I say, leaning back and turning my head toward her. “What kind of boundaries do you have, Sarah? I told you mine.”

This isn’t part of the job. I don’t need to share anything personal with her, and I don’t need to know a damn thing about the hot little blonde in my passenger seat.

But I’m stuck babysitting her for the next few days.

I might as well entertain myself.