Page 3 of Oath of Protection (Blood Oath Bargains #1)

THREE

FIRST CONTACT

The smell of garlic and rosemary hit Nico the moment he walked through the front door of the family compound. His mother was cooking—which meant she was worried, which meant the entire family was about to sit through three courses of guilt disguised as Sunday dinner.

"Nico!" Sofia's voice carried from the kitchen, relief and worry tangled together. "Come here. Let me look at you."

He found her at the massive stove, wooden spoon in one hand, the other reaching for his face before he could dodge. Her fingers traced the bandage on his cheek where flying glass had cut him, and her dark eyes filled with tears she'd never let fall.

"Ma, I'm fine."

"Fine." She said it like the word tasted bitter. "Marco is dead, and you tell me you're fine."

Nico caught her hand, stilling her touch. "I know."

"He had daughters, Nico. Twins."

"I know." The words came out rougher than he intended. Marco's daughters would be taken care of—college funds, trust accounts, whatever they needed. It wouldn't bring their father back, but it was what the family did. What they owed.

Sofia studied his face for another moment, then nodded and turned back to her sauce. "Your father's in his office. Everyone else is in the dining room."

Nico kissed her cheek, tasting salt and the faint scent of her perfume. She'd raised four children in this house, buried one son in infancy, and watched the others grow into a business that could kill them any day. But she'd never asked any of them to walk away.

The dining room buzzed with conversation that stopped the moment he appeared in the doorway.

Tony sat at the far end of the table, scrolling through his phone with studied indifference.

Bianca looked up from the legal documents spread in front of her, her business expression melting into concern the moment she saw him.

"Jesus, Nico." She was on her feet and across the room before he could protest, her hands framing his face just like their mother's had. "Are you hurt?"

"Few cuts from the glass. Nothing serious."

"The windows were supposed to be bulletproof."

"They were bulletproof. Sniper rifle's a little different than a handgun."

Matt looked up from his espresso, his lawyer's mind already working through implications. "Professional work?"

"Very professional. They knew exactly what they were doing." Nico took his usual seat, accepting the glass of wine Bianca poured for him. "Three shots, perfect spacing, clear sight lines. They'd been watching, learning my routines."

Tony finally looked up from his phone. "Could be someone closer to home."

The room went quiet. Nico felt his jaw tighten, but he kept his voice level. "You have something to say, Tony?"

"Just thinking out loud. Funny how these attempts always seem to happen when you're alone."

"Everyone in this room knows my schedule."

"Exactly."

Bianca's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Stop it. Both of you." She looked between her brothers with exhaustion from thirty years of mediating their fights. "Someone tried to kill Nico last night. Marco is dead. This isn't the time for paranoia and accusations."

"I don't need?—"

"You do." The voice came from the doorway, and everyone turned as Sal entered the room. At sixty-five, he still commanded attention without raising his voice, still moved like a man twenty years younger despite the silver in his hair and the lines around his eyes.

Nico stood out of respect, same as everyone else. "Pop."

"Sit." Sal took his place at the head of the table, and the room rearranged itself around his presence. "We need to discuss your security arrangements."

"I've been thinking about that," Nico said carefully. "Maybe we upgrade the penthouse security, add another layer of surveillance?—"

"The penthouse security failed. Marco is dead because the penthouse security failed." Sal's voice carried no anger, just cold statement of fact. "You will accept professional protection."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"You need to be alive." Sal's eyes—still sharp, still missing nothing—fixed on Nico's face. "Dead martyrs don't run businesses."

"I've survived this long?—"

"Through luck." Tony's voice carried an edge that made everyone tense. "Luck and other people dying for you."

Nico was halfway out of his chair before Bianca's hand on his arm stopped him. "Careful, Tony."

"Am I wrong? Marco's dead. Before him, it was Vincent. Before Vincent?—"

"Enough." Sal's single word cut through the room like a gunshot. "Anthony, you will contact the security consultant and arrange a meeting. Nico, you will cooperate with whatever arrangements are made."

"What security consultant?"

Matt opened a folder and slid it across the table. "Rios Security. They specialize in high-risk protection. Excellent reputation, very discreet."

Nico scanned the documents—client list, success rates, testimonials from federal judges and Fortune 500 executives. "I don't work with outsiders."

"You do now," Sal said.

"Pop, bringing in an outsider—someone who doesn't understand the family, doesn't understand how we operate—it's a security risk."

"Someone trying to kill you is a security risk. Someone succeeding would be catastrophic."

Bianca leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. "Nico, you run operations that employ three hundred people and generate more revenue than some small countries. If something happens to you?—"

"Someone else takes over. Tony, you, Matt—the family survives."

"The family survives," Sal agreed. "But it doesn't thrive. You think like a businessman, not just a soldier. You understand that sometimes diplomacy works better than bullets." His gaze shifted to Tony, then back to Nico. "Not everyone has that balance."

Tony's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"This isn't about the family surviving," Sofia said from the doorway, where she'd been listening. "This is about my son not dying before I do."

The room went silent. Sofia rarely spoke during family business meetings, but when she did, everyone listened. She'd buried one child already—a son who'd lived only three days. Nico remembered those dark months when grief had nearly broken her.

Nico felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. These people were asking him to trust his life to a stranger, to admit that he couldn't protect himself anymore.

"I don't like it," he said finally.

"You don't have to like it," Sal replied. "You just have to be alive."

"And if I don't like him?"

"You'll learn to like him. Or you'll learn to live with him anyway." Sal stood, and everyone else followed. "Anthony, make the arrangements. I want this handled immediately."

Tony nodded, already reaching for his phone. "I'll call him tonight."

As the family began to disperse, Nico caught Bianca's arm. "What do you really think about this?"

She studied his face, her expression soft with concern. "I think you're one of the smartest men I know, and you're too proud for your own good." Her hand squeezed his arm. "And I think Marco's daughters deserved to have their father come home last night."

That hit harder than any argument about business or survival. Marco had died because Nico had been too stubborn, too convinced of his own invincibility. How many more good men would die before he admitted he needed help?

"The consultant—Rios—what do you know about him?"

"Camden Rios. Former military, excellent reputation, very expensive." Bianca's smile held a hint of amusement. "Tony thinks he's perfect for you."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't work for crime families. Never has. Tony had to be very persuasive to get him to take the job."

Nico felt something cold settle in his stomach. "How persuasive?"

"The kind of persuasive that probably means you two are going to hate each other immediately."

Perfect. A bodyguard with a moral objection to everything Nico represented, forced into service through threats and money. This was going to be a disaster.

But Marco was still dead, and Nico was still breathing, and sometimes disaster was better than the alternative.

"When do I meet him?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. He's coming here to assess the compound's security." Bianca kissed his cheek. "Try to be nice, Nico. He's trying to keep you alive."

"I'm always nice."

Her laugh followed him out of the room. "Tell that to the last three men who tried to do business with you."

Nico walked through the house where he'd grown up, past family photographs and heirloom furniture, toward his childhood bedroom that Sofia still kept exactly the way he'd left it.

Tomorrow, a stranger would walk through these same halls, would assess every weakness, every vulnerability.

Would judge whether the Valente family compound was secure enough to keep one stubborn man alive.

He paused at the window that looked out over the gardens where he'd played as a child, where his father had taught him to shoot, where Marco had died trying to protect him.

Tomorrow, everything would change. Tonight, he was going to enjoy what might be his last evening of illusion that he was still in control of his own life.

Outside, security lights swept across the grounds in preset patterns, and armed guards walked routes that hadn't changed in five years. Professional, predictable, and apparently not enough to keep him breathing.

His phone buzzed with a text from Tony: Rios will call you tonight. Try not to piss him off immediately.

Nico typed back: No promises.

But even as he sent the message, he was thinking about Marco's daughters, about Sofia's tears, about the family that needed him alive more than they needed him proud.

Maybe it was time to learn how to let someone else be in control for a while.

Maybe it was time to trust someone new.