Page 4 of Oath of Protection (Blood Oath Bargains #1)

FOUR

ASSESSMENT

Security at the Valente compound made Fort Knox look like a convenience store.

Guards at the gate who actually checked IDs, cameras that tracked movement without being obvious about it, and enough armed men walking the grounds to staff a small army.

Cam had to admit he was impressed—until he got to the penthouse.

"This is where you live?" He stood in the middle of what had been a crime scene twelve hours ago, studying the plastic sheeting that covered where floor-to-ceiling windows used to be. "Jesus Christ."

"It has a nice view." The voice came from behind him, dry and controlled. "When there's glass in the windows."

Cam turned and got his first look at Nico Valente in person.

The photographs hadn't done him justice.

Six-two, lean build in an expensive suit tailored to fit perfectly.

Dark hair, green eyes that missed nothing, and a small scar through his left eyebrow that probably had an interesting story.

He moved like a man comfortable with violence but smart enough to avoid it when possible.

And he was studying Cam with the same intensity Cam was studying him.

"Mr. Valente." Cam kept his voice professional, ignoring the tension that shifted in his chest when their eyes met. "I'm Cam Rios."

"So I gathered." Nico's gaze swept over Cam with clinical assessment—shoulders, hands, the way he stood. Reading him like a threat profile. "Tony said you specialize in keeping people alive."

"I do. Though I have to say, this place makes my job significantly harder."

"How so?"

Cam gestured toward the plastic sheeting. "Floor-to-ceiling windows in a high-rise apartment. No cover, no concealment, clear sight lines from multiple buildings. A competent sniper could set up shop across the street and pick you off while you're drinking your morning coffee."

"Which is exactly what happened."

"Which is why we're having this conversation." Cam walked to where the windows used to be, studying the angles and distances. "Who designed your security setup?"

"Marco. My bodyguard."

"The one who died?"

"The one who died saving my life." There was steel in Nico's voice, warning Cam he was walking on dangerous ground.

"I'm not criticizing his courage. I'm criticizing his strategy." Cam turned back to face Nico. "Good bodyguards think about prevention, not just reaction. This penthouse is a death trap."

"It's also my home."

"Homes can be changed. Dead clients can't."

Nico's eyes narrowed. "You're direct."

"Direct keeps people breathing. Dancing around problems gets them killed." Cam pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of the sight lines, the exposed positions, the vulnerabilities that any professional would spot immediately. "We need to talk about relocating you somewhere more secure."

"Not happening."

"Then we need to talk about extensive modifications. Bulletproof glass, reinforced walls, restricted access?—"

"I won't live in a cage."

Cam lowered his phone, studying Nico's face. There was something in his expression—not just stubbornness, but something deeper. Fear, maybe, though not of bullets or assassins. Fear of losing control.

"Mr. Valente, someone wants you dead badly enough to hire professionals. Last night was the second attempt in six months. They're not going to stop because you're inconvenienced by security measures."

"I'm aware of the situation."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're more worried about your comfort than your survival."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Nico took a step closer, and Cam could smell expensive cologne mixed with something else—coffee, maybe, or the particular scent that clung to men who spent their time in boardrooms and back rooms making dangerous decisions.

Close enough to see that Nico was exactly his height, close enough to notice the way his breathing had changed.

"Let me make something clear, Mr. Rios. I've been running family operations since I was twenty-five.

I've survived attempts on my life, federal investigations, and business rivals who would gut me for a nickel.

" Nico's voice was soft, controlled, and absolutely lethal.

"I don't need some ex-military consultant telling me how to live my life. "

"And I don't need some stubborn rich boy getting me killed because he's too proud to admit he needs help.

" Cam held Nico's stare without flinching, aware of how close they were standing, aware of the way Nico's pupils had dilated slightly.

"Your brother hired me to keep you alive.

I can't do that if you won't let me do my job. "

They stood there for a moment, close enough that Cam could see the intensity in those green eyes, could count the individual stitches in his suit jacket. Close enough to notice that Nico's breathing had changed slightly, that emotion other than anger was flickering across his face.

Attraction. Mutual, immediate, and completely inconvenient.

Cam stepped back first. "We need to establish some ground rules."

"Such as?"

"If you hire me, I make the security decisions. Where you go, when you go, how you get there. I assess the risks and you follow my recommendations." Cam watched Nico's face, looking for tells. "That means trusting me. Completely."

"And if I don't like your recommendations?"

"Then you find someone else to get shot at." Cam pocketed his phone. "But trust goes both ways, Mr. Valente. I need to know you won't get yourself killed trying to prove a point."

Something shifted in Nico's expression—surprise, maybe, at the implication. Most security consultants promised protection. Cam was demanding partnership.

"You're asking for a lot of trust from someone you just met."

"I'm asking for the trust your life depends on." Cam's voice was steady, matter-of-fact. "Question is whether you're smart enough to give it."

The challenge hung between them, loaded with implications that had nothing to do with security protocols. Nico was testing him, and Cam was pushing back. A dangerous game, but one they both seemed willing to play.

Nico was quiet for a long moment, studying Cam with an intensity that made his skin feel tight. "What would you recommend for this place?"

"Honestly? Burn it down and start over." Cam walked around the room, pointing out vulnerabilities. "These windows are a sniper's wet dream. No reinforced safe room, no secondary exit routes, security system that's probably twenty years old. And that's just what I can see in five minutes."

"The security system was updated last year."

"By who? Your cousin Tony's friend who knows about computers?" Cam shook his head. "Mr. Valente, someone tried to kill you with a high-powered rifle from eight hundred yards away. That's not amateur hour. That's someone with military training, professional equipment, and serious backing."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Complete overhaul. New glass, reinforced walls, updated security system, restricted access protocols. And that's just for starters."

"How long would that take?"

"Six weeks, minimum. Probably longer."

"And where exactly am I supposed to live while my home is being turned into a fortress?"

Cam had been dreading this part of the conversation. "Safe house. Secure location, controlled access, no predictable patterns."

"Absolutely not."

"Mr. Valente?—"

"I have business operations to run. Meetings to attend. I can't disappear into some government safe house while you play construction worker."

"Then we modify your current routine. Armored transportation, varied routes, advance security sweeps. But the penthouse stays off-limits until it's secure."

Nico walked to where his desk sat, running his fingers along the surface that was still dusted with broken glass. "This is where I work. Where I make decisions that affect hundreds of people and millions of dollars."

"And this is where you nearly died last night."

"Marco died here."

Cam studied Nico's profile, seeing vulnerability beneath the control and authority.

"Tell me about Marco."

"Eight years with the family. Good man, good father. He threw himself between me and those bullets without hesitation." Nico's voice was steady, but his hand clenched slightly against the desk. "He had daughters. Twins."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring him back. Sorry doesn't explain to his wife why he's not coming home." Nico turned to face Cam again. "That's why I won't hide in some safe house while other people clean up my problems. Good men die when I'm not careful enough."

Understanding hit Cam like a physical blow. This wasn't about pride or control. This was about responsibility, guilt, the weight of other people's lives on Nico's shoulders.

"Mr. Valente," Cam said carefully, "the best way to honor Marco's sacrifice is to make sure it wasn't for nothing. That means staying alive."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're planning to get yourself killed out of guilt."

Nico's eyes flashed. "You don't know anything about?—"

"I know about survivor's guilt. I know about good men dying while you walk away." Cam's voice was steady, matter-of-fact. "I also know that getting yourself killed doesn't honor their memory. It just adds your name to the list."

The fight went out of Nico suddenly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "What do you recommend?"

"Short term? We get you out of here tonight. Find somewhere secure where we can establish protocols and plan the modifications."

"And long term?"

"Long term, we make sure the next person who tries to kill you has to work a lot harder for the privilege."

Nico almost smiled at that—just a quirk at the corner of his mouth, but it changed his entire face. Made him look younger, less controlled, more human.

"Mr. Rios," he said, "I think we might actually be able to work together."

"Call me Cam. And we better be able to work together, because your brother made it very clear that failure isn't an option."

"What did he tell you?"

"That you're difficult, stubborn, and completely convinced that accepting help is a sign of weakness." Cam's mouth quirked upward. "He might have undersold it."

"Tony's always been an optimist."

They stood there for another moment, the tension between them shifting from antagonistic to awareness that made Cam's skin feel tight. Awareness of how Nico's suit emphasized his shoulders, how his eyes seemed to catalog every detail of Cam's appearance.

Professional distance. That was what Cam needed to maintain. Professional distance and clear boundaries, because getting involved with a client was a guaranteed way to get them both killed.

"We should go," Cam said. "This place is compromised, and standing around talking about it doesn't make it any safer."

"Where?"

"Safe house. Clean location, secure communications, somewhere we can plan next steps without worrying about sniper fire."

Nico nodded, moving toward what looked like a hidden panel in the wall. "Give me five minutes to grab some things."

"Make it three. And nothing predictable—no personal items, no electronics they might be tracking."

"Understood."

As Nico disappeared into what was apparently a concealed closet, Cam found himself studying the apartment again.

Expensive furniture, original artwork, the kind of understated luxury that came from old money and careful taste.

It was also a tactician's nightmare—too many angles, too much exposure, too many ways for someone to get killed.

But it was Nico's home. The place where he felt safe, where he could drop his guard and just exist without constantly watching over his shoulder. And Cam was about to take that away from him.

Sometimes the job required sacrifices that had nothing to do with bullets or blood.

"Ready," Nico emerged from the closet with a small bag, having changed into dark jeans and a sweater that somehow made him look both more approachable and more dangerous.

"Let's go."

As they headed toward the elevator, Cam found himself thinking that this job was going to be more complicated than he'd anticipated. Not just because of the security challenges or the professional assassins.

Because keeping Nico Valente alive was going to require keeping his distance from him, and distance was the last thing Cam wanted to maintain.