Her cruel bodyguard dark.., p.1
Her Cruel Bodyguard: Dark Mafia Romance (Chains of Desire Book 3), page 1
HER CRUEL BODYGUARD
Captive to his hate, I'm chained to his heart.
CHAINS OF DESIRE
BOOK 3
FAYE PIERCE
CONTENTS
Chains of Desire
Thank you
About the book
Playlist
Author’s Note
Before we begin…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
A steamy surprise…
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Chains of Desire
Afterword
Do you want more Romance?
Dare You to Ruin Me
Never miss a thing
Thank you
About the Author
CHAINS OF DESIRE
Book#1
Her Cruel Captor
Book#2
His Cruel Victory
Book#3 (this book)
Her Cruel Bodyguard
THANK YOU
I want to personally thank you for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to share with you my passion for writing through my stories.
If you’re a true fan of the Dark Mafia Romance genre, then you’re going to love this story…
It is called “Merciless Romeo”, and you can get it for FREE on Amazon.
DON’T MISS IT, as it will be available only for a few days!
Please click on the cover to download the book
ABOUT THE BOOK
I should be furious at Dad for promising me to his underboss, but I can't.
Fabio De Luca, my father’s right-hand man, is the only person I would ever want to marry – but I guess he would rather see me in a casket than a wedding dress.
Not to mention, my brother's betrayal has put me in the eye of the storm, turning me into a pawn between our Famiglia and the merciless Bratva he now commands.
Which is why my father assigns Fabio to protect me.
I have no choice but hold on to him for safety, regardless of his hate.
And yet, there are moments when our eyes lock, and I catch a glimpse of something else—something that feels dangerously close to desire… But it doesn’t matter anymore.
Not after what he did on my eighteenth birthday.
Because My Cruel Bodyguard now holds the key to my salvation—or my demise.
Captive to his hate, I'm chained to his heart.
PLAYLIST
If you need music for everything, like I do… Here’s a playlist to listen to while reading my book.
Taylor Swift - Guilty as Sin?
Beyoncé - BODYGUARD
Dua Lipa - Illusion
Vampire Weekend - Prep-School Gangsters
Sabrina Carpenter - Nonsense
Camila Cabello; DaBaby - My Oh My (feat. DaBaby)
Olivia Rodrigo - teenage dream
The Last Dinner Party - Sinner
Taylor Swift - I Can See You (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault)
Olivia Rodrigo - all-american bitch
BANNERS - Someone To You
Taylor Swift - But Daddy I Love Him
You can find the complete playlist on Spotify
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear reader, although I grant a HEA for the main characters in all of my novels, this is a dark romance and some of its content could be triggering.
Her Cruel Bodyguard contains explicit sex scenes; murder; abusive relative (brother); mention of abusive parent; forced marriage; trauma; non-con (NOT by the love interest); mention and flashback of past child abuse.
Please proceed with caution and be safe.
BEFORE WE BEGIN…
Before we begin…
If you would like to know what Fabio did on Eva’s eighteenth birthday…
I think you may enjoy this Bonus Chapter!
This short scene is completely optional and not necessary to the story. However, for those who want a fuller experience and wish to indulge in every nuance of our characters' journey, it's a pathway I lovingly recommend!
Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:
https://link.fayepierce.com/vs883m
Or if you’re reading this on a Kindle device, you can scan this QR code with your phone…
CHAPTER ONE
FABIO
“Are you drunk, Eva?”
“Would that make my request viable?”
I have had my few moments of idiocy here and there, but that particular one haunts me to this day. It inhabits my sleep and crawls under my skin when I am wide awake.
Like a fucking blood-hungry predator, its talons dig mindlessly, close to ripping away every shred of sanity I have left. It also doesn't help that I have to see my tormentor every day, since, much like oxygen, she is unavoidable.
It hurts to be around her, yet there is no greater pain than not being around her.
“Eva, I am not kissing you.”
“But you want to. I know you do.”
Her words were the beginning of my downfall. Because I did fucking want to. But limiting myself to just wanting to would have been better.
Because then, I could have just lived with wanting to kiss a girl that I had watched grow into a woman. Not that this would have made me feel any less guilty. But wanting to kiss her would have been better than what I did next.
I kissed her.
She was eighteen. Yet, my desire for her was unbearable. Like a dog with a bone, I jumped at the slightest opportunity to taste her. One fucking kiss and here I am years later, unable to fill up the indentation of that moment.
I clear my throat as I glimpse her off in the distance, her camera around her neck and her thick glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her pitch-black hair twisted to resemble a doughnut on her head, her baggy black cargo pants, and her strappy lemon-green crop top.
I occupy my mind with the task of adjusting my suit as each of her steps brings her closer to me. Perhaps I am nervous. An emotion that only Eva has been capable of evoking in me without even trying.
I struggle not to fidget and scowl while glancing at the vibrant yellow garden around her studio. It stands in stark contrast to the impending darkness I feel within. Just like she is a contrast to that part of me.
She is pure. Something about her always makes the world feel a lot better, the damn sun shine brighter, and even the fucking wind feel more soothing on the skin.
An angel. My angel… No, no, she is just an angel. Not mine. So innocent, but yet so devious. An innocent sinner. She reminds me of Eden, of Paradise, but I am afraid I am already a man doomed for hell.
This will be harder than I had envisioned. It’s meant to be a talk. A quick talk.
“You look like you will hate this session,” her voice is like a soothing balm, her smile like toppings on ice cream, “You didn’t have to agree to it,” she stops before me. So dainty and crushable that I want to wrap a fragile label all over her.
“Hmm,” is all I say, and the fact that I am known not to be much of a talker is good in this case since, around Eva, I am mostly fucking lost for words.
“Hmm?” She snorts dryly, “Want to get on with it then? I take it you have zero seconds to waste.” She is not far from the truth. The longer I stay around her, the hazier the lines begin to look.
The pattern of torture has always been the same. I want to be near her, but I need to fucking maintain some distance between us. I have so much I want to say, but I also have to keep quiet around her so I don't utter things I can never be heard speaking. It's amazing how my tongue feels numb when I see her—not out of cowardice, but because I am mesmerized.
“My studio is behind you,” she points with her chin and I slant, giving her access to the door, “For the record, I wanted my father,” she chews the inside of her mouth. “He, at least, never looks like I am holding a gun to his head when I ask him to be my model,” she takes a step towards the door, “And I didn’t even ask you,” she spins, the proximity too fucking close and I do us both a good.
I step back.
She didn’t ask and everyone was surprised I had, in fact, offered. Her father didn’t give much thought to it. But Vittoria, her stepmother, that conniving matchmaker… well, she seemed pleased by the idea. The truth is, I offered because I needed Eva’s attention for a quick while, and I wanted it to be just the both of us.
They might have misinterpreted it as me coming around to accepting what Emanuele has tagged as inevitable, which is me getting married to her in order to become part of the Teso clan. I wonder what he would think of me and my fucking honor that he keeps babbling about if he knew that I kissed her on her eighteenth birthday.
“After you,” I take another unnecessary step back.
She swings her head from side to side as if considering it, then walks in. That’s more like it.
It was difficult to get a moment alone with her. If I am not working around the clock to get things running, I am with her father or with all three of them: him, Vittoria, and Eva. I need time with her to do what I am about to do.
I step into the monochrome space. White walls, black furniture, black equipment, and emotion-strapping white and black pictures taken by her plastered on the walls. I would never understand her inspiration behind this choice of art. Not the photography but the implementation of the art itself. Considering her effervescent personality, I would think she would choose to capture bright colors and rainbows.
She drags a stool and slaps the top of it. “Sit,” she leaves to start assembling lights and other things she thinks she will be needing.
There is no fucking way I am sitting and playing model. I am here to talk and leave. As quickly as possible.
“Eva,” one hand goes into the pocket of my dress pants, but she seems to be ignoring me, dragging as many lights as she can with her. I step forward to help her but the spears from her eyes as she glares at me force my hands into my pockets.
“We are taking pictures, right?” She lets go, stands upright, and rests both hands on her waist.
“To talk,” I clear my throat.
“Now you want to talk?” She lifts both eyebrows, an expression that brings her father to mind in a whiplash.
“We have both been busy.” Or I have been avoiding her. Talking generally is stressful, talking with Eva is close to having a seizure.
“I don’t want to talk.” She skirts me and heads around to the corner, where her laptop, a desk, and a couch are set up. The pencils, stick notes, fountain pen, and a mint green pen holder on the desk are the only items of color in the room.
“But we have to,” I am inching towards her, and when I realize my mistake, I walk to the stool.
She sets her camera down on the desk and I relax a little. I never know what to expect when she is holding that weapon that brings all my insecurities to the surface.
“Humor me,” she turns to face me, arms folding across her chest. A miracle, to say the least, since it’s keeping that view concealed. My mind is fucking filth.
“Did you…” I pause, thinking of the best possible way to ask this question without ticking her, “Did you tell your father about it?” I gulp, waiting for her to understand, but when she squints her electrifying tidal blue eyes, I can tell she has no clue what I am insinuating.
“It being?” She lets out a breath that tells me she is tired of trying to be difficult. I was waiting for it. Her span of being difficult is short.
“The kiss,” I grind out.
“What kiss?” She contorts her face, then lets it fall, then her eyes shut for a quick bit, and then they open, “You are joking, right?”
“No.” I am not. I never look or sound like it because I possess not one jesting vein in me.
“That kiss?” She scoffs. I am relieved that she thinks of it as nothing now. I can imagine she has had more, perhaps better, experiences with boys her age, and that, although mine was her first, it has no place in the grand scheme of kisses.
However, I also want to shoot anybody who has ever come that close to her.
“That kiss,” I confirm.
“That was years ago, and you are asking now?”
“Did you tell him?”
“Why would I?” She lifts both shoulders. “Did it happen?” She stands, and I grit my teeth.
“Eva…”
“You act like it never happened,” she intersects, “I could have been tricked by your actions into believing I dreamed about it,” she stands and circles the desk to plop on the couch behind it. “We can keep it at that, can we not?” she takes off her glasses and drops them carefully on the desk.
I nod once. “That we can do.”
She gets up and moves a bit too hastily, almost tipping over the items on her desk. "That would be convenient for you, wouldn't it?" she asks, stomping out from behind the desk and dashing toward me through the light stands and other props she brought out for the never-to-take photo session. "Acting like you never wanted to kiss me."
I bite down my tongue because now it wants to speak. It wants to tell her how fucking much I had wanted that kiss and how it had felt like a defibrillator, waking me up from a life of gloom. But that she will not be hearing from me.
“I have always done my damn best to keep away from you and show restraint where you are concerned, Eva,” this truth she can hear me say. A glimpse of the truth. A snippet of my hell. The torture I have to go through every fucking day, perhaps for the rest of my life, depending on what her choice is.
“That makes the both of us,” she swallows, and I am not sure what to make of that.
“I will do you a favor,” I lock eyes with her so she knows that I mean what's about to come out of my mouth, but I feel like the blood in my veins runs hot from her proximity, her eyes, her body. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t have to do what?” She folds her hands across her chest again, lifts her chin, and glares at me through lengthy, encasing obsidian lashes.
“You don’t have to marry me,” I stand, a mistake that I can’t undo because of how clumsy it will make me appear and I value Eva’s judgment of my person a little too much than is considered healthy.
“It’s not up to me.”
“It is…”
“Did you not hear my father?” She throws her hands in my face. “Did he sound like he is going to ever change his mind?”
“I am telling you, you can choose differently,” I am fucked because I both want to be chosen and not be fucking chosen. I take a moment to breathe her in and say, "I won't do anything to you." She smells like life, fuck. “I will keep my distance until after the marriage, that might not even happen if you so much as say the words.”
She flutters her lashes, scoffs, and takes a step back, “What do you mean?”
I don’t have to close the distance, but I do. I do not have to touch her face to explain myself, but my hand goes up of its own accord. It’s like every part of me functions independently when she is concerned.
“Eva,” the pad of my fingers brushes her porcelain skin, a little stroke from her cheek to her cheekbone, and she shudders out a breath, “You can marry whomever you want,” and I am making it difficult for both her and me by not keeping my fucking hands to myself, “I will disappear and never show my face again if that is what you want. If that will make you happy. If it means you get to have the life of your dreams.”
I tilt my strokes to brush a wandering strand of her hair behind her ear, then brush the ear with my thumb and index finger, relishing her irregular breathing. It mirrors my heartbeat being this fucking close to her and touching her this way.
“I will go against your father’s desire, all you have to do is say the word, Eva,” I grit, wishing I could clip my tongue for that slip.
She steps forward, her body subtly plastered to mine and my body singing songs of arousal. She tilts her head, straining as she throws it back to hold my gaze.
