I think it is a valid question, but then his eyes grow dark and stern.
“I have plenty of security.” He smiles. “Are you ready to meet your bodyguards?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He hits a button on an ancient intercom set that he insists on using. I imagine a room full of guys at the ready, waiting for the buzzer to beckon them.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Bacino,” a deep, rich voice responds.
My body reacts – something else I must hide from my father – to the sound of the disembodied voice. It conjures all kinds of images of a handsome, brawny – Italian, of course – man. It must be in my DNA, but I am a sucker for the muscly, dark and handsome type.
“Would you come into my office, please? And bring the
men,” my father instructs. “Mia is here. I would like for you to meet her.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
My father turns to me.
“The gentleman I just spoke with is Xander,” he says.
I giggle.
“What?” he asks, caught o! guard.
“What kind of Italian name is Xander?” I ask. “Alessandro Castelluccio,” my father replies with a
shrug. “He goes by Xander. Respect that.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
As I hear a knock on the solid mahogany door of my
father’s office, I sit up straight. I am wearing a demure dress, and I reflexively draw it to my knees.
“Come in,” my father commands.
In walk the four men of the bodyguard team that my father has selected especially for
me. If Xander answered the intercom, I have to assume he is in charge. I pick out the most
senior looking man among the four. Xander. He might not have a particularly Italian nickname, but everything about him speaks of his Sicilian heritage: the way he moves, his clothes. And even though he’s wearing black jeans, a T-shirt and work boots, they are so styling. I have an eye for the finer things, and Xander is looking mighty !ne.
He dares not smile at me in front of my father, but there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. He all but winks when he catches me checking him out. The other three are not so attentive, but I get why Xander is in charge. Not because he is older – almost old enough to be my father – but because he is smart.
“Mia,” says my father. “This is Xander Castelluccio.”
Xander nods his head. “E` un piacere,” he says. It’s a
Xander nods his head. “E` un piacere,” he says. It’s a pleasure.
“This is Cash, Hunter, and Lucas,” my father introduces.
The men do not sit; instead they stand like soldiers with their chests out, their backs straight, and their hands drawn behind their backs.
“So, when you say I’m leaving now,” I ask my father, “do you mean now now? Or should I go home and pack?”
The crazy thought darts through my head that if I were lucky enough to get back to my apartment, I could probably slip out a window and down the fire escape. I don’t know what makes me thinks this, because it would never work. Not with my father involved, and surely not with the four men who are surrounding me like predators, and I, their prey.
“You are already packed, Miss Bacino,” Xander replies. “We have all the things you need for now. Whatever else you may need, we will acquire along the way.”
The idea of these men going through my closets makes me blush. “How do you know what I need?” I ask like I am my father.
Xander cuts his eyes to me but says nothing. My father laughs.
“This will work out well,” Xander says.