Chapter 1 - THE ACCIDENTAL BODYGUARD
Mia Callaway had been inside the DeLuca estate for less than a day when she found the death threat.
The note had been pushed beneath a locked study door from a hidden passage inside the wall. Four words were written in red ink: Tonight, you won’t see it coming.
Matteo DeLuca stood behind her, silent for the first time since they had met. He was twenty-six, heir to one of the most feared crime families on the East Coast, and a man who had spent years pretending death threats bored him.
Mia folded the note and slipped it into her pocket.
“You should be afraid,” she told him.
Matteo’s practiced smile disappeared. “I am.”
“Good. Fear keeps you alert. Just don’t let it make decisions for you.”
He watched her cross the room and examine the bookcase, unaware that before sunrise she would expose a traitor inside his family, confront armed men on the estate, and force his father to admit that the woman he had dismissed on sight was the only guard capable of saving his son.
Two days earlier, Mia had not even been employed. She had arrived at Varro Security Agency wearing a black blazer, sensible shoes, and the determined expression of someone who had already been underestimated before breakfast.
Then she tripped over a trash can.
It was not a graceful stumble. She struck it hard enough to send it sliding across the lobby, where it collided with a plant stand and scattered dirt across the polished marble floor. Twelve applicants stared at her. Mia stood, brushed soil from her sleeves, and nodded toward the overturned can.
“Structural weakness,” she said. “Someone should probably report that.”
Nobody laughed. The agency did not hire her.
Two days later, they called. Their best personal-protection officer had broken his leg. His replacement had food poisoning. The third candidate was attending a wedding overseas. Mia Callaway was the only trained guard available.
Mr. Hensley, the agency director, looked personally offended by the situation. “You trip over objects that aren’t moving,” he said as she sat in his office. “How are you supposed to protect a human being?”
“My feet are unreliable,” Mia admitted. “My hands aren’t. I have never failed a combat assessment. I speak three languages. I have a photographic memory, and I notice details most people ignore.”
“You knocked over a plant in front of twelve witnesses.”
“I noticed all twelve witnesses.”
Mr. Hensley pushed a file across the desk. “The client is Lorenzo DeLuca.”
Mia’s humor vanished. Everyone in the city knew the name. The DeLuca family controlled construction companies, hotels, shipping interests, and several businesses nobody discussed in public. Lorenzo DeLuca led the family through patience, silence, and a reputation for never needing to make the same threat twice.
“The assignment is his son,” Hensley continued. “Matteo DeLuca. Twenty-six. He has received threats for the past month. Intelligence suggests the Ferretti family is preparing an attack.”
Mia opened the file. A photograph of Matteo was clipped to the first page. Dark hair. Controlled expression. Expensive coat. The unmistakable look of a man raised to expect danger and conceal every reaction to it.
“There is one complication,” Hensley said. “Lorenzo specifically requested a male guard. ‘No woman will guard my son. Women are soft, easily distracted, and likely to panic when violence begins.’”
Mia closed the file. “When do I start?”
The DeLuca estate stood behind iron gates at the edge of the city. A man named Carlo met her on the front steps—head of household security, possessing the expression of someone discovering an administrative error he intended to correct. He led her straight to Lorenzo’s study.
Lorenzo studied her for three seconds. “No. Send her back. Find a man.”
“Your son’s previous two guards were men,” Mia said calmly. “The first panicked when he heard gunfire. The second accepted money from someone who wanted access to your son’s schedule. Do you usually interrupt clients?”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. Mia continued before anyone could remove her. “I have never panicked. I have never taken a bribe. And I do not confuse size with competence.”
Lorenzo looked at her clothes, her slight frame, and her partially untied shoelace. “One night,” he said cold. “You have until morning to prove you belong in this house.”
Mia met Matteo shortly after in the East Wing library. He was sitting in an armchair reading an Italian novel.
“You must be the new guard,” Matteo remarked, taking in her shoes. “You’re smaller than the others.”
“You’re less frightened than the file suggested,” she countered.
For the next few hours, Mia shadow-walked the perimeter with him. But as dusk settled over the estate, Mia’s sharp eyes caught a slight gap in the wood paneled wall of the library. Slipping behind the desk, her fingers brushed the carpet and retrieved the red note that had just been slid through.
May you like
Tonight, you won’t see it coming.
Mia stared at the ink. The paper was dry, but the fragrance on it was distinct—lavender hand cream, mixed with industrial gun oil. She looked back at Matteo, her mind already assembling the piece of a puzzle nobody else even knew existed.
