Protected By The Devil (An Estrange Body Guard) Prt 2

 

Chapter 2

Eren Santangelo POV

The floor-to-ceiling window stretched across the entire length of the room, opening up a view of the city skyline. From up here, there was nothing but clouds above and a universe of lights below. The city didn’t need stars. It was its own constellation.

I felt fucked.

Because I was fucked.

The only thing running through my mind were the people I’d killed and I’d do it all again. It was a delicate line between being haunted by your past and being entertained by it. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure which side I stood on.

The floral scent of Japanese whiskey lingered in my nostrils. The bottle was nearly empty, resting beside my laptop like a quiet witness to the night’s silence. I tilted my glass, expecting that familiar sweetness to coat my mouth but the moment the liquor touched my lips, the door burst open.

Too fast. Too loud. Too panicked.

One thick brow lifted over the rim of the glass as I narrowed my eyes at the disruption. My wrist tipped the glass a little more.

“Eren!”

Footsteps, heavy and anxious, paced across the marble floor. It was Baron. His scent of sweat and desperation immediately overpowered the whiskey’s perfume.

“Eren!”

I was sitting right here. He was standing right there. But I’ve learned most people can’t speak clearly unless they know you’re really looking at them unless they see your soul watching theirs.

Finally, I took the sip. It didn’t taste the same anymore it was tainted now by panic and sweat.

“Speak.”

"You’ve got to reassign me. Please, I’m begging you."

My gaze lifted to his face. Was that fear?

All of this… over a fourteen-year-old girl?

I ran a high-level security firm.

Owned it.

Operated it.

Trained in it.

Weapons, surveillance, close combat, psychological warfare—we specialized in all of it. It was the only thing I knew how to do with the skills I’d inherited from a life I no longer acknowledged.

I didn’t run from the Mafia.

I just liked pretending I was a coward. Maybe I even was. But cowards don’t look their enemies in the eye and pull the trigger. Cowards don’t kill the leader of the most powerful crime family in broad daylight, definitely not from behind, not with a sneak attack. I didn’t hit him over the head and vanish.

I looked him in the eye.

He knew he was going to die.

He knew his killer was his own right hand.

I did it because I could.

I did it because I forgot why I shouldn't.

“Who’s on your post?” I asked, huskily.

Baron blinked. “Who?”

I hummed, a sound of thin patience.

“I lost the girl,” he admitted. “Every night she disappears. Tonight, she made sure I lost her for good.”

Baron was the walking embodiment of anxiety. The man absorbed panic like a sponge, radiated it like a broken wire. All he had to do was keep eyes on a teenager.

Fourteen.

She was fourteen and slipping through his fingers night after night.

What the hell was a fourteen-year-old doing out partying every night?

“Find her,” I said flatly.

“No, ma’am. Please.” His voice cracked with desperation. “Assign me anywhere else. I’ll clean toilets. I’ll sweep the goddamn training floors. But this girl is a nightmare. She parties every single night. Guess what I just discovered?”

He stepped fully into the light of my city skyline view.

Leaves clung to him. Grass streaked his clothes. Twigs stuck out of his hair like he’d gone ten rounds with a forest. He scratched his arms, twitching and irritated.

Now I saw it. He’d been crawling probably through bushes, hedges, maybe even someone’s landscaping.

Why the hell did I hire Baron?

Truth be told, I didn’t even remember. Most of them came through the pipeline trained and approved, packaged like factory-fresh biscuits. I just stamped the paperwork.

I narrowed my eyes.

“I’m finding that very hard to believe.”

“You don’t believe me?” Baron’s eyes darted around the room in panic. I sighed and leaned forward, reaching for the bottle on the table.

“Take it,” I said, pouring him a drink.

He snatched the glass and downed it like water. A little calmer now.

“No,” I said flatly, “I don’t believe that a fourteen-year-old girl is out partying every night instead of cuddling stuffed animals in bed.”

“She’s not fourteen. Verra Avlon is not fourteen.”

I closed my eyes, trying to place the name. I had too many guards, too many clients. I couldn’t possibly remember them all. Still, Verra Avlon didn’t ring a bell. I squinted, trying to recall who was assigned to the actual teenager.

“I think Goth is the one guarding Barbara,” I muttered. “The real fourteen-year-old.”

“Hm.”

I did asked who…

I turned to my laptop, fingers tapping across the keyboard as I pulled up the client files. The Avlons had been using our firm for years. How did this slip by me? Probably because I wasn’t the one who personally handled most of the assignments anymore. The system setup was automatic now. It was a streamlined and it was very efficient.

But back then? I was in the field, same as everyone else. Couldn’t sit still even if I tried. Leaving the Mafia didn’t erase the need to carry a gun. I couldn’t be someone who just watched. I needed the heat, the pressure. Retirement was going to wreck me.

“I saw her,” Baron muttered.

“Verra?”

He nodded. “She’s twenty-one. A spoiled brat. She does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Sneaks out nightly. Did I mention the stalker she’s been hiding for months? I had to go digging just to piece it together.”

“That’s your job,” I said coldly, sliding the laptop back onto the center table.

“I’m begging you; please, assign me to someone else.” His hand shook as he pointed at the bottle. I nodded. He poured the last of it into his glass and emptied it again.

I hated opening a new bottle. It always meant I was slipping back into old habits. Liquor wasn’t a drink to me. It was a tool. Something to keep the voices steady. Something to make the past go quiet.

“This is your job. Do your job.” I brushed my fingers over the scar on my jaw.

“A stalker? Are you even listening to me?” Baron’s voice pitched higher.

“What I’m hearing, is a coward.”

“We’re all cowards at some point. Just let me switch assignments. Who else are you covering right now?”

My brows lifted. Suddenly, I remembered. An older client she was boring, beautiful, and utterly unfaithful. Mrs. Messi. Her husband hired me because he suspected something. He was right, of course. She wasn’t shy about her extracurriculars. But me? I wasn’t interested. I hadn’t been tempted by anyone in years.

Everyone runs eventually. Everyone breaks at some point. Maybe this was my moment to run too. To switch out of a client I couldn’t care less about.

“I’ve got Mrs. Messi,” I said flatly. “A housewife in denial about her prime being over. Her husband can’t satisfy her. Maybe you can?”

Baron’s brows furrowed. “Please her?”

“Not literally. You know the rules. We don’t mingle with clients. Stay a few inches away close enough to protect, far enough to stay professional. Just… be friendlier than you usually are.”

“Were you friendly?”

“Baron, have I ever been friendly?”

He scoffed. “No. You possess no such ability.”

“Exactly. I’m not a clown. I’m a bodyguard. I’m paid to protect, not help them choose nail polish or match their throw pillows.”

“So… you’ll switch?”

I didn’t answer right away. But I was already thinking of how good it would feel to hand Verra Avlon back to him wrapped in a pretty bow.

“I’ll switch. Tomorrow, I’ll handle the paperwork and introduce you to Mrs. Messi properly. But until then, you're still assigned to Verra. Go find her.”

“But—”

I spun the gun that had been resting on the table. It rotated once, stopping with the muzzle aimed directly at him. His face went ghost-white.

“Find. Her.”

“M-Ma’am, her stalker probably has her by now.”

“Then find the stalker and kill him. That’s your job until I say otherwise.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.” He backed out of the room quickly.

I sank back into the couch and drained the last of the whiskey, the burn trailing down like second nature. My eyes drifted back to the screen, landing on what appeared to be a formal family portrait of the Avlons.

My gaze fixed on the daughter.

She was young. Pretty, I supposed. But if anyone in that family should have a stalker, I’d expect it to be the father. He was the one with the value, the assets. The girl? She didn’t scream ransom-worthy. Not to me. Just another spoiled heiress with a face that could be found in any mid-tier fashion catalog. A mixed girl with decent genes, sure but nothing worth chasing.

Unless someone wanted leverage. The Avlons ran a powerful, well-established company. Money made people desperate. Kidnap the daughter, make demands, get paid, and toss her back.

That sounded more realistic.

I pulled the laptop back onto my lap, ignoring the small pool of liquor left on the table. No amount of alcohol was going to soften the gut instinct I had this case was about to go from mildly annoying to violently complicated.

Maybe I was blind.

As I zoomed in on the picture, my opinion started to shift. She wasn’t so bad-looking. In fact, I’d say she looked like someone worth stalking. Mischievous eyes, that subtle smirk there was something about her that could pull you in. I finally understood what Baron had been dealing with, and honestly, handling someone like her wouldn’t require much effort on my part.

Finding the stalker wouldn’t be difficult either. If I chose to care. But it wasn’t really my problem. From what I could tell, whoever this stalker was hadn’t made any serious moves yet. It felt more like a police matter. But without evidence or a clear threat, the authorities were likely as useless as ever.

I slammed the laptop shut, banishing her face from view.

Reaching for the glass, I took a slow sip. I hated starting a new bottle. Maybe I’d open another one tomorrow. Or not.

*************

Mr. Avalon approached me with his hand already extended. Baron trailed behind him, posted just to his side, with a few other guards flanking them.

My eyes swept the perimeter. The camera system installation was complete; well-placed and fully operational, covering every angle of the compound. A few were positioned at the gates. I liked what I saw. I took pride in efficiency and hated slacking off. It was painfully clear the guards assigned to Mr. Avalon’s daughter had done little but slack.

Her personnel file told the full story. She’d gone through several guards switching them out every three months. Standard procedure usually called for reassignment at six-month intervals, and only if necessary.

When I dug deeper, I found the reason: she’d been paying them off.

Of course she had.

I already knew the type of girl I was about to deal with for the next six months another wealthy, spoiled brat. My men were trained to stand their ground when necessary, to hold the line, but not one of them seemed to have managed that with her. It even made me wonder if she’d gone as far as to get intimate with them. Wouldn’t be the first time that line had been crossed.

“Very nice to finally meet the boss I basically can’t live without,” Mr. Avalon said with a warm smile.

I wouldn't go that far. I had plenty of clients, plenty of contracts. Losing the Avalons wouldn’t make a dent. In fact, nothing ever really meant much to me anymore.

“It’s nice finally meeting you,” I replied curtly.

“The very same. You have my respect. When Baron told me you’d be coming in person, I was truly grateful.”

I glanced briefly at Baron, then back at Mr. Avalon. He paused and looked between us. “Did I say something wrong?”

I dropped the handshake. “You didn’t. Show me to the office,” I said, brushing past him.

Once inside, I had a glass of whiskey in my hand and the sound of his voice in my ear, going on and on like I didn’t know how to do my job. I’d been in the security field a long time; long enough to know that even the strongest protection can become the blade at your throat.

I moved to the window, eyes sweeping the perimeter from the vantage point of the office. The land was wide open. Exposed, sure, but it gave us the advantage. A stalker wouldn’t stand a chance out there.

“I just can’t believe she’s been hiding this for months,” Mr. Avalon said, pacing lightly. “Thank God one of your workers found out.”

“It was just the notes,” I replied.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like five notes. It’s over fifty.”

“Well, the guy’s got time,” I muttered under my breath.

“How’s your daughter holding up?” I asked, changing the subject.

He let out a dry chuckle. “Nonchalant as ever. I’m the only one panicking here.”

“It’s best not to worry.”

“She’s the only thing I have.”

“You have a company. You have money. So no, Mr. Avalon, she’s not the only thing you have. What about your wife?”

“Divorced.”

“Hm.”

“If the stalker hasn’t made any real contact and they rarely do it’s nothing to get worked up about.”

“But how does someone even get a stalker?”

Clearly, he had no idea what his daughter was up to when he wasn’t looking. I wouldn’t be the one to clue him in. He needed to learn on his own. My job was to protect her, to make sure she didn’t slip out again. But knowing her? That was exactly her specialty.

“I don’t know,”

“You’re a woman of few words, huh?”

“I start today. Where’s her room?”

“Ms. Santangelo, my daughter can be... quite the handful when she wants to be. I’m not sure a woman-to-woman setup will be the most effective.”

I turned to him. He got the message and shut up.

“Her room?” I repeated.

“I’ll take you there.”

“No. Just give me directions.”

He nodded and walked over to his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. He could’ve just told me, but fine. I folded the note and tucked it into my pocket.

I still needed to return to my car, gear up, and make a stop at the surveillance room before meeting her.

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