Over the Middle: A Sports Romance (22 page)

But anything between Daniel and me would have to remain a fantasy. Uncle Carlo had made that clear
more
than once. He put up with Daniel’s womanizing as long as I, his
Bella
, remained hands-off. That, and that it didn’t interfere with his job.

And that’s what worried me—now Daniel was assigned to me. The most efficient and dedicated operative in Uncle Carlo's organization, and one of the sexiest men on the planet, was to become my bodyguard and driver, by my side virtually twenty-four hours a day.

I shivered and lay back. Life was going to get very, very interesting.

T
he little Hispanic
girl wiggled back and forth on my lap, trying her best to entice me with her moves. Unfortunately for her, I was distracted as the music just wasn't sexy at all. I get it. Bass heavy dance music gives the girl a chance to shake her ass, and the throb of the bass can reverberate through your body to add to the illusion of her touching you, but I can't stand it. Finally, I lost my patience and lifted her off me. “Not happening tonight, chica. Find yourself another disco stick.”

“But yours is the biggest here, Papi,” she complained, reaching down and cupping my crotch. She made contact, a clear violation of the club's rules, but I was still wearing my pants, and I was the sort of patron that the normal rules didn't apply to anyway. “Dios mio, you must be stuffing those pants.”

Stuff my pants? Hardly. “Maybe you'll find out another time. Now beat it. I'm not in the mood.”

She wiggled her tits, clearly surgically enhanced but an overall good job, then shrugged when she saw I was serious. She was a pro and knew when to back off. She smiled when I held out a twenty. “For your efforts. Just not tonight.”

“Next time you're in here, just ask for Carmen. I'll make sure you get taken care of.”

I nodded in understanding, and she walked off, knowing how to move her ass in the barely there miniskirt and high heels to make sure I got one last good look at her wares.

I downed the rest of my drink and got up from the seat, making sure my pants were unstained. Not seeing anything in the dim lights of the club, I shrugged and buttoned up my coat, making sure my tie and everything looked exactly as they should. Semi-satisfied, I turned and left the club, getting ready for the rest of the night's work.

Thankfully, I didn't have too many assignments that night. Don Bertoli knows exactly how much to push a man and when to give him some time off to unwind. After taking care of some problems with one of the local motorcycle clubs two weeks prior, Boss had put me on light duty. “Those gear heads may be as stupid as two ducks fucking, but they know how to swing a mean wrench,” the Don explained when he’d visited me in my apartment, where I was healing from a swollen shut eye. The motorcyclists had fared far worse. “You handled yourself well, Daniel. Enjoy the time, and we'll work you back into the rotation when the time comes.”

The time had started a week ago—nothing too extreme, just a few visits to the businesses that had relationships with Don Bertoli to make sure they were up to date with their payments. Sure, collection work was newbie shit, but it was easy, and it kept me from sitting around my apartment for too long. Tonight, on top of the strip club I'd just visited—with a nice wad of cash in my pocket for the efforts—I had two more stops to make before three in the morning.

I was in the parking lot when my cellphone rang. As only ten people in the world had the number to my work phone, I knew it had to be important and pulled it out. “Neiman,” I greeted. “What's up?”

“Daniel, it’s Carlo,” a mid-tone, accented voice said in my ear, and I immediately stiffened. “I need your services.”

“Of course, Don Bertoli,” I said immediately, sliding behind the wheel of my car. “What do you need?”

“First, go home and get some sleep,” he said. “I’ve asked another man to do the rest of your pickups for the night. What did you get done?”

“Williams' Market and the Starlight Club, sir. I was thinking of going to the others closer to closing time. Give them a chance to make sure they have the cash on hand.”

I heard Don Bertoli's warm chuckle and was pleased. “You’re wise beyond your young years, Daniel. But don’t worry about that tonight. Tomorrow morning at six, I want you at Harborview Medical Center to pick up my niece.”

“Adriana?” I asked. Adriana and I had been friends when I was a child, and while I couldn't say the same any longer, we still would run into each other from time to time. “What happened, Boss?”

“Some psycho piece of shit instructor is obsessed with her, stalked her, and killed her roommate this afternoon. Now don't worry. I have a man watching her room right now, but I know Adriana. She’ll want to go back to classes, and you’re the best man for the job. You’re young enough that you won’t stick out too much amongst the college students, but more importantly, I know that you are a man of honor. You’d never allow anyone to harm her.”

“You have my word,” I swore immediately. My benefactor had treated me well in the twenty-five years I'd been under his protection.

“Protect her like she's the most important person in the entire world. If you see Christ himself resurrected and saying Adriana is not one of the saved, you are to slay the Lamb, do you understand?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there at six.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and I could tell he had something difficult to say. “Daniel, what I say next is not because I don’t love you like one of my own. You've been a better man than many of them, and I look upon you with the same pride that I do my own sons. You know that, right?”

“I do, sir. And I see you as the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father. You know that.”

“And I appreciate that, my boy. But Adriana, she’s blood, and she is the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter. I won’t have her with a man in this kind of business. So I’ll say this again, even though I know you’ve heard it before, if only so that you know exactly where I’m coming from. If you so much as touch her, let alone do what you’ve done with all those other women, I will make sure that your cock is chopped off and stuffed up your ass
before
you die a miserable death. Understood?”

“Understood,” I said, a fine sweat breaking out on my brow despite the coolness of the evening. “Perfectly.”

“Good. Give me a call in the morning when you are at the hospital. Good night, Daniel.”

“Good night, sir.”

The phone went silent in my ear, and I closed it with a slightly trembling hand. I'd known Adriana from the first day she came to the Don's house, and for years, she'd been that one woman who was always untouchable. Don Bertoli had no problems with my sleeping around. He felt that young men should be virile, and if I was a one-time only bedmate, that was my choice. He'd even gifted me with some of the girls who worked for him from time to time, including a semi-famous actress who'd done a few science fiction shows in Vancouver—the sort of stuff that had a decent dedicated following of geeks, but didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting any awards.

From the beginning, Adriana had been off limits. Not just to me, but to everyone in the Don's organization, and it was spelled out to us in very clear terms. Touch Adriana Bertoli, and die.

The problem was, she was my weakness. In my twenty-five years on this Earth, I'd trained myself to ignore pain, to ignore exhaustion, and to ignore every temptation. Money meant almost nothing to me. I had enough from what the Don gave me, and he'd taught me how to invest it well so that I would have more than enough when I wanted it. Physical possessions, the same. The only reason I drove a BMW was because as a member of the Bertoli family, it was expected that I drive a nicer class of car than the average jackass on the road. Stylish, understated, and with a sense of power. That’s what a Bertoli man drove, and that’s what I drove.

But sex was both one of my most potent tools and also one of my biggest weaknesses. Oh, the average slut that I went to Pound Town with, I didn't even give a second thought to. I'd never felt guilty fucking just about any woman that caught my attention, and with my cock, who could blame me? It’s not like they’d turn me down. It's not everyday that a woman gets to feel a legitimate nine inches of thick man meat inside them. I can’t help I was blessed with size and endurance—give me five or ten, and I’ll saddle up for round two and round three. Turning your regular Girl Next Door into a cock slut just so happened to be a hobby of mine.

Adriana, though . . . she was different. Sexy, intelligent, and self-assured in a way that no other woman I'd met was, she’d been the subject of some of my earliest masturbation fantasies back when I was in high school and needed to rub one out at least once a day. Where other women would melt at a look from my eyes and a smirk, she always returned my taunts with verve and spice, usually with something along the lines of once I had her, I'd be the one addicted to her and not the other way around. Not that I would’ve ever touched her if she acted like other women. I am rather fond of my balls, after all, and would prefer to keep them attached.

I started up my Beamer and turned on the lights, taking a deep breath as I put the stick shift into first and pulled out of the strip club's parking lot. I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. Adriana was the ultimate forbidden fruit, and I had to admit that my greatest goal in life was to have just one night with her.

“Just do your fucking duty,” I reminded myself, hanging a right and driving uptown toward my apartment. It was going on ten thirty, and if I wanted to be fresh-faced and ready to guard Adriana, I had to get back to my apartment quickly and try and get some sleep.

I
couldn't believe
Daniel when he showed up the next morning at my room. I'd slept like crap, tossing and turning most of the night but not really dropping off until about two in the morning. Even still, a nightmare drove me from my sleep at about five. The morning light glowed in my window, and I decided to hell with it. Uncle Carlo had gotten me a private room, so for the next forty-five minutes, I gave myself a long sponge bath, sluicing away the dirt and bad feelings from the previous day before washing out my hair in the sink that was in the corner. The water was hot, at least, and as I pulled my clothes back on, I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw the streak of paint on my right thumbnail.

“Cheaper than a set of nails,” I joked, thinking about my bad habit of not always cleaning paint off my clothes as well as I'd like. Rarely a day went by that I didn't find myself slapping my forehead over some missed streak of paint on a pair of pants, a shirt, or my body. I'd even once done a whole dinner with a rather cute guy with a streak of titanium white between my eyes. It wasn't until the dessert course and he asked if the mark was for Lent that I'd even realized it was there.

A few minutes later, Daniel knocked on the door, and I smoothed my hair back, checking my shirt and pants to make sure I didn't have anything hanging out or a water spot in an embarrassing place. “Come in.”

“Good morning, Adriana. Long time no see.”

“How're you doing, Dan—” I began, then I saw him in the mirror and broke down laughing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“What?” he asked, slightly miffed. It wasn't that he didn't look handsome. He was debonair to a degree that few men could even hope to attain.

“Daniel, you look like you're about to go to work at a bank or in a law office,” I said, turning to face him, crossing my arms, and leaning back against the sink. “Seriously, a slate gray suit with a tie?”

“Gray is better for daytime work,” Daniel said simply, adjusting his tie, which was at least a tasteful purple. “I thought black or blue would be too dark for today.”

I dropped my head and shook it back and forth, momentarily flummoxed. Daniel was the prototype for the perfect Bertoli man, but that didn't mean he was perfect for all times or situations. “Fine, for today only. But Daniel, you can’t wear that if you plan on following me to all of my classes. Remember, I'm a college student, and an art student at that. You wear that monkey suit on campus, and you're going to stand out like a sore thumb.”

He considered my words, then gave me a surly shrug. Even as kids, he'd hated being shown in error by anyone, especially me. “Fine. I wear this when I’m on duty, but I’ll make an exception. What is it college students are wearing nowadays anyway?”

I gaped at him, then laughed. “Seriously? You dress in thousand-dollar suits all the time?”

“I don’t mind a pair of jeans and a tank top on my day off, but when on duty, yes. There’s no use putting fuzzy dice in the mirror of a Bentley,” Daniel taunted, falling back into his old banter. “Especially when you've got the engine of a Ferrari like I do. Want a test drive?”

It was an old game between us, using supposedly innocent terms to banter back and forth sexually. It was fun most of the time, and I felt another smile coming on. It seemed that I needed the immature silliness. “If you even knew how to get that Ferrari out of the garage, I doubt you'd be able to do much more than first gear anyway. But seriously, what do you have for your non-work wear?”

Daniel thought, then brought his hand up to tick off his wardrobe. “I wear 5.11 for when I do my work at the range, Venum shorts for my martial arts practice, maybe some Under Armour sweats for colder days at the gym. You know, I work a lot—”

“Enough!” I laughed, glad he hadn't gone into his sock brands. “Just wear some jeans and a t-shirt, maybe a button-down.”

Daniel shrugged dismissively. “I can do that.”

“I'm sure you can,” I said, trying not to laugh again, “and I doubt Uncle Carlo will mind. He’s not the one who has to deal with any APEs.”

“Apes?” Daniel asked, clearly perplexed. He held his hands up and shook his head. “Never mind, you can fill me in while we drive. So where am I supposed to go shopping for these button-downs? It’s not really my style. I either go professional or as casual as it gets.”

“How about Nordies, for one?” I asked. “You do know what Nordstrom's is, right?”

“Of course,” Daniel replied with some defensive arrogance. I'd realized long ago that he was at his most sarcastic and verbally taunting when he felt threatened or insecure, although I didn't know what it was that caused him to act so around me more than other people. “It's where I like to get my dress shirts. They have some good labels there, ones the Don likes.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing that regardless of what I said, there was nothing that would shake Daniel's devotion to my uncle. Daniel felt he owed his life to him and strove to be the best, most useful member of the organization possible. Considering he was only twenty-five, non-Italian, and being tasked with protecting me, I'd say he was doing a good job. “Come on, let's go.”

“It's a little early, isn't it?” Daniel asked, checking his watch, which I noticed would have to go too. No college student—at least none on my campus—wore Bvlgari watches. “It's not even seven yet.”

“Give me some time to get checked out, and then we can grab some McDonald's, or are you on a special diet too?”

“I try to eat healthy, but no, not really,” Daniel casually said, as if men who looked like him ate fast food on a daily basis. “Let’s go to an IHOP, though, if you want to eat like that. I can go to town on their pancakes.”

Not even realizing it, I smiled and nodded. “No problem. Let's just get the doctor in here to get me checked out.”

It actually took us until nearly eight, by which time I was starving, and as we left the hospital, I was actually looking forward to the day. We got into Daniel's BMW, and I had to remind myself that a lot of his taste was because of his desire to project the right image for Carlo. I wondered what the
real
Daniel Neiman would want, but then as I sat there, I realized it was probably
this
car. Gunmetal gray, it purred the whole time he drove, his eyes on the road and his hands at the ideal ten and two. Finally, after about two or three miles, I had to laugh. “Relax, Dan. You're not driving for the Indy 500, nor are your Jason Bourne skills necessary right now.”

“Your uncle thought it was necessary, so I’d say my skills are more than needed right now,” he replied tersely before cracking a cocky grin. “Well, most of my skills. You can't handle all of them.”

“When you're done practicing with the girls and are ready for a woman, then I might give you a call,” I shot back, laughing. That one had been too easy. He was out of practice. “Seriously, Dan. Thanks. It's good to see you. It's been a long time. When was the last time? Christmas?”

“Something like that,” he said, relaxing a millimeter or so in his posture, but more so in his voice. I could start to hear the ghost of the guy I'd been friends with as a kid, the guy I actually liked. “Hey, there's IHOP up ahead, right next to the mall with the Nordstrom's. I have a feeling you’re going to try to dress me up like an idiot, though.”

“You're hardly an idiot. I could dress you like a Japanese boy band member, and you'd still look impressively heterosexual.”

“Aura, Ade,” he said, using the nickname we'd used among each other since we were kids, just as I was the only person who called him Dan—at least that I knew of. “Just can't help it.”

We parked, and Daniel let me drag him inside the IHOP, where we both ate our fill. For his part, he was not so much tense as attentive, making sure we were seated in the area of the restaurant that gave him the best view of everyone both entering and exiting. When I tried to engage him in conversation, he was slightly distracted, his eyes constantly scanning the room and out the window while he forked his big stack of pancakes along with sausage and maple syrup, never looking down but amazingly never letting a single drop fall onto his suit. It was kind of like watching an android or something eat, and I was reminded again of the nickname one of the other Bertoli men had given him back when he was in high school. He was the Terminator.

Breakfast finished at about nine, and for the next three hours, until just before noon, I helped him with picking out and trying on different outfits, trying to find that right mix that said he was a college kid with enough cash to drive a late-model BMW, but not so stuck up that he looked like a douchebag. Of course, I got more than my fair share of eye candy too, and I was impressed when he came out in a printed t-shirt. “Jesus, Dan, you have any more veins in those biceps, and you're going to get kidnapped by the pre-meds to practice doing IVs on.”

“Welcome to the gun show,” he joked, giving me a small flex. “In more ways than one.”

I saw the small bulge under the shirt on his right side, near his hip on the belt line. “Don't tell me . . . even inside the store?”

“I have my concealed carry permit,” Daniel said with a chuckle. “After all, I'm a perfectly law-abiding citizen with no criminal record past two speeding tickets, one when I was a minor.”

“Exactly how big is it?” I didn't realize until after the words were out of my mouth how deeply I'd stepped in it with the comment, but he let me go without too much of a retort.

Instead, he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

While I waited for Daniel to get changed after paying—there was no way I was letting him continue wearing that hitman suit. There were enough rumors about the Bertoli name around campus as it was—I got a message on my phone from Uncle. The crime scene investigators had finished at the apartment and released it to me to get my things out. “Hey, Dan? Carlo just messaged me. He said that we can go by the apartment and get my things. Do you mind?”

He finished changing and came out, looking impressive in his jeans and polo. “Not at all. He told me that after getting your things, I was to help you move into a safe house, someplace that’s in another name. I don't know where. I think he's having someone set it up right now.”

“Then before we leave the mall, let's stop and get you a new watch,” I said, noticing again the incongruity. “In fact, take that damn thing off and give it to me. I'll stash it in my bag.”

“What's wrong with the watch?” Daniel said as he began to undo the leather band. At least he wasn't wearing one of those styles that came with gold metal bands. “Not college enough?”

“Not by a long shot,” I said. “You're wearing a fifty-dollar pair of jeans, a thirty-dollar polo, hundred-dollar shoes, and a twelve-thousand-dollar watch. Which part of that strikes you as strange?”

“Fine, fine,” he said, handing me the watch. “But if you scratch it, it's going on your bill. Come on.”

Daniel turned to leave, and I just stared at him. “Excuse me?”

He turned back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“The bags?” I asked, indicating the half-dozen bags we'd bought. “You know—put those muscles to work and all.”

“My muscles work by making sure you're safe and protected,” Daniel replied evenly. “Not by being your pack horse. Next time, don't buy so much crap, even if it’s for me. It may not be chivalric, but you're going to have to carry your own damn bags.”

It was a struggle, and I know that he could hear the muffled curses under my breath, but I knew he was right. We skipped the watch kiosk though, and I figured if Daniel really wanted to check the time, he could look at his phone like a lot of other people did. We went back to his BMW, filling most of the back seat with the bags, and I went around to the passenger seat, getting in. It was only then that Daniel relaxed enough to get in on his side, dropping into his low-slung bucket seat nearly silently. Closing the door, he looked at me.

“You're pissed off. I can tell. I’m sorry about that. I wish this were like when we were kids, but it isn't. I have a job to do, and even if you hate me every step of the way, I’m going to do it.”

“Just drive,” I said, rubbing at the lines in my palms left by the plastic handles of the bags. “Sure you have enough space for my stuff too?”

“I'll help you pack some suitcases,” he said. “We'll get the clothes you need for the next week, and Don Carlo can send over someone else to clean out the rest.”

We got to my apartment, and Daniel actually came around to open my door for me, not so much as a gentleman, but to tell me he thought the area was safe. We went to the door, which still had some little bits of crime scene tape stuck to the door jamb, which disturbed me but I felt prepared for.

Inside, though, my nervousness started to get the best of me, and I shuddered as I stayed behind Daniel, who'd produced his pistol from somewhere near his right hip and was sweeping it from left to right. We reached the living room and stopped. Daniel lowered the gun. “All right, where's your bedroom?”

“To the right,” I said, pointing. The smell of blood still hung in the air, and I had to cover my nose and breathe only through my mouth to try and avoid getting sick. They may have finished with the investigation part, but the cleaners still hadn't been by—that was for sure. “Come on.”

I hadn't gone into my bedroom the day before, and the sight that greeted us both when Daniel opened the door made me scream. Written on the walls in reddish black, the coppery smell confirming for me that it was most likely Angela's blood, was a message. It was song lyrics, and an immediate nauseous feeling came over me.

I fell back into the hallway, turning to run in a new panic when Daniel grabbed my arms and pulled me to him, holding me against his chest. I buried my face in his new shirt and shuddered, trying not to sob or scream. I didn't want to have to take any more drugs, even though it felt like my mind was breaking. “Wha . . . why weren't you told?”

“The cops probably didn't mention it, the idiots,” Daniel said softly, his strong arms helping me feel safe and secure. “What was that message on the wall, anyway?”

“Genesis,” I replied. “It's Vincent's favorite group. He subjected us to all sorts of that shit during the semester I was in his class. It's from a song called
Mama
. I fucking hated it even before he got creepy on me. In fact, Phil Collins is on my personal list of asses that I want to kick, just because of that damn class.”