Bodyguard of the Mafia's Daughter

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

*Brielle's POV*

I dig my freshly French tipped fingernails into the palm of my hand until I swear I feel them puncture through the top layer of my skin.

Jonathan Taggart.

What is this worthless lump doing here?

I feel completely sick to my stomach as though someone had punched me straight in the gut. A boiling, raging anger seethes beneath my skin, making my entire body feel like an inferno. For a moment, I swear I see red as I stare at this man's thick skull and into those dull brown eyes that used to captivate me.

Jonathan Taggart.

We met back in high school, and I was convinced beyond all reason that he and I were going to make it, taking on the world the way an unstoppable power couple should. He was struggling in literature, of all things, and I needed some “motivation" in history. There was a natural chemistry we couldn't deny, and, within a week of school, we were thick as thieves.

Jonathan Taggart.

His hair used to be a bit longer and it was tad shaggy in the back. It is still a bit long in the front and, at the moment, is tied into a nice grabbable bun. Perfect for wrenching his head from side to side and teaching him a lesson for breaking my heart.

Three years. I gave him three good years of complete dedication before he decided to break my heart. His family was moving away. His father lost his job and they needed to go somewhere else hours away so he could find work. Jonathan never talked about what his dad did for work, but evidently it was a good job, and their lifestyle was dependent on his salary.

I tried pleading with him, but he wouldn't hear it. Something stupid about how long-distance relationships wouldn't work out and that he didn't want to tie me down. He said something along the lines of, “What good is a boyfriend if you never see him? You need to find someone better than me. I'll be starting a job to help out, and that will leave us no time. I can't do that to you."

What a steaming pile of nonsense and lies.

He could have made it work.

We could have made it work.

What made the whole incident worse was that I was not supposed to have a boyfriend, so I couldn't even talk to my parents about it. Both mom and dad wanted to protect my innocence and emphasized that dating was for finding a husband, which they would need to vet in advanced. They didn't know I was dating Jonathan, and they definitely didn't know that I was far from their “little girl" anymore.

I suddenly went from passionately adoring this dirt bag loser of a guy to having no one. I couldn't tell my parents. So, I choked down my anger and tears. I kept everything bottled up inside and never waisted any of my time on that worthless carbon construction ever since.

Until now.

I stare at him, and he stares right back. He knows exactly what is going on in my head. I can see it in his eyes even though his expression, like a true champion of poker, remains completely unchanged, stoic and hard like a stone statue. I try to keep my own composure, but being blindsided twice, technically three times since my business proposal was rejected earlier today, has me off my game.

I want to tell my dad to fire him on the spot; that this guy broke my heart and for my cousins to take him out back and show him what real men are like, but I can't tell him. My father would be furious to know that I had a secret boyfriend back in high school, even after all this time, and there was no doubt there would be consequences – even though it was years ago.

Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and place all my weight onto one hip. I press my lips together until they form a thin line on my face. Throat tight, I try and clear it quietly as I address my father.

“What on earth is this for?" I ask. My father can clearly see my displeasure, which seems to bring some kind of satisfaction to his eyes as he looks from Jonathan to me.

“Your new best friend, Jonathan Taggart, though his official job description is bodyguard."

The word slipped out of my father's mouth in slow motion. There was no way he was serious, right? No sooner did I hear my dad utter these words did I feel my jaw clench and my entire body seethe.

“Bodyguard?" I ask demandingly, nearly shrieking the word. My father's eyes widen as he looks at me warningly, as though I were a child throwing a temper tantrum. I bite my lower lip, turn away for a moment, and then turn back around and point accusatorily at Jonathan. “You hired a glorified babysitter for me? Dad, I can handle myself."

“This is not a subject for debate, Gabriella," states my father, once again giving me a stern stare. “Taggart here is highly skilled and comes recommended from several reliable sources. With things the way they are, it is a necessary precaution."

“A necessary precaution," I scoff, shaking my head and looking away. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see that insufferable moron smirk ever so slightly. I want nothing more than to put him into a choke hold until he passes out, but I shoot a glare at Jonathan before attempting to stare my father down. “Tell me then, did you put anyone else on the payroll for protection for my cousins? Leo? Tony? Dante? And how on earth is Auntie Julia going to survive without one of these? Hm?"

My father scowls at me, lines creasing deep above his eyebrows. I can practically count the degree of displeasure he is feeling based solely on how many lines he is able to create on his forehead.

“Attempting to mock my decision will not change my mind Gabriella. Taggart has been instructed and incentivized to not let you out of his sight, within a certain reason," says my father as he looks to Jonathan expectantly. Jonathan, like a good little schoolboy, straightens up and nods once, keeping his hands behind his back. He stands in some semblance of “attention" as he responds clearly to my father.

“Of course. We discussed limits and, rest assured, I will make sure your daughter does not leave my sight," he says. His voice was deeper than I remembered, but that only infuriates me.

“Dad, please. I can take care of myse-"

“End of discussion. That is all." With that, my dad strides to the door and opens it, officially dismissing me. I bite my lip and, without thanking him or acknowledging the end of the discussion, storm out of the room.

I feel my blood pounding in my ears, but it unfortunately does not drown out the sound of my second shadow's footsteps dogging me. My body shakes in frustration. I need to give this punk a piece of my mind, but not here. There are too many cameras here, and one of the microphones is bound to pick up the words threatening to projectile vomit out of my mouth.

I turn quickly through the halls all the way until I reach the kitchen. Thankfully, no one is in there. I know there are two cameras in the kitchen because they have access to many of the doors outside. There is one camera in the pantry, but it is not connected to any audio recording devices. I throw the door open and practically pirouette to try to close the door, but Jonathan is too close and too quick for me. He forces his way inside, stepping into my space and forcing me backward, before leaning back against the door. I spin around among the shelves of canned and jarred food stuffs and hanging baskets of breads, cheeses, and fruit.

The latch clicks into place before Jonathan breaks character. In an instant, I see that late-teenage boy grin cross his face as he smirks boldly at me.

“Hey Breezy," he says quietly. My entire body convulses with disgust. Fists clenched, I step forward and glower at him.

“You need to resign, immediately. Get out of my way and get out of my life," I snarl. Jonathan shakes his head slowly.

“Can't do that. This is my new job, and I kind of like it," he says smugly.

“You aren't going to like it by the time I'm done with you. Dad has tried doing stuff like this before, and it never pans out for the poor sap who he hires," I spit.

“I'm sure. I remember avoiding them. Wasn't that hard in hindsight," says Jonathan with a casual shrug. “Trust me, I'm good at my job. You're going to have a hard time losing me. Plus, your dad pays really well." I point at him accusatorily and take another bold step forward.

“We'll see about that," I growl. “How much will it take to turn your head or make you go away?"

“Not going to happen," he retorts. I fold my arms across my chest and lean my weight onto one hip again.

“I'll tell him you're trying to extort me," I threaten.

“Then I'll make the extortion nonsense real and tell him about us," he threatens right back. I feel all the color drain from my face. My ears are ringing with frustration as he continues. “I'll tell him that you're not daddy's little girl anymore and that it was all your idea. Sure, I might end up in a pine box, but you won't be any better off."

I audibly grind my teeth together. Is there any way I can out maneuver this guy? How could he – no, how dare he ambush me like this. By the way he talks, I can tell he has probably been planning this or, at the very least, had a gameplan going into being hired for this job.

It is beyond obvious I am displeased at the circumstance, and I can see an almost sadistic pleasure in Jonathan's eyes as he smiles politely and stands at attention in front of me.

“Come on, Breezy," he says, trying to coax a gentler side of me that only he knew once.

“Don't call me that!" I snap. Jonathan's face neutralizes, even though his eyes are dancing with delight, and he nods curtly.

“Very well, Ms. Costello. Seeing that you won't be rid of me anytime soon, I suggest you proceed with your day and forget I'm even here," says Jonathan. He smiles again and steps to the side to open the door for me. “Unless you need something, then all you have to do is enjoy the pleasure of ordering me around. You liked that if I remember correctly."

Chest tight and frustration boiling just below the surface of my skin, I shoulder check him as I storm out of the pantry without saying another word.

I vow that I am going to get around this worthless lump if it was the last thing I ever did. I need to bide my time for now, but it won't take long. I am sure of it.