Her Bodyguard

Chapter Six

TWO hours out from the city, Alessandro turned onto a semi-rough road. At the end of the bumpy trail, a tall, broad-shouldered man opened the gate for them. As the car rolled in, Carlotta was greeted by the sight of a modern, sprawling bungalow surrounded by high fences.

For a fleeting moment, a knot of fear twisted in her gut.

What if this man had just been pretending? What if he wasn't really connected to the Galliardis and had only approached her to use her against them?

Shit. Sometimes it sucks being a writer.

Her mind went into overdrive, spiraling into every worst-case scenario. Why had she believed everything he told her so easily? Just because the guy was stupidly attractive, her brain had gone on vacation. What if he planned to kill her here? Or worse, use her as some sex slave in a messed-up orgy?

She was on the verge of hyperventilating when Alessandro handed her the original document Tyron had signed.

"Oh."

So... it was all real.

"Let's go. You should also call your parents—or whoever might worry if you don't come home tonight. Let them know you're safe," he said, getting out of the car.

"G-good idea." She darted after him, hurrying to match his long strides.

"Wait here. I just need to talk to someone."

Before she could respond, Alessandro had already turned his back to her. She watched him approach the man who had opened the gate earlier. Deciding not to pay them any more attention, she pulled out her phone and called her father. She told him she was with her friend Belinda and would be spending the night at her place. There was a brief pause on the line—just long enough to signal his concern—before he gave his quiet consent. He didn't press for details, but she could sense his unease, the kind that lingered unspoken, carried only by a father's trust.

"Just be careful, anak."

"Yes, Papa," she murmured, ending the call and slipping her phone back into her bag.

Alessandro returned just in time to catch the tail end of her sigh.

"Everything okay?" he asked, watching her closely.

"No."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Did something happen at home?"

"That's not what I meant." She met his gaze squarely. "Who were those people following us earlier?"

"I'm not sure. Could be one of Don Salvatorre's enemies, maybe some investigative journalists... or even the police."

"People like that are keeping tabs on him?"

"Yep. Come in."

He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside. The interior was just as modern as the exterior—sleek, minimalist, but with a warmth that made the space feel homey.

"Is this your place?" she asked, her eyes scanning the open-concept layout and the framed black-and-white photographs lining one wall.

"It's Giovanni's."

She blinked. "He lives in the Philippines?"

"Most of his life, yes. He holds dual citizenship."

"He has Filipino blood?"

"On his mother's side."

That surprised her, though she couldn't quite say why.

"Is he here?" she asked before she could stop herself, the question laced with an odd flutter of nerves.

"No, he's in Italy, taking care of his late mother's affairs."

"Oh, um... what does he do for a living?"

"He's a pilot. Also the current CEO of Monarch Aviation International."

Monarch Aviation? That name sounded familiar. A moment later, it hit her—and her jaw almost dropped.

Monarch Aviation International. The global aviation services provider that leased and chartered aircraft around the world for the rich and famous.

So he wasn't just some millionaire. He was loaded. Not just rich, but billionaire rich. The kind of rich that came with private islands and caviar for breakfast, just because.

When she glanced back at Alessandro, she realized he was watching her carefully, noting every shift in her expression. She quickly pulled herself together. Great. Now he probably thought she was having a gold-digging moment.

"So," she said, forcing a casual tone, "who exactly will you be in this whole setup?"

"Like I said earlier, I'll be your shadow. In short, your bodyguard."

"Right. Do you have a picture of him?" Carlotta looked around, searching for any family photo—anything to give her an idea of what her future husband looked like.

She hadn't expected a Greek god in the flesh—but the man standing beside her would do just fine. His white tee clung just enough to hint at the shape beneath, stretching slightly across his chest as he crossed his arms. And she found herself wondering how hard those abs were—six-pack or maybe even eight?

She slapped her palms over her face as her cheeks flushed.

Shit! Calixta Monroe, you horny little gremlin!

But wait—did this mean her writer's block was over? She had a new object of desire to base her next spicy romance novel on. Her readers would go wild!

Heck, why not, Choc-Nut. He looks delish—I could imagine him all night long.

She was grinning to herself when she accidentally locked eyes with Alessandro. He was watching her again, an odd, amused expression on his face—like he couldn't decide whether she was crazy or just entertaining.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered a bit too quickly.

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"You were drooling."

She gasped and wiped the corners of her mouth instinctively. Was it that obvious she'd been salivating over him?

"No, I wasn't!" she said, suddenly tempted to grab her wedge sandal and throw it at him.

The traitor just grinned, looking thoroughly entertained.

"Have a seat and make yourself at home. I'll check if Jaime left any food."

"Hurry up," she muttered, still flustered.

She thought he might get annoyed—but instead, he flashed her a panty-dropping smile and did a mock bow.

She bit her lip. If this was the kind of man she'd be seeing every day, she might cheat on her future husband before they even got married. Tsk, tsk, tsk. In her mind, she could already imagine what Don Salvatorre would do to her—probably have her buried alive.

"The food is ready, Your Highness."

She stood with a scowl, intending to walk past him, but tripped on her second step. Thankfully, her valiant bodyguard caught her just in time. He straightened her up—and she ended up face-first against his chest.

Damn. Solid. And he smells... divine.

"Uh, Your Highness, I think you're copping a feel."

Startled, Carlotta shoved him away. Her face felt like it was on fire, but she forced herself to walk forward, head held high.

"Right this way, Your Highness," Alessandro said, guiding her to the right.

In the dining room, the man from earlier—the one who opened the gate—was already waiting for them.

"By the way, this is Jaime," Alessandro said. "He manages this property for Giovanni."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am," Jaime greeted politely.

Carlotta smiled, amused by the man's appearance. He was tall and broad, dark-skinned, with a wrestler's build—but wore a flowery apron that seemed hilariously out of place. He reminded her of Murphy. Were they from the same tribe perhaps?

As Jaime began serving the food, Carlotta tried to refocus her thoughts.

"I have a question," she said, turning to Alessandro.

"Ask away."

"Why were we being followed earlier? I mean, technically, I'm not even officially part of the Galliardi family yet. So, why would Salvatorre's enemies—or the police or paparazzi—even care about me?"

Alessandro shrugged slightly. "Who knows? Maybe someone already leaked information about you."

She blinked. "So... my life is in danger now?"

"That depends," Alessandro said, starting on his meal.

"There you go again," Carlotta huffed. "Can you please stop with the cliffhangers? You talk like a soap opera and then get annoyed when I ask questions."

"It depends on how much Don Salvatorre values you. If you're worth at least twenty-five percent, then yes—you have reason to worry."

Carlotta's jaw nearly hit the table. "T-twenty-five percent? Then how much does someone like his son get?"

"About the same."

"What? How would you even know that?"

"He wasn't around for most of their lives," Alessandro replied flatly.

Carlotta frowned. "Just because he was an absentee father doesn't mean he doesn't care. That's harsh, don't you think? What do you really know about a man like Don Salvatorre? Even animals protect their own. Don't you think someone like him could, too?"

"You asked. I answered," Alessandro said. "But you're right—I'm not in a position to judge. Any other questions?"

She hesitated. There was something in his eyes. Was that anger?

"Ah... I'll think of more later," she mumbled. Whatever she had meant to ask seemed to evaporate in thin air.

"Then if you'll excuse me, I'm done eating. I'll go prepare your room."

She said nothing as he stood and left. When she looked at Jaime, he appeared to be silently apologizing on Alessandro's behalf.

She shrugged it off and smiled. Since she was starving, she focused on the food instead. To hell with the carbs. She'd just do yoga in the morning.

"Oh, by the way... how old are you?" she asked Jaime.

"Twenty-six, Ma'am."

"Oh." She smiled, surprised. She'd thought he was older. She had been about to call him Kuya. "The food's really good."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Some of the dishes were actually made by Mamang. I just reheat them when Sir and I eat. He prefers her cooking."

"Sir? You mean Alessandro?"

"Ah, yes, Ma'am. When Sir Giovanni's not around, it's like he's my boss too."

"I see. Has he been working for Giovanni long?"

"For quite some time. They're very much alike."

"Hot-headed?"

"Um... a little, yes."

Carlotta winced. Was he the type to randomly punch walls... or worse, people? A subtle chill crept down her spine.

Oh God. Please don't let me get murdered by a devastatingly handsome psycho. I'm too pretty to die young... and still a virgin.