Guarding The Bratty Mafia Heiress

COOPER

"I don't need a babysitter. I'm twenty‑two, okay?" I watch the heiress of the Giordano clan throw a tantrum like a fcking child.

Her father slams his fist on the table. "You were nearly shot, Vittoria! Your recklessness makes you forget who you are and how many enemies surround us."

She throws her hands up, rising from her seat. "I went out for a drink with my friends."

"You snuck out without Dante and wandered into rival territory," her father fires back, veins bulging on his forehead. "Do you understand how stupid that was?"

"First you agreed to marry me off to The Calafioris without my consent, and now this?" Vittoria's voice rises. "You're invading my privacy over some drunk shooter?"

"The autopsy confirms a long range 7.62×51mm NATO shot. Whoever pulled that trigger is a sniper," I say, hoping to inject some sense into this brat. The fact the shooter missed their intended target is a goddamn miracle.

Vittoria snaps her head toward me, lips curling. "Who asked you to talk? You aren't even hired, so shut the fck up."

Her father growls, "Vittoria, you will not speak to him that way."

She throws her long brunette hair over her shoulder. "You keep making decisions for me without thinking, and you expect me to be respectful?"

If this wasn't a high paying gig, I would spank this annoying btch. Deep breath, Cooper. You have handled worse than some mafia princess with a nasty attitude.

Vittoria turns to her mother. "Mamma, tell them you aren't supporting this insanity. I mean, I have the Versace after party next week."

"Your life is in danger, and you're worried about parties?" I ask the entitled brat, who glares daggers at me.

Her mother leans forward, worry clouding her eyes. "We hired Cooper yesterday. This is only an introduction. Vittoria, you are the heiress of our family, feared and hated by many. We wouldn't ship you off if the danger weren't real." Her voice cracks. "Amore mio, trust me."

Vittoria's shoulders drop. "Fine. But Texas?" She crosses her arms. "You couldn't pick somewhere less shitty?" she says, sitting back down.

"Texas is perfect. Unlike New York or Chicago, it's remote and free from mafia influence. We can stay hidden until the hitman is neutralized," I respond, desperate to wrap up this pathetic display of toddler level sulking.

She taps the table in frustration. "Why this American? Why not one of our enforcers?" She waves at me dismissively. "Pick someone else, Mamma. I don't like him." The feeling is, mutual btch.

Her mother sighs, squeezing her hand. "Cooper has protected some of the most important people. I chose him because he is strong enough to handle you, la figlia del boss."

"When do I leave, Mamma?"

"In the morning, amore mio."

"Tomorrow?" she gasps. "Mamma, no. I need time to process this nightmare."

Her father slides a folder across the table. "In America, you will be Arianna De Luca. You and Cooper will pose