He should be in LA. It’s too early for him to be home for Christmas since it’s still October. I’m about to clarify to Jane, but Tony catches sight of me.
“Moretti!” He grins and saunters over with outstretched arms. “I thought I might bump into you.” He gestures to my chest. “Heard you’re the talk of South Philly these days.” South Philly sounds like Sow-Philly .
“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly. I’m not shooting the shit or playing patty-fucking-cake with someone I can’t stand
“Flew in from LA ‘bout an hour ago. All anyone has been asking me is have you seen Thatcher and Jane?” He’s still approaching us. Still talking a mile-a-minute. “Should’ve known you two were a fake couple. She’s not anything close to your type.”
Jane shifts uneasily beside me.
Goddammit.
Lethal agitation and hate tighten my eyes on Tony. He just told Jane that she’s not my type. And on top of that, I’m concerned.
Because he shouldn’t know I’m fake dating Jane.
He was told. By who?
Tony stops short of us, his gold cross thumping against his chest. He sticks his hands in his green aviator jacket.
I need to fill in Jane, so I introduce him first. “This is Tony Ramella.”
Realization washes over her face. She’s smart, and I don’t need to add more for her to connect the pieces. “I see—”
“Moretti and I go way back,” Tony cuts her off. Which is a fucking sin in my book. “We both went to Saint Joseph’s High School, same grade. Same age. We used to ride our bikes down the street together.”
“When we were eight,” I clarify. “We’re not friends.” We haven’t been since early childhood. We grew apart like most kids do.
Jane slides off her boxing gloves. “You’re Michelina’s grandson.” She met Michelina Ramella in the fabric store last month and recognized his last name. “Your grandmas play cards together.”
He looks her over with quirked, smug lips. “My grandma said she met you.”
“She’s a sweet woman.” Jane sounds more guarded than usual, and she has to be feeding off my mistrust. She hasn’t homed in on his striking light-blue eyes. What most people usually notice first about him.
Tony cocks his head at Jane. “Not sweeter than you—”
“You’re not flirting with my client,” I cut him off now.
“Is that how it—”
“Yeah, that’s how it is,” I growl. “I don’t know why you’re here or how you know about the fake dating op, but one thing’s certain—you don’t know me and you sure as fucking hell don’t know my type. If you did, you’d realize it’s the girl right next to me.”
Jane presses her fingers to her lips.
My pulse is hammering my eardrums, and the gym—the gym has gone quiet. Bodyguards heard that minor declaration.
My jaw tenses, tendons pulled taut in my neck. I’m not backing down from Tony. I don’t need to unfuck a thing. As long as I act like I didn’t just profess eternal love and devotion to my client —she’s fine.
We’re fine.
Tony motions to me. “You’ve only been with girls over six feet.”
I almost roll my eyes. “That’s Banks. ” My brother has only been in serious relationships with tall girls.
“You’re basically the same person.” He’s serious, and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard that. Not just from him.
You’re the same person.
You share one brain.
And Tony rarely uses his.
“Why would you say that?” Jane questions hotly, like she’s putting him on trial.
Tony motions to me. “He’s an identical twin.”
“Yes, and clearly identical twins are not the same person. They’re two people with two separate thoughts and feelings—”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Tony interjects.
She huffs. “It’s scientific fact—”
“Is it?”
I’m going to kill him. “Don’t cut her off again.” It’s a threat.
He gives me an aggravated look. “You’re not on-duty, Moretti. Your client can defend herself.”
“I quite like a right-hand,” Jane says strongly. “And you’re being positively rude to him.”
“He can defend himself too,” Tony shoots back.
I tell him point-blank, “I like a right-hand just as much as Jane.”
She can’t restrain a smile.
Tony bobs his head a few times, laughing under his breath. “Guess your type of girl must be the ones with your balls in their purse.”
Her nose crinkles, pissed. “Excuse me?”
“No offense to you,” Tony tells her but only looks at me and my caustic glare.
Jane and I are both alphas, and I’m attracted to that part of her. Anyone who thinks I’m less of a man because I’d rather uphold all of who she is, including her dominance—they can go stand on their own dick and spin around in twenty circles.
Their opinion will never fucking matter to me. I value none of the horseshit out of his mouth.
So arguing with him, debating him, doesn’t matter to me. “How do you know about the op?” This is what’s important.
Jane scrutinizes him more. Wondering this too.
He has no clearance for this kind of information.
Unless he’s joining the team.
No.
It’s not…
It is possible. Tony is a bodyguard in LA. He works in private security, but he used to say he’d never “slum” it back in Philly.
“Got a call from your boss last week,” Tony says.
“Which one?”
“Price, the Alpha lead. Apparently your team isn’t up to par with pro-level security services, and he wants someone to pick up the slack. Someone who knows their shit, and that’s where I come in. There’s no one better than me.”
There is.
His name is Farrow Keene, and he’s across the gym. Akara Kitsuwon and Oscar Oliveira are also ten times better than he will ever be.
Hell, I would take every fucking bodyguard on the team over Tony Ramella. I wouldn’t trust him to have my six. I punched Farrow and I still trust that he’ll have my back at the end of the day. Because that’s who he is—but that’s not Tony.
Jane tenses. “You’re a bodyguard?”
I glance down at her. “Tony protects a boy band out in LA.”
“The most popular boy band in the entire country,” Tony amends with outstretched arms. “Worked my ass off, and now I’m a hot commodity.”
It was a big deal among family and friends when Tony Ramella, Banks, and I ended up in the same career field. Gossip, mostly. People comparing and talking about who works for the most famous celebrity.
Like I give a fuck about that.
“Why leave the most popular boy band?” Jane wonders.
“It wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to leave LA,” Tony admits. “Philly is a fucking armpit in comparison. But Price sounded desperate, and I like to think of this as my civil service.”
I hate how he’s talking about this team like he’s doing charity work by being here. We’re not fucked enough to where we’d ever need Tony. “The 24/7 roster is full,” I tell him.
It’s what I know. There are only openings for temp guards.
Tony grins and rocks forward on the balls of his feet. “Not true. I just signed-on for a full-time position, Moretti.” He lowers his voice. “My training course starts tomorrow, but it’s just for show. The Tri-Force doesn’t want the other guys to think I’m getting special treatment.”
I clamp an iron-stiff hand over my mouth. Furious.
Because Price is rolling out the red carpet for Tony and pushing him into the fold fast . And truth is, I have no idea why. He could be thunderstruck by Tony’s experience working for Hollywood celebrities for all I know.
I’m not used to being in the complete dark. And I have no power to complain or overturn this hiring.
Neither does Akara, who’s a part of the Tri-Force. He’s one vote against two.