Deadly Protector

DEADLY PROTECTOR Book 3 in the Fierce Protectors Series Jade Dollston Copyright © 2023 by Jade Dollston All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Short quotes for book reviews are acceptable. For permissions, contact: [email protected] Cover Design by Sammi Bee Designs Cover Photo by Wander Aguiar Cover Model: Vinicious Editing and proofreading by Chrisandra's Corrections This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses and locations are either products of the writer's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is a spicy, second-chance romance that is intended for ages 18+. If you don't like steamy love scenes, humor, and a bossy alpha male with a heart of gold, then this book is probably not for you. ⚠TW: Some scenes of violence, mafia themes, discussions of terrorism Meet the Men of the Fierce Protectors Series Beau "Shark" Atwood Waylon "Tank" Hanford Camden "Cam" Fitz Mario "Woody" Diaz Bode Tate "Hawk" Gentry Contents Epigraph Prologue 1. Cam 2. Cam 3. Cam 4. Shiloh 5. Cam 6. Shiloh 7. Cam 8. Shiloh 9. Cam 10. Shiloh 11. Shiloh 12. Cam 13. Shiloh 14. Shiloh 15. Cam 16. Cam 17. Shiloh 18. Shiloh 19. Cam 20. Shiloh 21. Cam 22. Cam 23. Shiloh 24. Cam 25. Shiloh 26. Cam 27. Shiloh 28. Shiloh 29. Cam 30. Shiloh 31. Shiloh 32. Cam 33. Shiloh 34. Shiloh 35. Cam 36. Cam 37. Shiloh 38. Cam 39. Shiloh 40. Shiloh 41. Cam 42. Shiloh 43. Cam 44. Cam 45. Hawk 46. Shiloh 47. Cam 48. Shiloh 49. Cam 50. Cam 51. Cam 52. Shiloh 53. Shiloh Epilogue Also by Jade Exciting News! Acknowledgments Playlist About Author A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it. -Jean de La Fontaine, Fables My hand slid across the thousand-thread-count luxe sheet in search of his warmth. It wasn’t there. My palm was met with a coolness that told me the space beside me had been vacant for more than a few minutes. I opened my eyes, just in case, but in the dim glow from the streetlights sneaking lazily through the charcoal linen drapes, I confirmed that my fiancé did indeed seem to be missing. I blinked sleepily a few times before reaching over to put on my glasses and check the time on my phone. Two minutes until midnight. This was the second time in a week that I’d woken up to an empty bed. “Vincent?” I called out softly, thinking that maybe he was in the bathroom, but I was met with an entrenched silence that told me he wasn’t anywhere within our enormous master suite. I slid from the bed and grabbed my raspberry La Perla silk robe from the round tweed swivel chair in the sitting area, where Vin had neatly folded it after removing it from my body earlier tonight. He always folded my robe or pajamas after carefully undressing me. To be honest, I could do with a little more yanking, ripping, and untamed tossing of the clothes, rather than the meticulous, deliberate way my fiancé always undressed me. But, that was just Vincent. Self-possessed and always in control. Slipping on the luxurious garment, I tightened it over my naked body with the satiny sash and ambled across the crimson hand-loomed rug to the door of our bedroom. My bare feet were silent as I padded over the distressed oak hardwood floor of the landing and then down the stairs. Passing through the living room, I couldn’t help but pause to look out at the city I now called home. Even in the middle of the night, Manhattan was alive. It had a pulse and a heartbeat that never stopped, never even slowed. From the floor-to-ceiling windows in our stately apartment in Lenox Hill on the Upper East Side, the view was magnificent. I was about to call out again, when I heard voices. Who the hell was in our apartment at this time of night? I turned down the short hallway, which contained a spare bedroom and Vin’s office. The sliver of light from beneath the office door drew me in, my fist raised to knock. Until I heard my name. “Everything is going well with Shiloh?” I recognized the voice as Sergio Bellucci. What is Vincent’s father doing here this late on a Saturday night? A long sigh from my fiancé. “Yes, Papi. Everything is on track.” “And you’ve figured out a way to get the wedding moved up?” Wait. What? Our wedding was still eight months away. I hadn’t even gotten my dress fitted yet. “Gianpaolo emailed me the link to a website that provides fake birth control pills. You simply send them a picture of what kind she’s taking, and they replicate it with sugar pills. I had them overnighted and plan to replace the pack in her purse this weekend.” I could hear the grin in Vincent’s voice and placed my left hand over my churning stomach. “I should have her knocked up within the month.” Oh. My. God. I looked over at my wrist, still cocked back and fist ready to rap against the door, as if my hand was going to tell me I had not just heard what I thought I heard. Sergio made a low rumble of approval before asking, “And are you taking care of your, ah... duties on that front?” Holy shitballs! Was my future father-in-law seriously asking my fiancé about our sex life? My fiancé’s low, dirty chuckle made me feel like I had an inch-thick layer of filth covering my body. “Fucked her not even two hours ago,” he replied, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from retching out loud. And thank Jesus I had my hand over my mouth, because the resounding slap I heard a second later