Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

A/N: Hello there, guys! So, I'm back with this new story and I really hope you enjoy it. It's rated M for strong language, violence and sex scenes in the future chapters.

A very special thank you to my beta harleysantana23. You're amazing!

Have a nice reading!

Manhattan Serenade

We made it without touching the handlebars

And I gave you my love

To the melody of the music, the madness

That made our Manhattan serenade

Chapter One

Quinn nursed a glass of white wine and grimaced. It was not that the liquid disgusted her. Oh, not at all.

It was just that some people wouldn't shut the fuck up.

"It's funny, you know, that you chose to drink wine. I mean, don't your people usually go for whiskey or something?" Tom, the nettlesome barman commented chuckling. "Anyway, you don't even look like them. You could be a model for all I know." He snorted inelegantly. Quinn wanted to shove the glass up his nose, but instead, she smiled wryly.

"Yes, well, looks can be deceiving." She said while distractedly playing with the golden cross around her neck, trying to calm her temper with the motion. The oblivious man huffed; his dull blue eyes roaming over her figure.

Shaggy blonde hair, intense hazel eyes partially hidden by aviators, leather jacket and ripped well-fit jeans. He caught a glimpse of silver glimmering on her waist and rubbed his neck in confusion. "Do you even know how to manage that, darling? This babe over there looks difficult to handle."

The young woman let out a small laugh and caught the gun, a brand new Glock 19 with a silencer. With one smooth movement, she unlocked the trigger and shot straight at a bottle, satisfied when the man gulped in fear as the bullet passed centimeters away from his ear.

"I know my moves." Quinn said lowly putting the gun back on her pocket. The only two men who were at the bar sharing a table looked at her with widened eyes and quickly adverted them when the blonde lifted an intimidating eyebrow at their direction.

Cowards.

"Do you mind serving me another glass?" She asked Tom, who could only nod. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of the water, too stunned to utter a sentence. Quinn hummed in content, the sudden taciturn atmosphere pleasing her.

Truth to be told, Quinn was rather annoyed that she had to head into that crappy bar located in a hidden corner of Manhattan at nine in the morning. But she had received a riddled message from one Hiram Berry the night before requesting a meeting and she couldn't deny it. He was the head of the mob, after all. And the blonde would actually be lying if she said she wasn't curious about the arrangement.

Hiram the Roadkill, as he was known around the streets of Manhattan was not a man for jokes. Anyone with enough sense of self-preservation trembled at the mere mention of the Don of the mafia. He was fifty-five years old and carried more than two hundred deaths under his belt. The circumstances in which the bodies were found scared even the most hardened detective. Hiram liked to think he was a practical guy and if you asked him with at least a little bit of respect he'd tell you he didn't consider himself a bad person. He didn't kill innocent people, he actually treasured them. On the other hand, the scum of the earth… Well, that was another story.

"I don't tolerate motherfuckers. Those rapists and violent douchebags who like to think a woman must be beaten? You better tell them to don't cross my way." He always said. It was one of his many philosophies.

Quinn actually respected that. She lived in an abusive environment when she was a kid and watched her father beat her mother everyday in his drunken stupor. She despised that kind of behavior. So when The Roadkill recruited her for his 'team' three years before when she was just twenty one, she didn't think twice. And unlike her peers, she did not fear him.

Partly because she admired his 'fuck the world' attitude…

And partly because she didn't possess thoughts of self-preservation to begin with.

As she took the last sip of her wine — trying to ignore the fact that it was too damn early to be drinking — she caught a glimpse of Hiram entering the pub; all 5'9 of him with dark skin being guarded by two hard-hitting men. She took her sun glasses off, stood up and followed the mobster when he addressed to her.

"Good luck in there, darling." Quinn heard Tom shout behind her. She rolled her eyes. What an irritating fella.

The three men stopped abruptly in a hidden corner and Quinn recognized it as The Boss' office. They got in and she sat down in chair right in the front of Hiram's.

"Good to see you, Fabray." He finally said. His voice was steady and rough; his eyes analytic while his fingers busied themselves lightening a cigarette.

"Likewise, Sir." Quinn replied. "May I inquire why you requested to see me?"

Hiram's thunderous laugh reverberated through the room and the long puff of smoke escaping from his mouth tickled Quinn's nose. "No need for fucking formalities, Fabray. Chill out, kid!"

Quinn snorted. "Right. Yeah, sorry. Force of habit." She mumbled. Living with Russell and Judy Fabray did that to a person. "Anyway, you have a job for me?"

The Roadkill nodded. "Yeah, I do. And it's a very important one." He informed her. Quinn instantly straightened up in her chair; her heart beating faster in expectation.

"Let's hear it, Boss."

Hiram took another drag from his cigarette before he spoke: "I gotta say; you're good on the business, Fabray." He stated. "It's impressive, really, considering your young age. I have a long line of older and much more experienced men and women who would jump right into action if I ordered them, but yet, I chose you. I need precision and you can give me that."

Quinn nodded, trying not to smile at the recognition of her job. It'd be considered fragility and she didn't want to screw things up. "I appreciate your compliments, Sir." She said. "What can I do for you?"

"Not for me exactly," Hiram began. "My daughter Rachel has become Broadway's sweetheart. She just got the main role in a famous play and suddenly, this whole godamned town decided to stalk her." He frowned. "It wouldn't be too much of a problem if a son of a bitch hadn't decided to send threatening letters for her."

"I see." Quinn acknowledged. "Is there anything else this fucker has been doing?"

"Rachel is trying to dismiss me, but she let it slip last night that she saw a shadow by her window the other day." He growled punching the table. Quinn didn't flinch; she was already calculating strategies before Hiram even told her what to do. "I'll get straight to the point, Fabray: I want you to watch my babygirl. Be by her side at all times and protect her. Camp at her house or whatever, I don't care. And when you find this motherfucker, I want you to deal with him, alright? Make it slow and painful; teach him not to mess with my princess ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Quinn replied.

"Good." Hiram said. "There's a compartment of guns in my office at your disposal. Do you need any money?"

"No, I've got it covered." Quinn replied. "Where can I find your daughter?"

"She's probably rehearsing now," he said. "Just wait for a couple of hours and then go get her at this address." He gave her a small piece of paper with instructions along with a photo. "This is my baby, just in case you've never seen her." The man added with a proud smile on his face. She took a look at the picture and found an attractive brunette smiling brightly at the camera. Quinn bit her lip to refrain from showing an appreciative face in the front of her boss. The woman was gorgeous.

"Alright. I won't disappoint you, Sir." She said.

"I know you won't." Hiram grumbled; his attention back to his cigarette. "Run along now, Fabray. We'll keep in touch."

Quinn nodded shortly, making sure to transmit certainty at the simple gesture. When Hiram mirrored the movement, she knew she'd done right. The blonde passed by the two men guarding the door and completely ignored Tom's inquires about what had happened in the room before finding herself welcoming the chaotic streets of New York again.

She still had two hours or so to spare until she had to head to Broadway, so she decided to make a pit stop at home to pack a bag of clothes and necessities, since it was obvious that she'd have to stay at the Berry girl's house for a while.

Quinn slid her sun glasses down her nose again and twirled her car keys while she hummed the verse of her favorite song. Reaching her brand new silver Spyder 918, she got into the front seat and smiled upon hearing the potent gears roaring to life. That's one of the things she loved the most about being in the mob: the connections. She knew a good bunch of people who worked at the automotive industry and since money was never a problem, they were more than happy to offer her new vehicles before they even got in the market. She really didn't complain since cars were one of her passions.

Quinn pushed the gas and sped through the busy traffic. She drove all the way towards her apartment in the East Village and parked the car neatly in the front of the building. She greeted Nick, the janitor with a slight wave and rode the elevator, right up onto the second to last floor.

When she opened the door, she was met with panties hanging on the dinner table, a leather pair of pants tossed carelessly on the sofa and a t-shirt covering the lamp. She huffed and kicked the silver high heel sandal she found in the corridor leading to her roommate's bedroom.

Sometimes Quinn wondered why she had even agreed to share an apartment with Santana Lopez in the first place.

She opened the door loudly, not caring one bit about the fact that her best friend was fast asleep. She untied the curtains and blasted the stereo system on.

Santana hoisted out of the bed and Quinn laughed.

"Shit, Fabray, I fucking told you to don't mess with me while I sleep!" Santana growled tossing a pillow at Quinn. The blonde easily blocked it and laughed.

"I know. But when is it that I ever listen to you?" She teased.

"Bitch." Santana grumbled. "It's only fucking eleven in the morning, Q. No one should be up this early. Especially those who were on a fucking mission until sun rise."

"Yeah, whatever," Quinn dismissed her. "Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you that I'll be away for a while."

That piece of information got the brunette's curiosity and she sat on the bed fully alert and completely naked. Quinn rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever sleep with clothes on?"

Santana merely lifted an eyebrow. "What's the matter, Fabray? You should feel lucky as hell to be able to look upon a rocking hot body like mine."

"Sure." Quinn deadpanned.

"Always a prude, aren't you, Quinnie?"

"Fuck you, Santana." Quinn huffed.

"You wish." The woman winkled. "Alright, enough of this. Spill out why you won't be sleeping here? Have you finally found yourself a girl who won't be annoyed as hell by you recklessness?"

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn mumbled. "The Boss has given me a mission."

Her friend straightened up immediately. She could be a tease, but she really treated her job in the mob seriously. "Well, let's hear it."

"Someone's been threatening his daughter. He wants me to protect her while I search for the motherfucker."

Santana nodded for a while, absorbing what Quinn had just told her. And then she laughed, throwing her head back in pure joy. "Ohh, that's priceless. Quinnie will be a bodyguard for a diva! I can already hear Whitney Houston in the background."

Quinn flushed beet red. "You're ridiculous, Lopez." She spat. "She's the boss' daughter and this is just another job. So quit it."

The Latina wiped the tears out of her eyes, still chuckling. "It'll be a hell of a nice job. The Berry girl is hot. Lucky you."

Quinn lifted an eyebrow. "How is it that you know she's hot? You've never seen her."

"As a matter of fact, I have." Santana stated. "I dated a girl who worked on Broadway's backstage and she took me out once to watch some play I don't really remember what's called. Berry was there and I assure you: she's hot."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't change the fact that she's the boss' daughter." Quinn reasoned.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Ok, lemme break the news to you, Fabray," the brunette said sitting Indian style in bed. "She's a tiny creature with a fucking powerful voice. So fucking sexy, if I can say so myself. You gotta be careful to don't wake the neighbors up while you two do the wanky."

"Santana!" Quinn reprehended her.

"What?" The woman said winkling innocently. "I know you like it when your girls get wild and loud."

"I'm not like you, Lopez; I don't hit on every girl I meet." Quinn said sternly. Santana burst into laugh once again.

"Yeah, sure, then tell that to Emily, Andrea, Mandy, Sara, Meg, Jenny, Carmen, Jamie, Eve, Alice and – Hey! Wait up, Fabray; I haven't finished with the list yet!" Santana said as she followed — still naked — a pissed off Quinn who was marching towards her own bedroom.

"Shut the fuck up, Lopez," Quinn grumbled catching a bag and filling it with her clothes. "Just shut up. I'm not going to fall in love with Rachel Berry, alright? I'll do my job, get some more respect from the boss and that's it."

"Ok, sure, I got it. Jesus, chill out, blondie." Santana said. "Yeah, just go do whatever."

She observed as Quinn closed her bag, unlocked a drawer and got a metallic briefcase. She nodded approvingly when the blonde opened it revealing an automatic pistol with a full load of bullets. "Good choice, you can never go wrong with that."

Quinn grinned. "This one is my favorite. It's fast and clean." She said putting it along with her belongings. She checked her clock and frowned. "I have to go now. The Berry girl must be on her way out from her rehearsal. We'll keep in touch, alright? Try not to bring a different girl each night while I'm away. Last time it happened, Mrs. Webber almost had a heart attack when she saw you and your girl making out on the hallway."

Santana grinned smugly. "That was a good fuck. But yeah, whatever. I'll try not to."

Quinn nodded and shouldered her bag. "Ok, bye, Santana. And go take a shower, for goodness sake!"

Santana snorted as she entered the bathroom, closing its door before shouting: "See ya later, Quinnleone! Keep your head on track. Don't fall in love with the mobster's daughter!"

Quinn huffed and shook her head. Rachel Berry might be extremely attractive with those expressive chocolate eyes, full pink lips, silk waves of long brown hair and luscious body, but she wasn't reckless to the point of getting involved with Hiram Berry's daughter. Santana was crazy.

"Pff… Me falling in love with the diva," The blonde mumbled getting out the door and making her way towards her car. "Yeah, right…"

A/N2: I forgot to mention that The Family really influenced me to write this story. I couldn't help it; Dianna looked so damn sexy in that movie!

Quinn and Rachel will meet in the next chapter, so get ready!

Now, please, review and let me know what you think about the story. It'll motivate me to keep writing even faster.