"Hey! You can't bring a kid in here!" Luca Cristiano shouted when he saw the petite brown haired girl enter the nightclub area of his bar and bordello named Bastard. Then he recognized the man escorting her inside to be his friend Daniel Monroe. Immediately he knew the girl he had mistaken for a child was Monroe's twenty-four year old daughter and his own goddaughter, Daniella. She looked all right. She looked better than all right; relaxed and happy, much healthier than she had before she left. Apparently she had not been home long.

"Luca! My friend!" Daniel greeted him.

"Well, if it isn't my old pal, Gunslinger Danny!" Luca returned, extending his hand to receive a robust and amicable handshake.

Luca immediately waved him off, sidestepping him to embrace his lovely goddaughter. He had thought Daniella would never return after what her father had done.

"Bitsy! I'm so happy to see you!" he exclaimed, squeezing her tightly.

"Hello, Uncle Luca."

One day Luca wanted to have a beautiful little girl who would take over his organization. He wanted his girl to look just like him. Fortunately for Daniella, she looked like her her mother. Moira had been one of his best girls, gorgeous and a real money maker. If his friend Daniel had not taken an interest in her, he would have gone after her himself. He patted his friend on the back, leading him and his fairly large entourage to a corner table in the crowded bar.

"I've got a special table reserved for VIPs like you."

Daniel Monroe and Luca Cristiano had been friends since they were both young hoodlums running the streets together. Back then, they had only dreamed of becoming the men they were today. Together they had clawed their way up to the top of the heap in the city's crime based society. The fact that the two Big Boss's business ventures did not conflict enabled them to stay friends. In actuality, their businesses coincided and perpetuated each other like a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship akin to that of a host and a parasite. They fed off one another, and it benefited everyone around them. Cristiano peddled booze and broads. Monroe trafficked weapons and drugs. Monroe and his men enjoyed drinking and sampling the wares of the brothel. The weapons he sold were bought by Cristiano for his men, and the drugs were bought for distribution among the prostitutes and customers. Celebrer was among the plethora of drugs brought in by Daniel Monroe which was a major source of income for them both. Daniel Monroe single-handedly controlled the flow of Celebrer in Ergastulum. He had a niche market, a captive consumer base for the primary drug he sold. After all, Celebrer is the drug the Tags required to keep themselves alive. Cristiano made at least half of his fortune from supplying Tags with the Celebrer and permitting them to use his establishment as a safe haven. In turn, Monroe's organization provided at no cost to Cristiano an added degree of security by their constant presence at his place visiting the bar or the ladies. The two of them were hopelessly entwined in business affairs. They had to get along to survive.

Daniella held Miles's arm as they walked to the table. She was already quite unsteady, but the man who she called Uncle Luca was yelling to his bartender for drinks to be brought over. One. Just one more drink, and she would stick to water or soda for the rest of the night. She leaned her head against Miles's broad shoulder. He made a really nice pillow.

"Hey, Gallie! While you're at it, bring that bottle of Grand Cru Champagne from the private stock!" he barked at his new bartender, Galahad. "We have a reason to celebrate!"

Daniella was sure she had celebrated enough. She smiled at the bartender when he personally delivered the bottle of champagne in a silver bucket filled with ice along with the rest of their drinks.

Galahad was built like a brick wall and looked to be as solid and impenetrable as one too. At twenty one, he was huge and muscular like a man who had worked out for years for numerous hours a day. He was a Tag and a damned tough one. After unloading the tray, he returned to his place behind the bar.

"How long are you home for, Bitsy?" Luca inquired, popping the cork on the bottle of champagne. The sound was buried under the dull roar of multiple conversations and the steady heartbeat like thrum of the loud music.

"Just for a few months. I'll be returning to school to pursue my doctorate in psychology!" she yelled over the music.

"Psychology! Are you planning on trying to save the world one crazy person at a time? A good place to start would be right here at home you know," he told her, pouring the golden liquid into a tall crystal flute.

"Yeah, I know," she muttered under her breath, picking up the glass after he pushed it over to her.

Ergastulum was slap full of the morbidly depressed, the hopelessly addicted, and the generally mentally unstable suffering from a myriad of psychoses. Daniella would never lack for patients only money because most of them would not be able to pay for their treatment or their medication. Maybe her father could switch to trafficking medically necessary pharmaceuticals instead of illicit street drugs. Celebrer was the only legitimate drug he handled in his business. Her clinic would probably double as a money laundering facility processing the funds that would ultimately go to financing it in large part. As much as she liked the idea of helping people, she hated the idea of the constant threat of violence and the looming specter of death. She would just rather not stay in Ergastulum.

Miles put his arm around Daniella protectively. He wanted to take her home. She looked pale and exhausted despite having taken a nap. The alcohol had made her sleepy. He switched out her mixed drink that glowed in the dark with a fizzy cherry cola that had been brought to the table for one of the newbies. Pushing the alcoholic drink toward the lascivious blonde, he wanted him to drink it so the youth would pass out. Then he would not have to worry if the boy was keeping his hands to himself. He wished he had a bedroom upstairs to keep a closer eye on Daniella. Why did she need bodyguards anyway when there were already dozens of armed men in the house?

"Would you like to dance?" Miles asked Daniella as she sipped the soda through a straw.

"I thought you'd never ask," she mumbled, putting down the drink. Forgetting her manners and basic public decorum, she threw her leg over Nicolas's legs before sliding across his lap. She was not going to allow any obstacle to prevent her from getting out of the booth. The concept of allowing Nicolas to get up and move out of her way had never entered her pickled brain.

Dancing was one of her favorite things in the world. When she had been a stripper, she had done it for the joy of dance almost as much as for the money. She had put all those years of ballet lessons she had taken as a child to good use. Those lessons had enabled her to keep her balance as she moved about with stunning grace in stiletto heels while gyrating to music and swinging around a pole. When Miles took her into his arms on the dance floor, she wished she had worn stilettos instead of flat sandals.

Dancing was a bit awkward considering her partner was over a foot taller than her. Instead of placing her arm around his shoulder, she hooked it around his torso under his arm. Her other hand grasped his as he led her around the dance floor with measured, fluid steps. He was a good dancer. He was a very good man all around. She closed her eyes and lay her head against his chest. Her head nestled perfectly in the divide between his well developed pectorals just above his solar plexus. Usually she did not mind being so short, but at times like this it was damned inconvenient. She started to doze off on her feet because of the comforting swaying motion and the sense of security imparted by having Miles's strong arms around her. Even as a teenager she had taken refuge in his strong arms in times of emotional distress. He had always been so patient and kind to her, acting as her source of solace and protection many times.

"Can I have this dance?" Worick interrupted, tapping her on the shoulder.

Daniella followed the hand that had been thrust in between her and her current dance partner to the face of its owner. The one frosty blue eye focused on her face squinted with a smile. She didn't move, clinging to the man who presently held her.

"Bitsy? Is it okay? Do you want to dance with him?" Miles asked her before relinquishing her to the teenage boy.

"It's fine. I'll dance with him." She turned to Worick with her arms held stiffly at the same angles for him to walk into them and assume his position as her new dance partner.

"Thank you for allowing me the honor of being your dance partner, your highness," he said, moving her with ease across the floor.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped sassily.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he retorted, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly into him. "You act so high and mighty so I thought I should address you accordingly. You think you're so much better than everyone."

"I do not," she disagreed hotly.

"You do," he argued calmly, pressing his palm to the middle of her back to hold her close. He lowered his lips close to her ear to whisper, "You look down on all of us peons from your ivory tower thinking how unpleasant it is for us to breathe the same air you do."

Nothing could be further from the truth. Daniella liked Worick. She thought she might even be falling in love with him. The way he was speaking to her doused all of those warm, fuzzy emotions with a bucket of cold, harsh words. Maybe he was just a mean drunk and didn't mean any of it. She was tired and confused, her brain muddled by the alcohol. She closed her eyes, leaning into him. Her hand pulled away from his sliding up his arm to rest on the back of his neck.

"Stop it, Worick," she pleaded, a tear sliding from her eye.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Bitsy," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers. He had not meant to be so ruthlessly spiteful.

Worick envied her. Not for her wealth and grand lifestyle because he had been a rich kid too. His jealousy sprang from the fact that she had a father who loved her and wanted to be with her yet she was running away from him as fast and hard as she could. His own father had been a vicious, abusive asshole who had taken great joy in torturing him. The hole behind his eyelid where his eyeball had once been ached from the unwelcome memory of how inhumanely his tyrannical father had treated him. His father had burned his eye with a cigarette after catching him smoking despite being warned many times not to do so. How was he supposed to respect and follow the orders of a cruel man who obviously had no self-control of his own?

"Don't call me Bitsy," she mumbled like a grumpy child. Her lips brushed across the baby soft skin of his neck when she spoke.

"But I like it. It's cute. Like you."

"I'm cute?"

"Small things are always cute."

Her face reddened with anger. "Would you like it if I called you small?"

Daniella was quickly reminded that he was taller than her when he stood up straight. Her arms were suddenly extended upward as she tried to hang on to his neck. He lifted her slightly to pull her against him while thrusting his pelvis toward hers. Their bodies moved rhythmically to the music as he continued to lead her around the dance floor. She gasped when their hipbones rubbed against each other as he lowered her back down to the floor. Heat engulfed her from the inside out because he pressed his erection against her belly. It had been at least two years since she had been intimate with a man for business or pleasure. She had no idea she missed it until now.

"Being called small has never been a problem for me," Worick whispered. His tongue traced the outer rim of her ear making her shudder in his arms.

Daniella whimpered before taking control of her body's reaction to him by pushing aside the arousal. She had become damn tired of his salacious advances. She thrust her thigh with the gun strapped to it between his legs. His eye flew open with obvious surprise when the hardness of the metal pressed into his crotch. She smiled after his arms loosened around her.

"You seem able to protect yourself pretty well. I thought I was supposed to be your bodyguard." He inhaled sharply, clenching his teeth when she pushed the gun more firmly against the underside of his testicles.

"Do...not...screw...with...me, Worick," she warned him, her fingers clutching his sides. She could feel his ribs through his shirt.

"Can I, please? Just a little," he quipped, his hands moving up to her neck. "We'd have a lot of fun."

"I've already told you nothing like that will ever happen." She yelped when he unexpectedly pressed his lips to hers. His lips were soft and wet. He kissed her with a gentle pressure as if waiting for her to decide if she wanted to accept the kiss or push him away and slap him. She believed he was prepared to take whatever consequence his actions provoked and would enjoy the outcome either way. When she did not respond in any form, positive or negative, his mouth lifted from hers. She moved her leg from between his so that they would be able to continue dancing.

"What do you want from me, Daniella Monroe? Why did you pick me?" he asked, holding her hand and gripping her waist to lead her around the dance floor.

"I didn't just choose you remember? I wanted Nicolas too," she reminded him. Saying it like that made it sound like something dirty and that she did want sex.

"So it's him that you want instead of me. He's not really interested in that kind of relationship," he told her without trying to hide his enthusiasm that Nicolas would not give her what she wanted although he still had no idea what she really wanted.

"You're a good dancer. How did you learn?" she questioned him, summarily ignoring his comments.

"One of my repeat customers gets a kick out of giving me dance lessons while she's bare assed. Then she lays me down on the highly polished floor of her dance studio to fuck me senseless. She always takes the lead, in dancing and sex," he explained, giving her more information than she wanted to know. "Do you get your kicks by acting like an icy bitch and leading me on? Or maybe you thought you were going to save me from my pathetic life on the street. Is that what you were thinking? You were supposed to be my knight in shining armor, and I was the damsel in distress."

"I only wanted to offer you a legitimate job. I haven't led you on. I am certainly no knight in shining armor. If anything, I'm the damsel in distress, and I am aware of that. I never wanted to save you from anything including yourself," she said, raising her eyes to look into his. There were tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. His words had stung. "I don't want to hurt you or Nicolas. I just want friends. People to be near me. I suppose it was purely selfish after all"

"Ah, Princess. Poor little rich girl...so lonely in her ivory tower," he murmured, pushing the stray lock of hair covering one of her eyes behind her ear.

If he was being condescending or just plain mean, she did not know nor did she care.

"I am lonely," she agreed, shocking him into silence by agreeing with him. She lay her head against his chest, enclosing his slim waist with her arms. "Just shut up and put your arms around me. Dance with me. You don't have to bombard me with not so subtle hints for me to go to bed with you."

"Does that mean you will have sex with me?"

"No. I didn't say that quite right. What I mean is I won't screw you no matter how many times you ask."

"Can you say the f-word in reference to sex?"

"Fuck you."

"Close enough." He held her, using an uncomplicated two step to maneuver her around the floor. She had become too compliant for his taste. She was acting in direct contrast with her usual charming personality of venom and snappy comebacks. He did not like it, and it made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

Worick could not figure her out at all. She was like every woman he had ever met. Not that he had expected her to be different or unique in any way. Women were complex, confusing, and had no idea what the hell they wanted out of life or the men around them. Surely her philosophy on relationships could not be so simple. Friendship would be too easy and straightforward. No messy emotions or drama. Hell even his customers became emotionally entangled with him no matter how much he tried to prevent it. He had never experienced genuine emotion for a female. All of the women in his life that were supposed to love him the most had been absent or emotionally unattainable. He never knew his mother who was a prostitute his father kept on the side despite being married. His stepmother hated him even more than his father hated him.

"Worick? Are you all right?" Daniella asked when he made a sound that was distinctly like a stifled sob. She held his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. There were tears forming in the corner of his bloodshot eye.

"I'm fine," he insisted, pulling her hands away from his face. "Would you like to go home? You're really sleepy. I will put you to bed."

"Just to sleep?" she yawned, leaning heavily against him.

"Just to sleep," he promised, holding her securely against him with one arm. He signaled to Nicolas to come over. When his friend held out his arms as if anticipating Worick's motive for beckoning him, he pushed Daniella backward into them.

Nicolas was amazingly strong despite being short and skinny. He could take down men twice his size and three times his weight. He lifted Daniella in a bridal carry to walk out of the bar with her while Worick went to Miles Mayer to ask for the keys to one of the vehicles.

"We're taking Daniella home. I need the keys," Worick explained in response to the questioning gaze on the second in command's face.

"I'll take her home. You two stay here," Miles insisted, sliding to the edge of the seat.

"You stay, Miles," Daniel Monroe ordered the man. "Let the boys take her home. That's why she hired them after all."

"But sir - "

"Let the kid do his job. She'll be fine. Besides, I taught her how to shoot, and I'm sure she's armed. Relax, Miles. If I'm not worried, you shouldn't be either."

"Yes, sir." Miles reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys. He dropped them into the open palm of the boy standing in front of him. "If you touch her, I'll - "

"I won't," Worick assured him. "And she is armed. She's threatened me with her gun twice now. I'm beginning to think she seriously intends to shoot me."

"If she won't, I will. Here's the code, kid." He rattled off the four numbers that would allow him to open the gate.

Meanwhile, Nicolas was patiently waiting by the car, effortlessly holding the half asleep woman in his arms.

"You're quiet and sweet, Nicky," Daniella mumbled, forgetting he could not hear her voice. She slid her arms around his neck, resting her head in the hollow formed by his neck sloping down into his shoulder. "I like you. I like Worick too. But he talks too damn much. He's going to talk me right out of liking him soon."

"I got the keys!" Worick yelled. The keys could be heard jingling as he ran down the sidewalk toward them. "You didn't have your way with the Princess while you were waiting on me did you Nic?"

"See what I mean," she muttered to herself. "I don't feel so good."

"All right, Princess, hold on to what ya got. Me and my old buddy Nic here will have you home soon." Worick opened the car door, supervising as Nicolas bent down inside the car to carefully lay her across the back seat of the luxury sedan. He grabbed the back of Nicolas's jacket when Daniella seized him by the neck to pull him down on top of her. After a brief tug-of-war with the hapless drunk over his friend, he pulled Nicolas free from her unbelievably strong arms. Glancing at his friend's face, seeing the lopsided grin, he snorted in disbelief. "You enjoyed that didn't you?"

Nicolas shrugged as if he had no idea what Worick was talking about.

"Fine," he muttered, shoving him into the back seat. "You can babysit her on the way home. If she barfs, she's going to do it on you."

Nicolas waved his arms when Worick slammed the door closed. His eyes were wide and horror stricken. He had read every word that passed the blonde's lips. After catching Worick's eye in the rear view mirror, he gestured to him that he was an asshole and should go fuck himself. His friend responded to the insult by laughing. That was typical. He rolled his eyes in irritation.

Daniella eased in and out of consciousness. Her lips were numb, and her eyelids were heavy. Each time her eyes closed, she fell asleep for a few seconds before shaking herself awake. She wanted to stay awake to make sure Casanova there got her home safely and to bed - alone. As much as she would like to have him join her, to have him make her moan his name, she would not allow herself to fall into that kind of temptation or heartbreak. Males like Worick spelled certain doom for her. She was highly attracted to younger men, the flirtier and more overtly sexual they were, the better. His type appealed to her, and she always fell hard into something past love that bordered on obsession with men like him. She did not like feeling out of control, of being carried along on a river of emotion that she could not contain. Eventually she always got sucked under to be drowned by those emotions.

Daniella forced herself to a sitting position, leaning against the door. She pressed her feverish forehead that was slick with sweat to the cool glass of the window. The glass was double paned with a half inch thick piece of bulletproof Plexiglas between. It was grand being a mafioso's daughter and not knowing when the bullets were going to fly. Men, and sometimes women, fought and killed each other all the time - and the reason did not matter. Poor little rich girl. The truth about being rich and infamous in Ergastulum was that it was like wearing a target on one's back. She could not stay here long. She needed to get back to the other world, her other life. To be sitting through boring classes, to go to her horrible part time waitress job, to be in her house with her five friends were all of the places she wanted to be rather than here.

A gentle tapping on her shoulder brought her attention to the boy sitting next to her. His dark eyes studied her face before he tried to communicate with her. He wanted to ask her something, but she could not understand sign language. Daniella made a mental note to go shopping. She needed to buy books on sign language. Next semester she would sign up for a sign language class. She could see the frustration building in his eyes as he tried to make her understand. The only thing that rivaled his aggravation was her own.

Nicolas finally made a few gestures that she understood, that were universal in communicating certain ideas. She gasped and nodded enthusiastically. He was asking if she was feeling okay. She had been until nodding her head too vigorously. Everything wavered and swam in front of her eyes. Nausea swept over her, making her feel hot and cold all at once like microwaved leftovers.

"Have you blown chunks yet, Princess?" Worick asked over his shoulder as he was typing in the code Miles had given him.

"Not yet. But it might not be much longer," she warned him, hugging her belly as if that would keep it from flip flopping inside of her body.

"Shit," he muttered, willing the gate to open faster. He was sure that if she did puke in the car he would be responsible for cleaning it up since he was officially on the Monroe Family payroll and assigned to her specifically. When taking the job from the pretty woman it had never occurred to him that he would be responsible for her and all of her bullshit. All in all, she was not so bad. He considered giving her a break, letting up on her a bit with the verbal abuse. Being vindictive made him the same kind of hateful asshole his father had been.

As soon as the car stopped at the back door, Nicolas had already placed his arm around her shoulders to pull her across the seat. He sat her in his lap to slip his other arm under her knees. When Worick opened the car door, Nicolas slid out while hoisting her into his arms in one fluid movement. Worick ran ahead of him, unlocking and opening doors to create a path for him. Once they were in her room, Nicolas carefully lay her down on the bed.

Who will stay with her? Me or you?, Nicolas signed.

"You," Worick answered without hesitation. "But first I'll help you get her ready for bed."

Worick removed Daniella's shoes, tossing them across the room toward her closet. His hands slid under her skirt but Nicolas seized his arm, squeezing his bicep until it pinched in a silent warning for him not to do that. Jerking his arm free of his friend's grip, he pushed up her skirt to show him the gun strapped to her thigh.

"If I don't take that off of her, it will hurt her. The damn fool might even accidentally shoot herself in her sleep by somehow squeezing the trigger," he told Nicolas. He snatched at the Velcro closures, noisily releasing them to take the weapon off of her leg. After setting it on the nightstand, he walked to the door to leave the room. "Good night, Nicolas. I'll keep watch over her tomorrow night. It's been a long day, and I really need some sleep."

Nicolas propped his sword against the side of the bed. Taking off his jacket, he carefully folded it and draped it across the chair sitting in the corner. He picked up the fuzzy pink blanket that was haphazardly folded and lying on the seat of the ornate, delicate chair. After covering her sleeping form with the blanket, he sat down on the floor and leaned back against her bed. Being on the floor would not be so bad. The thick white carpet would definitely be more comfortable than the concrete he was accustomed to sleeping on.

Nicolas felt the bed move behind his head. He lazily pivoted his neck without picking his head up from where it was lying back on the mattress to look at her. He was tired too. His half closed eyes roamed over her face. She was very close to him, almost touching him. She had turned over onto her side, curling into a fetal position so compact she nearly wrapped around his head. Her hand was positioned in front of her face in a way that made it appear she was sucking her thumb. Her cheeks were blushed a deep pink. She looked like an innocent little girl who needed a protector.

Until he met Worick, the only time he had protected someone was when he had been ordered to do so. Worick had become his friend. The first one he had ever had. Worick save him first by buying him from his uncaring and cruel mercenary father who had worked for the Arcangelo family. To repay the favor, he had protected Worick by killing his abusive father along with the rest of the family who treated him unkindly. They had freed each other from being prisoners of their horrible fathers.

This person said she had wanted to be his friend too. He was still learning exactly what it meant to not only have a friend but to be one as well. Tentatively, he reached out to touch her. His pulsed raced as his fingertips drifted across her cheek. Her skin was so silky, so smooth. She was the softest thing he had ever touched. Staring at her pretty face swathed with the brown sugar colored hair that had dislodged itself from her bun, something unusual stirred within his chest. Holding her in his arms earlier had been quite pleasant, but he did not like the way it made his heart beat faster like it was doing at this moment. He wanted to be near her, to stay close to her. Dropping his hand to grab his sword, he lay it across his lap so it would be within his reach while he slept. If anyone made it through the substantial multi-layered security to get into her room, he would have to be ready fight a formidable foe. He was capable, and more than willing, to take on anyone who tried to hurt Daniella.