(Author's Notes: Hi, everyone. Yes, I started a new series, but it shouldn't be a long one and not take up a lot of my time. As I stated, this is an AU, meaning that the characters, their backgrounds and parts of their personalities won't be the same as in the Ducktales 2017 show. This fanfic is also rated T for Teens because of acts of violence, some sexual references, and other PG-13 topics.

Charity Loveatte is my character and belongs to me.

Sunny O'Tiel and Martha Swansong belongs to my friend Miss Marmalade. You can find her writing on AO3 under the name missmarmalade and her art/blog on tumblr under the name littlemissmarmalade. Please go and support her. Her art is amazing.)

The Hit

Chapter 1

Drake Mallard knew that becoming a bodyguard would be a dangerous career move. He just didn't think his first job would be this dangerous.

"Drake, what do you think of this one?"

Drake sighed as the lovebird pushed the curtain aside and displayed the twentieth outfit she had tried in just this store. It might not have been so bad, but her pose put on display her bare legs and plump bosom.

"It looks nice," he said dutifully, putting in just the right amount of interest but not too much. He would have had more interest in watching a beautiful woman flaunt herself for him if she had been anyone but Miss Charity Loveatte

"Do you like it better than the white one?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the lace," Charity said, pouting that he wasn't paying attention.

"Oh, that one," Drake said, although he had no idea which outfit she was talking about. After seven stores and what seemed to be hundreds of clothes, they all looked the same to him. "Yeah, I like this one better."

Charity smiled brightly, her blue and white curly hair bouncing around her face and shoulders. "I thought so," she said. "You have a good eye for fashion." With tail feathers held high, she returned to her changing room, hopefully to put her original clothes so they could leave.

No such luck. She seemed to have the goal to try on every article of clothing in the store before she was ready to leave, only buying one dress. At least she had some restraint with her money. Or rather, her fiancé's money.

After paying for the dress, Charity walked away, leaving Drake to pick up the bag. He did, adding it to the seven others he carried.

Okay, so he didn't expect his first bodyguard job to be glamorous. After all, not everyone could protect someone famous or even exceptional. However, when he looked over the contract a week ago, it seemed to be a dream come true. Great pay. Good hours. And the body he was guarding wasn't bad on the eyes. His biggest mistake wasn't doing his research.

"Hurry up, Drake," Charity called, giving him a sultry look over her shoulder. "We're going to be late."

"Yes, Miss Loveatte."

"I told you, Drake. Call me Charity," she said.

"I don't think that's quite appropriate, miss," Drake said stiffly.

"Oh, you," she said, laughing and giving his arm a little shove. She started walking away, her hips swaying like the pendulum of a clock. She wore those really high, spikey shoes—what were they called—stilettos, and while they made her hips look good, she wasn't the steadiest in them.

The limo, idling farther down the street, sidled in front of the store. Drake rushed out to open the door for Charity.

As she stepped off the sidewalk, her ankle twisted and she started to fall. They both reacted at the same time, Charity grabbing at Drake's black jacket, Drake reaching out to steady her, careful not to grab something he shouldn't.

"Thanks. Again," Charity said, her hands lingering longer than they should on his chest.

"No problem, miss," Drake said, removing his hands as soon as he could and stepping away. He waited for the lovebird to slide in before putting in her bags and closing the door behind her. Letting out the heavy sigh he'd been holding in for some time, he opened the front passenger door and practically dropped into the plush leather seat.

"Rough day, huh?"

"You have no idea, Launchpad," Drake said, taking off his sunglasses. "I don't know if I can do this for two more weeks."

"Why don't you quit?" Launchpad asked as he shifted the limo into drive and merged with traffic. There were the sounds of horns honking and tires squealing behind them.

"I'd love to, but I signed a contract," Drake explained.

That wasn't the main problem. Drake wasn't afraid of breeching a contract and finding work somewhere else. He was more worried that if he did quit this job, his life would be forfeit. Yet, staying on the job was just as dangerous. If Drake had done his research, he would have known that he was hired by the infamous Jim "The Negaduck" Starling, the most ruthless mob boss St. Canard had ever known.

Breaking a contract with Negaduck didn't seem the most wholesome thing to do, especially if the rumors were correct about what happened to Charity's last bodyguard. And if Drake didn't die protecting Starling's fiancé from one of his enemies, he was sure to be murdered by his employer's hands when he finds out just how much Charity flirted with him.

He just needed to stick around until the wedding in two weeks, fulfill the contract, collect his pay and then he was gone. The only upside was that he was able to give his best friend a little work as a limo driver. With Launchpad's insurance record being what it was, he was lucky even getting a job as Charity's driver.

Charity gave Drake a little finger wave, winking at him as she turned her back to the bodyguard, leaving him at the bar. Instantly, her smile dropped. Oh, how she hated playing the ditz. She was good at it, but that didn't mean she wanted it to define her life.

But what else could she do? She had tried everything. Flirting, pretending to be clumsy, even feeling the guy up, and he was as stiff and staunch as ever. Nothing she did got a reaction out of Drake Mallard, not even a complaint about her behavior.

And worse, he probably still won't quit.

A whole week, and he was still trailing after her like a little duckling after his mama. It was bad enough that Jim thought it was important for her to have a bodyguard, but now she didn't have a single moment for privacy. It was like she was living in a police state. She was sure the government didn't watch her as closely as Drake Mallard did.

And out of all her bodyguards, he had stuck with the job longer than the others. He was stubborn and good at his job, she had to give him that. But there was no way she was going another day with his dopey face shadowing her.

Okay, maybe she was a little mean. He wasn't dopey. In fact, he was kind of cute. But she didn't need a babysitter following her around and reporting every little thing she did back to Jim.

"Yoo-hoo," a voice called.

Charity had been too busy fuming that she had walked passed her table. If it wasn't for Sunny waving at her, she might have marched to the back of the restaurant. Taking her seat, she gave the cockatiel and swan a wan smile.

"You seem distracted," Sunny observed. She tried to look sympathetic, but with her crest feathers and rosy cheeks, she always looked happy.

"It's been a rough day trying on designer clothes and walking in these abominable shoes," Charity said sarcastically. "I need a drink." She waved a server over, and they all gave him their orders.

"And I see you're still trailed by Dreary Drake," Martha said, straining her graceful neck to look back at the bar.

She had given all of Charity's bodyguards alliteration nicknames. There had been Chatty Chad, Stinky Stan, and Pervy Pierce, each name fitting. Dreary Drake may have been a stretch, but it was obvious the duck bodyguard didn't want to be there.

"I've tried everything," Charity said with a sigh. "I'm flirting shamelessly with him, making him go shopping with me, even flinging myself in his arms. He's sticking to me faster than a tick on a deer."

The server brought their drinks.

"Have you gotten handsy with him?" Sunny asked.

"Well, I felt up his chest before we came here," Charity admitted. "He didn't even act flustered. It's like he expects this kind of behavior to go with the job and is just plowing through."

"Well, the big question is: How hard are his pecs?" Sunny asked, giving a mischievous smile.

"Not bad," Charity said, cocking an eyebrow. "He's built, that's one thing going for him."

All three girls giggled and sipped at their beverages.

"Girls, I'm in a fix. I need to get rid of this guy," Charity said. "Flirting with him doesn't work, and I'm not willing to push that aspect further."

"You could get a puppy," Martha suggested. "You know one of those annoying, yappy ones that women carry in a purse. Make him hold it and clean up after it. Make sure it's not potty trained."

That sent the group laughing again.

"Whatever you do, you need to step it up," Sunny said. "Your wedding is quickly coming up."

"I know," Charity said. "I still haven't found any of Jim's bank records. With Drake shadowing me even at Jim's place, I can't find a few minutes to snoop around."

"What about the safe?" Martha asked. "Have you cracked it yet?"

"No," Charity moped. "It's too high tech for me to do it by hand. I need some equipment."

Sunny nodded. "I can get you something, but you'll need a bag bigger than your Gucchi to smuggle it in." She lovingly fondled the designer purse, sighing.

"It's not my fault that Jim picked me," Charity said. "I'd be willing to switch places with you, and you can blow all the mobster's money on frivolous trinkets."

Sunny petted the bag. "It's okay, baby. She didn't mean it."

"It's a waste that of the three of us, you get all the good stuff," Martha added her own complaints.

Out of all of them, only Charity didn't like the high life and expensive clothing. Martha had been born into old money and grew up knowing the lavish lifestyle. Sunny, on the other hand, was from the middle class but that didn't stop her from loving fashion. She kept up with trends and the big clothing brand's newest lines even though she couldn't afford them. Charity, on the other hand, was good with a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

"You might have to move your flirting routine onto Jim's territory," Martha said, her face growing serious. "We don't have much time. You need to get rid of him."

"Yeah, once Negaduck—"

"Shhhhh," Charity and Martha both hissed as one.

The three glanced around the restaurant, hoping nobody had heard them. Luckily, the patrons were all too concerned by their own meals and company to have listened in.

"Oopse," Sunny said, her orange cheeks only making her embarrassment more plain. "I mean, once your fiancé sees you flirting with Drake, he'll be in the unemployment line faster than a Bugatti."

Charity winced. "I may not like the guy, but that doesn't mean I want him on Jim's hit list. There's got to be another way."

The server returned with their food, and they lazed into meaningless conversation with occasional suggestions that could get Drake fired. Charity passed to Martha a few sketches that looked like floor plans before they ordered dessert, but besides that, they were the epitome of three friends having a good time. It was a cover that the whole world wanted to believe, that three attractive females such as themselves couldn't be more than what they appeared.

After paying for their meal, they split ways, Charity reluctantly making her way to the bar where Drake's hunched figure sat on a stool. She took his posture to mean that he may be drunk and rolled her eyes. But if he were, it would be easier to complain to Jim and get Mr. Mallard sacked. However, to her surprise, he was bent over a dog-eared paperback, reading intently.

Careful not to make herself known, she read the title, surprised by what she learned.

"Les Misérables. Good book," she said.

Drake twisted around quickly as if caught in the act of doing something wrong. "I'm sorry, miss. I shouldn't have been reading on duty." He quickly tucked the book into his jacket pocket.

"No, you're good. At least you're soaking in something intelligent," Charity said, thinking how this was a large step up from the others. Pervy Pierce actually looked at dirty magazines in public. Stinky Stan picked his nose. And Chatty Chad…well, Chatty Chad wasn't bad. "I had a hard time getting through the sewer scene, but I'm glad I didn't get the abridged version. And that scene where Éponine dies, I cried. It was so heartbreaking."

She looked at her bodyguard and saw surprise on his face.

Oh, crap, she thought. I dropped out of character.

"Yeah, I had to read it in college," Charity said with a shrug. "I think it was the last book I read before dropping out. Such a waste of time." She hoped her belated acting did the trick.

Drake looked disappointed for a moment before turning stoic again. He put on those sunglasses he always had on, as if that made him a better bodyguard. "Are you ready to go home?"

Home. That big apartment that Jim found for her and all that furniture and appliances that were paid for with his blood money. How she wished that she didn't have to call that place home. Perhaps there was still time to make some progress on the plan.

"First can we drop by the estate?" Charity asked, trying on a coy smile.

"Your fiancé isn't home today, remember?" Drake said. "He went to New York for business."

Charity knew this, but it was a perfect time to look for any dirt on the famous mob boss of St. Canard. That is if she could get Drake to sit and stay like a good boy. "I left a sweater there. It's my favorite," she quickly made the excuse. "I really would like it back today."

Drake nodded and gestured her toward the exit.

The transaction in New York went off without a hitch. Well, at least for Negaduck. The other guy…that was another matter. Once he gets out of the hospital, he'll be grateful for the valuable lesson of not crossing the wrong people.

As much as he liked New York, he hadn't been in the mood to linger. With his private jet already refueled, he returned to St. Canard early. It would be good to be back at his estate. Perhaps he'd surprise Charity by reserving a balcony table at that Italian restaurant downtown. According to his credit card records, she had been shopping again, so she was sure to have another dress in which show that curvy figure.

At the thought of his fiancé, he was already eager to see her. When he had met her at one of his clubs several months ago, it was as if destiny had pushed them together. He had known more than his share of girls, but Charity was something else. She was smart and clever and sexy all wrapped up in a tight…

He forced his thoughts away from that. She had shared many things with him, but the one thing she had insisted upon was not to share his bed unless they were married. A proposal came soon after, the date set too far in the future for his liking. But he kept telling himself that she was worth it. He had built an empire on almost nothing, using only his wiles and determination to become the most powerful duck in St. Canard, and he didn't get that way by being impatient.

It was only a few more weeks, and then she would be his entirely.

Once back at his estate, his driver passed by a set of guards with guns that weren't exactly legal. Not that the police could do anything about that. Negaduck could clean out a bank and walk away smelling like a rose. Every dirty politician and cop was in his pocket, and most of the good ones as well, coerced, blackmailed or extorted to do what they were told. It was amazing what a few pictures and a couple of threatening letters could do to change a judge's mind.

He took his time showering and grooming. New York was a dirty city and he had done a dirty job; he had a lot to clean off metaphorically.

In his walk-in closet, he chose a yellow suit similar to that from the 1920s. As a rich and powerful duck, he dressed how he liked, and his tastes drifted to that of classic, custom-made suits.

As he was buttoning up his jacket, he heard a car approaching through the window. Heading toward his balcony, he watched as a limo pulled around his fountain to the front door, barely missing a statue. A man in a black suit—obviously a bodyguard—opened the door and Charity slid out.

She must have heard he was back in town. This was a pleasant surprise. He felt a longing to take her in his arms, to feel her body against him and her curves under his fingers. He could already feel her beak on his.

But then he saw something that made his blood run cold.

After a few steps, Charity tripped. She had always been a little clumsy with high heels, but they did make it pleasing to watch her walk away. However, she tilted just the right way to fall against her bodyguard, her hand sliding across his white, button-up shirt. She leaned into him and lingered much longer than she should, a flirtatious smile playing on her beak. She batted her eyes.

Enraged, Negaduck stormed back into his house, not bothering to close the balcony doors.

"Bulba!" he shouted, marching through the halls to where his number one kept an office. He burst in, nearly knocking down a vase that was worth a few grand short of a million dollars. "Bulba, get me the best hitman money can buy."

The bovine regarded his boss with placid interest. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Jim? You know that after that job in Cape Suzette with Shere Khan that the feds are keeping a sharper eye on us."

"Just do it," Negaduck insisted, slamming his fist against the antique oak desk.

Bulba sighed and opened up his little black book filled with the contact information of the criminal underworld. It was a risk to have those records all in one place, but Bulba kept it on his person at all times. It never left his sight. And those who have tried to take it from him…well, there's a neat little graveyard in the Audubon Bay for those who crossed the bull's path.

"Who is the target, may I ask?" Bulba asked, his finger tapping a page with a number.

Negaduck felt his temper still boiling at the thought of being tricked, cheated and cuckolded. Although Charity's betrayal was slight, maybe even innocent, he was not one to let even the littlest transgression slip.

"My fiancé."