Chapter 1
Daddy’s Girls, book 1
In the world where power is traded like currency, the women raised under Daddy’s control are never just what they appear to be.
They are trained to become whatever the moment demands. To move through rooms unnoticed or unforgettable. To survive men who mistake control for ownership.
Elizabeth Gardner learned early how to play that game.
At twenty-five, she doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t second-guess. Men are tools, leverage, distraction, useful only for as long as they serve a purpose. Desire is something she controls, not something she gives.
That’s how she’s survived this long.
That’s how she’s stayed one of Daddy’s best.
But control has limits, even in a world built on it.
Because Vincenzo Garcia doesn’t operate like the men she’s used to.
He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t negotiate. And he doesn’t let go once something catches his attention.
When their paths cross, what begins as a moment becomes something far more dangerous, something that doesn’t follow rules, doesn’t stay contained, and doesn’t end cleanly.
Because in a world built on power, loyalty, and consequence, nothing is ever just a game.
Not control.
Not desire.
And not the kind of man who decides you belong in his world.
Chapter 1
Elizabeth
Beep beep beep.
“Aarrgghh…” I groaned, reaching over to slam my hand down on the alarm clock. It toppled over and hit the floor, but the damn thing wouldn’t stop beeping.
“Can you shut that thing off?” a deep male voice grumbled beside me.
I blinked, looking over at the man in my bed. Right. Him.
Last night came rushing back. I was back on the East Coast, killing time before my next job for Daddy. And this guy? He was just a distraction—a random guy I picked up after partying. A good enough body, decent in bed, but nothing I’d think about twice after today.
“Morning, beautiful,” he said, smiling as he stretched. His blue eyes lingered on me, clearly appreciating my naked body.
I rolled my eyes. Men. So predictable.
He was good-looking, I’d give him that. Blond hair, lean muscles, and cute dimples when he smiled. But the novelty had worn off the moment I rolled out of bed. Last night’s fun was over, and all that was left was this awkward moment. He thought he could impress me, thought his charm would somehow stick.
But men like him? They were just toys to me. I used them, then tossed them aside when I was done. He wasn’t the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I have work,” I said flatly, standing up and grabbing my clothes. I could feel his eyes tracing the curves of my body, but I ignored him.
He smirked, completely unbothered. “Come back to bed, sweetheart. I’ve got something else we could do to start the day right.”
I glanced back at him—still sprawled out on the bed, his morning wood on full display. He was trying to tempt me, thinking he could get another round.
Amused, I let my gaze trace his toned abs, the deep V leading down to his hips, and the arrogance in his eyes. For a moment, I almost considered it. But no. He wasn’t worth being late for. I had bigger things to do, and frankly, better things to look forward to.
“Out,” I said coldly, heading to the bathroom. “Be gone by the time I’m out of the shower.”
“C’mon, you serious?” He groaned, but I didn’t wait for his response.
As the water cascaded over me, I felt the remnants of last night wash away. Men like him were forgettable. They were temporary pleasures—tools I used to get what I wanted. Nothing more.
By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, he was gone. Good. I liked it better that way.
I dressed quickly—white shirt, black trousers, gun holstered under my jacket, knife tucked into my boot. Daddy had sent me back to the East Coast for a reason, and I wasn’t about to let him down.
The drive to the airport was quick. By the time I stepped out onto the tarmac, the morning air hit me like a wake-up call. I was here for a reason—to escort a client on a private jet.
As I approached the plane, a sleek black Escalade pulled up. The first person to step out was a young girl—around 18, maybe—with copper hair spilling over her shoulders, dressed in designer clothes that screamed privilege.
“Hi! I’m Valery. You must be my bodyguard,” she said brightly, extending her hand.
I shook it briefly. “Nice to meet you.” I didn’t offer my name. I was just a substitute, and she didn’t need to know anything more.
Then he stepped out of the car.
And just like that, my world shifted.
He was tall—easily 6′4", maybe taller—with broad shoulders that made his tailored suit look like it was sculpted for him. His every movement screamed power and control, but it was his eyes that stopped me in my tracks. Dark amber, smoldering, locked onto me as if he could see straight through me.
There was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself—deliberate, confident, predatory. He didn’t just walk; he commanded every inch of space around him. I’d spent years honing the art of control, of using men for my own gain. But in that moment, with him, I felt it slipping.
The moment his eyes met mine, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of us.
I tried to remain unfazed. I’d dealt with powerful men before, men who thought they could own everything in their path. But this man? There was something different about him. He didn’t just want to own things—he looked like he could.
As he approached, the air between us grew thicker, heavy with an energy I couldn’t name. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, making my pulse quicken. My skin prickled under his scrutiny, but it wasn’t fear I felt. It was something far more dangerous.
The scent of amber and wood lingered in the air as he passed, leaving me momentarily breathless.
“Are you coming?” His voice was smooth, like velvet, caressing my ears in a way that made my body respond before my mind could catch up.
I nodded, forcing myself to keep my composure, even as something inside me shifted. The man in front of me wasn’t just attractive. He was something far more dangerous—a temptation I couldn’t afford to indulge. Yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.
I followed him up the stairs and into the plane, every step pulling me deeper into something I wasn’t sure I could control.
