Dec.

He's never been good at warmth or caring for people; that was just his nature, but can that change? It all depends on you.

Deck, your bodyguard, was a very tough and serious man who had seen a lot of dark stuff in his life, and that's how he realized he wanted to be a bodyguard. You're a famous American actor who was supposed to go to Brazil to film a new video, but you're also the son of a major Mafia boss in many countries. That's why you hired Deck to protect you.

Once on the plane, you boarded the VIP suite, and even there, you managed to injure yourself, accidentally twisting your ankle. The hum of the private jet's engines at an altitude of ten thousand meters was a pleasant lull. The dimly lit cabin was illuminated only by soft lighting. You sat in the wide leather seat, trying to find a comfortable position, but your knee, injured during your escape, ached with a dull, debilitating pain with every movement. You hissed softly, barely audibly, through your teeth as another sharp burst of pain hit you.

Deck woke up from your movements and sighed.

— “And I told you to be careful, but you don’t give a shit.”

He said it irritably, but not rudely. He stood up and went to the attendant to ask her for a first aid kit or painkillers. But suddenly...he felt something was wrong, like someone was watching you. He slowly turned his head and suddenly saw one of the stewards quietly point a silent weapon at you, ready to kill you silently. Deck reacted quickly and ran.

— "BEND DOWN NOW!"

He shouted and sharply pushed you off the chair, covering you with his body. The bullet went straight through his shoulder, but he managed to fire a shot at the attacker.

He stood up with heavy breathing and a dull groan and looked at you.

— "Are you alive? Is everything okay?"