Chapter 2 - The Name in the Dark|
Matthew Castille had not moved.
He sat in the deep velvet booth with a dark cigar held loosely between his fingers, his charcoal suit flawless, his slate-gray eyes fixed entirely on the woman lying among the broken glass.
His two massive bodyguards, Rocco and Vincent, stood rigid beside his table. The moment the slap echoed across the room, both men had reached instinctively inside their custom leather jackets. They weren't looking at Chloe. They were looking at Matthew, waiting for a signal that would decide whether everyone in the room lived or died.
Matthew slowly set his cigar down in a crystal ashtray.
He stood up.
Standing six-foot-three with broad shoulders and an aura of absolute, terrifying authority, Matthew crossed the marble floor. The crowd parted instantly, people stepping backward until their backs hit the velvet walls.
Chloe took a quick step toward him, forcing a charming, aggrieved smile onto her lips. "Matthew, darling, I'm so sorry you had to witness such a disgusting scene. Her manager should fire her immediately—"
Matthew didn't even glance at her. He brushed past Chloe as if she were made of air, his heavy leather shoes stepping directly over the pool of spilled champagne and shattered crystal.
He dropped to one knee beside the trembling waitress.
The ruthless, untouchable King of Chicago’s underworld knelt on the dirty floor, completely ignoring the wet silk ruining his thousand-dollar trousers.
"Let me see your face," he said softly.
Mia kept her hands pressed tightly over her swollen cheek, her eyes closed, her body shivering. "I'm fine," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please... I'm so sorry. Just let me clean it up. Don't fire me, please."
Matthew reached forward. His large, calloused hands closed gently around her wrists. He didn't force her, but the firm warmth of his touch made her relax her grip.
He pulled her hands away.
A bright red, angry handprint was already swelling across her pale cheek. Her dark hair had tumbled out of its tight bun, cascading over her shoulders. Her dark eyes were filled with tears and sheer, overwhelming terror.
Matthew stared at her.
For five long seconds, the cold, calculating expression that had terrified Chicago politicians for a decade vanished completely. His gray eyes widened, a sudden, raw agony breaking through his stone mask.
"Mia," he breathed out.
The name left his lips like a prayer and a death sentence wrapped into one.
Mia’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his.
May you like
"Sarah," she whispered desperately, trying to pull her hands back. "My name is Sarah."
"Stop lying to me," Matthew rasped, his voice trembling with a terrifying mix of grief and fury. "I've searched five months for you, Mia."
