Part 2 Mateo tilted his head. His dark eyes narrowed.
Part 2
Mateo tilted his head. His dark eyes narrowed. He began to close the distance between them, footsteps silent on the polished concrete.
“You do not resign from this family, Valentina. You know this better than anyone. And you certainly do not pack your bags like a thief in the bright light of day.”
“I need a change of scenery,” she lied, gripping the edge of her heavy mahogany desk to keep her hands from shaking. “Vegas is getting too hot. I am going back to the East Coast. I have already transferred all the primary ledgers to your secure server. Everything is in order.”
Mateo stopped on the opposite side of the desk. The sunlight caught the subtle flex of his jaw. He did not care about the ledgers. He did not care about the money. He cared that the woman who grounded him—the woman whose soft curves and brilliant mind had become an absolute obsession—was trying to slip through his fingers.
“You are a terrible liar, my sweet,” he murmured, leaning his hands flat on the wood. He leaned over until she could feel the heat radiating from him. “You are terrified. Your pulse is beating so hard in your throat I can see it from across the room. Who threatened you?”
“No one,” she snapped, stepping back. “Leave it alone, Mateo. Just let me go.”
He moved so fast she did not even have time to gasp. In a second he had rounded the desk and cornered her against the filing cabinets. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his hard frame. She gasped at the contact, the sheer overwhelming power of him trapping her completely.
“Do you think I am blind?” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “Do you think I do not see the way you look over your shoulder? Do you think I have not noticed you taking a different route to the gym every morning this week? I see everything you do, Valentina. Everything. Now tell me who I need to kill.”
“I cannot,” she choked out, tears welling but refusing to fall. “If I tell you, he will destroy everything. He will blow this place to ash. Let me run. It is the only way to keep you and the gym safe.”
Mateo froze. The word *blow* caught his attention. Instincts honed by decades of street warfare kicked in. He stepped back slightly, scanning her trembling form, and then his gaze dropped to the floor.
He looked at the heavy mahogany desk. Without breaking eye contact, he crouched in the bright sunlight and ducked his head under the kneehole. Valentina watched in horror as he reached upward, feeling the underside of the thick wood.
His hand stopped. A muscle feathered in his cheek.
Mateo ripped a large, heavy package out from under the desk. The duct tape tore with a loud, violent sound. He stood and set the object on top of the desk, right in the stream of morning sun.
Valentina covered her mouth to muffle a sob.
It was a sleek black digital timer, frozen at zero, wired intricately to a heavy block of gray clay—a brick of military-grade C4. The detonator wires had been cleanly snipped. It was not meant to kill her today. It was a dummy rig. A psychological weapon.
Resting on top of the explosive was a heavy solid silver casino chip, stained with a single drop of dried blood.
“Marcus Blackwood,” Mateo said softly.
His voice was completely devoid of emotion, which terrified Valentina more than if he had started screaming.
