Chapter 1 - The Man Breathing Beside Me
The first thing I felt was a man’s hand around my throat.
The second was cold steel pressing into my ribs.
The third was the horrifying realization that the body pillow I had been sleeping against for nearly two hours was breathing.
“Don’t scream.”
His voice came from behind me, low and rough.
Every muscle in my body froze.
The hotel room was almost completely dark. A narrow line of silver Chicago morning slipped through the blackout curtains, barely illuminating the edge of a nightstand.
I smelled cedar.
Expensive cologne.
Sweat.
And something faintly metallic.
Blood.
“Who sent you?” the man whispered.
“Nobody.”
The barrel pressed harder against my ribs.
“Wrong answer.”
“I work downstairs!”
My voice cracked.
“There was a wedding. I’m with catering. I worked sixteen hours. My coworker told me this room was empty because the air conditioner was broken, and I just wanted somewhere to sleep before breakfast service.”
Silence.
The bedside lamp clicked on.
I blinked.
Then immediately wished the room had remained dark.
The man beside me was sitting against the headboard.
Shirtless.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark-haired.
A white bandage circled his upper arm, faintly stained pink. Old scars crossed his ribs.
But I barely noticed them.
Because I recognized his face.
Mateo Valente.
Everyone in Chicago knew the name.
Officially, Mateo was the thirty-six-year-old owner of Valente Transportation, a logistics empire worth hundreds of millions.
Unofficially, newspapers had spent years connecting him to underground gambling, cargo theft, illegal lending and practically every frightening rumor south of Lake Michigan.
Three criminal cases had collapsed.
Witnesses changed their stories.
Evidence disappeared.
Detectives retired.
Mateo Valente was the kind of man people recognized and then immediately pretended not to.
And I had spent almost two hours sleeping with my backside pressed against him.
“Oh God.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“That reaction suggests you know who I am.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you understand my concern.”
“I thought this was room 714.”
“This is 716.”
I stared toward the door.
The brass number outside had looked like 714.
Hadn’t it?
“My coworker gave me a maintenance key.”
“Your coworker.”
“Sarah Nguyen. She said 714 was empty.”
Mateo studied me.
His gaze moved over my tangled blonde hair, enormous gray T-shirt and bare legs.
I quickly pulled the sheet higher.
Something changed in his expression.
Not amusement.
Not lust.
Confusion.
“You crossed a restricted hotel floor,” he said slowly, “entered my suite with a master key and climbed into my bed because you were tired.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It sounds insane.”
“I worked a sixteen-hour wedding.”
“That does not improve it.”
I moved toward the mattress edge.
“I’ll leave.”
He caught my wrist.
Not painfully.
But firmly enough to stop me.
“You’re not leaving yet.”
My stomach twisted.
“Please.”
His grip immediately loosened.
For a moment I saw something behind the infamous Mateo Valente exterior.
Exhaustion.
The same deep exhaustion that had brought me into his room.
“I’m trying to decide whether you’re incredibly unlucky,” he said, “or the worst assassin ever hired.”
“I’m voting for unlucky.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then the door exploded inward.
Gunfire tore through the room.
The lamp shattered.
I screamed.
Mateo moved before I understood what was happening.
One second he was sitting beside me.
The next I was on the floor, his body covering mine while bullets ripped through the headboard.
Feathers exploded into the air.
“Stay down!”
He grabbed the pistol.
Another burst punched through the wall.
I couldn’t move.
My body had stopped belonging to me.
Mateo grabbed my face.
“Harper.”
I hadn’t realized I’d told him my name.
“Look at me.”
I forced my eyes open.
“You crawl when I move.”
I nodded.
He moved.
I crawled.
We reached the marble bathroom as another volley destroyed what remained of the bed.
Mateo slammed the door and pushed me behind the bathtub.
The shooting stopped.
Footsteps entered the suite.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone approached the bathroom.
The handle moved.
Mateo lifted the weapon.
Two sharp cracks.
A body hit the floor outside.
I buried my face against my knees.
Then voices erupted in the hallway.
“Boss!”
Mateo shouted back.
“Clear the floor!”
More footsteps.
A struggle.
Then silence.
Mateo waited nearly a minute before lowering his pistol.
“Stay here.”
“No!”
He looked back.
I hated how frightened my voice sounded.
“You can’t leave me.”
“This bathroom is secure.”
“Someone just tried to open the door!”
“They failed.”
“That is not comforting!”
For one strange second, his mouth twitched.
Then another man appeared.
Tall.
Black suit.
Earpiece.
Blood across his collar.
“Boss.”
Mateo relaxed slightly.
“Luca.”
The stranger looked at me.
Then at Mateo’s shirtless body.
Then at the destroyed bedroom.
“Who is she?”
“Catering.”
I raised a hand.
“Unfortunately.”
Luca stared.
Mateo said, “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“You were.”
Luca cleared his throat.
“The east corridor is secure. Two attackers down. One escaped.”
Mateo’s expression turned cold.
“Security footage?”
“Looped.”
“Inside help?”
“Almost certainly.”
Then Luca looked at me.
“The master key. Who gave it to you?”
“Sarah.”
“Last name?”
“Nguyen.”
He checked his phone.
His face changed.
“She clocked out at 4:47.”
“That’s impossible.”
I stared at him.
“She was scheduled until seven.”
“She left sixteen minutes before the shooting.”
“No.”
Mateo watched me.
“When did she give you the key?”
“Two twenty.”
“Did she tell you which room?”
“714.”
“Did she walk you to the service elevator?”
“Yes.”
Mateo and Luca exchanged a look.
I hated it instantly.
“What?”
Neither answered.
“What are you not telling me?”
Mateo looked toward the suite entrance.
“Room 714 wasn’t vacant.”
“But Sarah said—”
“The entire floor was cleared yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“For me.”
Everything inside me went cold.
The restricted floor.
The service elevator.
The master key.
The crooked room number.
I whispered, “Someone changed the plaque.”
Mateo didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
I looked at him.
“I wasn’t supposed to find an empty room.”
“No.”
“I was supposed to end up in yours.”
Luca’s expression told me the answer before Mateo could.
Suddenly, my accidental mistake didn’t feel accidental anymore.
And the terrifying question wasn’t why somebody had tried to kill Mateo Valente.
May you like
It was why somebody had gone to so much trouble to put me beside him when they did.
---
