Chapter 4 - The Price of ProtectionThe small dining room was far more intimate than the grand hall upstairs. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting warm, dancing shadows across the linen tablecloth. Soft jazz played from concealed speakers, creating an atmosphere that felt remarkably like a high-end restaurant—except there were armed guards stationed discreetly outside the double doors.
Mateo poured two glasses of deep, ruby-red Barolo wine. He handed one to me, his fingers briefly brushing mine. The electric charge that passed between us was instant, making my breath hitch.
“To survival,” Mateo said, raising his glass.
“To survival,” I echoed, taking a small sip. The wine was velvet-smooth, warming my chest.
We ate in relative silence for the first few minutes, enjoying the fresh pasta and rich tomato sauce. Mateo ate with refined, quiet grace, but his focus never entirely left me.
“We received an update from Rico this afternoon,” Mateo began, setting his fork down. “Marco has been dealt with. He was picked up by his superiors in the North Side crew after Rico dropped him off. It turns out Marco was skimming money from his own boss to pay for his lavish lifestyle and his tracking operations against you.”
I froze, my fork hovering over my plate. “What did they do to him?”
“His own people put him in a federal correctional facility,” Mateo said calmly. “They turned over evidence of his fraud to the FBI to save their own skins. Marco will be spending the next fifteen to twenty years in a maximum-security prison. He will never touch you again, Elena. He will never even be able to send a message.”
A massive wave of relief washed over me, so strong that my eyes welled with tears once more. The shadow that had hung over my life for two long years was finally gone. Truly gone. I was free.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I don't know how I can ever repay you for this, Mateo. I don't have money, but… I can work. I can work in your kitchens, I can clean, I can—”
“Elena, stop,” Mateo interrupted, his voice dropping into that deep, commandingly soft tone. He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine, his thumb softly stroking the back of my knuckles. “I did not do this to buy a servant.”
I looked up, meeting his intense grey gaze. “Then why? Why go through all this trouble for a girl you didn't know?”
Mateo was quiet for a long moment. He looked down at our joined hands, his thumb continuing its gentle, rhythmic stroke against my skin.
“When you walked up to my table that afternoon,” Mateo said softly, “you were terrified. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely function. But when that bastard walked through the door, you didn't run. You didn't hide. You stood your ground, even when you thought no one was coming to save you.”
He looked back up, his eyes burning with a dark, intense heat that made my heart race for an entirely different reason.
“I have spent my entire life surrounded by people who hide behind power, money, and guns,” Mateo continued. “I have rarely seen true, unyielding courage. You have a quiet strength inside you, Elena Gomez. From the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to protect that strength. And I knew I wanted you in my life.”
My breath caught in my throat. The dining room seemed to shrink until there was nothing left in the world except the crackle of the fire, the warmth of his hand, and the heavy, intoxicating pull between us.
“Mateo…” I whispered. “Your world… it’s dangerous. I just escaped violence. I don't know if I can live in the shadows.”
“I do not ask you to live in the shadows,” Mateo said fiercely, his grip tightening gently around my hand. “I ask you to let me stand in front of you so the shadows never reach you again. I build walls around what is mine, Elena. If you stay with me, you will never be hunted again. You will be cherished. You will be safe.”
I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the dangerous, ruthless mafia boss who ruled Chicago with an iron fist, but I also saw the man who had tasted my sauce, who had protected my sister without asking for credit, and who held my hand as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
“What if I want to open my own restaurant someday?” I asked softly, a tiny, hopeful smile touching my lips. “What if I don't want to just stay inside this mansion?”
May you like
Mateo smiled—a full, breathtaking smile that transformed his stern face into something strikingly handsome.
“Then I will buy you the finest building in downtown Chicago,” Mateo promised without missing a beat. “And I will sit at Table 17 every single afternoon just to watch you work.”
