Chapter 10 - Dawn on the Bay
The first rays of the Florida sunrise cut horizontally across Biscayne Bay, painting the horizon in streaks of brilliant amber and violet as the last police cruiser pulled out of the underground garage with its lights flashing silently.
The garage was empty now, save for the hum of the ventilation fans and the distant smell of salt air drifting in from the docks.
Matteo and I stood by the stone railing of the penthouse balcony upstairs, looking out over the glittering water. The emergency strobe lights had been shut off, replaced by the warm, natural morning light flooding through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
He held a mug of black coffee in one hand, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. He hadn't shaved, his clothes were still creased from the chaos of the night, and he looked older than his years—yet for the first time since I had walked through those elevator doors twelve hours ago, the shadow behind his eyes seemed to have lifted.
“You saved my life twice in one night,” Matteo said quietly, not looking at me, his gaze fixed on a charter boat cutting a white wake across the bay. “And you didn't even charge me overtime.”
“My hourly rate doubles after midnight,” I replied, taking a small sip of my own coffee. “And hazard pay covers minor things like shootouts and mafia family reunions.”
Matteo finally turned his head, a genuine, rare smile touching the corners of his mouth—the first time I had ever seen him look like a man instead of a fortress.
“The agency called my phone about an hour ago,” he said. “They wanted to know if you were available for tonight’s shift.”
I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the glass railing. “And what did you tell them?”
“I told them you quit,” Matteo said smoothly. “I told them your services had been retained on a permanent, exclusive contract by the Vescari estate—at a salary that makes your landlord’s rent demands look like pocket change.”
“Is that right?” I crossed my arms, trying to keep a straight face. “And what are my duties under this new contract?”
Matteo set his coffee mug down on the ledge, turned to face me fully, and stepped close enough that I could feel the clean scent of cedar and morning air radiating off his skin.
“Insomnia management,” he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “And making sure I never sleep alone again.”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a text from the staffing agency or a frantic reminder from my landlord.
Instead, it was a bank notification: a direct wire transfer clearing three months of back rent, wiping out my mother’s medical storage debt, and leaving a balance so large it made my head spin. Attached was a single note from an unlisted routing number: Retainer received.
I looked back up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, realizing that the man who owned the Miami underworld had just tied his entire future to a hospice aide from Hialeah.
May you like
“You’re impossible, Matteo Vescari,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek. “Now go to sleep, Elena. I’ll keep watch.”
