Chapter 3 - Blood on the Marble
By evening of the third day, the Falcone estate was on total lockdown.
The failed hit on Salem had sent shockwaves through the Chicago underworld. Rumors were circulating that there was a traitor at the highest level of the organization—someone who had fed the Moretti family the exact route of Salem’s armored transport.
Mattie kept her head down, scrubbing baseboards, polishing crystal, and delivering Salem’s meals behind closed doors. Every night, under the cover of darkness, she inspected his wound. The sutures were holding, thanks to her meticulous care and the sterile bandages she secretly laundered and changed.
Between them, an unspoken rhythm had formed. They barely spoke during these midnight treatments, but the silence had transformed from hostile suspicion into an intoxicating, electric intimacy. Salem would sit silently on the edge of his bed, watching her face as her gentle, capable fingers pressed against his skin. He noticed the way she bit her lip when she concentrated. He noticed the soft rose flush that crept up her cheeks whenever his breath brushed against her bare neck.
And Mattie noticed the way his gaze burned into her. She had spent her entire adult life feeling invisible or undesirable—too heavy, too plain, too burdened. But under Salem Falcone’s predatory, intense gray eyes, she felt seen in a way that terrified and thrilled her.
On the fifth afternoon, the peace shattered.
Mattie was dusting the grand library on the second floor when she heard muffled voices behind the ornamental bookcases.
"...the boss is healing, but he’s weak on the left side," a low, nervous voice whispered. It was Toby, the young runner who had escorted Mattie on her first day. "I saw the maid carrying extra linens with iodine stains. The window of opportunity is tonight during the dinner."
"Make sure the back terrace doors are unlatched at midnight," another voice replied—Victor Vance’s lieutenant. "The Moretti hit squad will finish what the highway ambush started."
Mattie held her breath, her heart slamming against her ribs like a caged bird. She pressed her back against the mahogany shelf, barely daring to breathe until the heavy footfalls receded down the hallway.
*Toby. It was Toby.*
She didn't hesitate. She abandoned her feather duster, gathered her skirts, and ran straight toward the east wing.
She burst into Salem’s private office without knocking.
Frank was inside, pouring a glass of scotch, while Salem stood over a tactical map of Chicago’s shipping ports. Both men froze as Mattie slammed the double doors shut and leaned against them, chest heaving.
"Mattie," Frank barked, outraged. "You do not enter without—"
"Shut up, Frank," Mattie gasped, pointing a finger toward the corridor. "You have a leak. It’s Toby. And Victor is backing him."
The room plunged into absolute zero.
Salem straightened slowly, his eyes narrowing into cold slits of steel. "Explain. Now."
Mattie laid out every word she had overheard behind the library shelves: the mention of the unlatched terrace doors, the midnight strike, the Moretti hit team.
Frank’s face went white. "Toby’s father was a loyal capo for twenty years. It's impossible."
"Greed makes everything possible," Salem said coldly. He didn't question Mattie for a second. He walked over to her, stopping inches away. His hand reached out, his long fingers cupping her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over her trembling lower lip.
"You could have stayed silent," Salem murmured, his voice rich and low. "You could have packed your bags and run before the gunfire started."
"And let them kill you?" Mattie’s voice shook, but her eyes were steady. "I didn't spend three nights patching your stubborn hide just to let some two-bit traitor shoot you in your sleep."
A slow, devastating smile curved Salem’s lips. It transformed his harsh, terrifying face into something breathtakingly handsome.
"Frank," Salem commanded without looking away from Mattie. "Double the perimeter guards on the east wing. Leave the terrace doors unlatched, exactly as planned. We’re going to welcome our guests."
He turned back to Mattie, his hand lingering on her neck, feeling the rapid, fluttery beat of her pulse. "Tonight, you stay in my room. Under my protection."
"I have work to—"
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"That wasn't a suggestion, Mattie," Salem said, his voice dropping into a possessive growl that sent shivers straight down her spine. "From this moment on, you belong at my side."
***
