Chapter 4 - The Target on Her Back
By three in the morning, the tequila had completely worn off, leaving Penny sitting on a plush leather sofa wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket Matthew had given her.
Liam returned to the library, tossing a thick folder onto the mahogany table.
"It was Tommy Vane," Liam said grimly. "The guy in the gray suit. He's on O'Leary's payroll. And worse—he's spreading the word across South Boston that the waitress at the Lantern Room ruined the hit by getting in the way."
Penny sat up, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. "What?!"
"Vane is claiming you deliberately blocked him from tossing a grenade into Cole's booth," Liam explained, glancing at her with a mix of respect and concern. "O'Leary put a fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on your head to close the leak."
Penny felt the air leave her lungs. "A bounty? On me? I'm a waitress! I make twelve dollars an hour plus tips!"
"Not anymore," Matthew said coldly, standing up from his desk. His relaxed demeanor was gone, replaced by the lethal authority that made all of New England fear his name. "No one touches what is under my protection."
"I'm not under your protection!" Penny said, stepping off the couch. "I don't even know you!"
Matthew stepped into her personal space, his tall frame blocking the light from the fireplace.
"You are under my roof, Penny. You took a bullet's path for me, whether you meant to or not. In my world, that makes you mine to safeguard."
"I have a life, Mr. Cole!" Penny snapped, her temper flaring back to life despite her fear. "I have bills, I have a shift on Saturday, I have a dry cleaning bill for this uniform!"
Matthew reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills bound in paper, and tossed it casually onto the coffee table.
"There's ten thousand dollars," Matthew said. "Consider it a retainer. You stay here until I eliminate O'Leary and Tommy Vane. You will have a private suite, whatever food you want, and total security."
Penny looked at the stack of money. It was more than she made in three months of carrying trays. It would pay off her mother's physical therapy debt instantly.
She looked up into Matthew’s calm, dark eyes. "And what do you get out of this?"
May you like
Matthew reached out, his long fingers gently catching a loose strand of her dark hair and tucking it behind her ear. His thumb grazed the soft line of her cheekbone, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down her spine.
"I get to keep you alive," Matthew whispered softly. "And I get to find out why a woman who smells like cheap tequila makes me feel more alive than I have in ten years."
