HUNTER-
Technically, I’ve always known where Mateo Torres lives.
It’s listed in his file. A quiet, upmarket neighborhood in New York’s outer boroughs. I’ve seen pictures–aerial views from Google Earth, a few real estate shots that made their way into background checks. But none of those captured the size of the place. The house isn’t just big. It’s arrogant. A kind of architectural flex that doesn’t ask for respect so much as assume it’s already been given.
I’m in the backseat of my car with the window rolled down. Smoke surrounds me as I blow out another long stream of cigar smoke into the night. Elias, my driver, hasn’t said anything since I asked him to park the car, but I know he’s aware I’m stalling.
And he’s right; I am.
I don’t know what the hell I’m waiting for. Maybe a sign that I should leave. That this whole thing is a waste of time. Or maybe I’m hoping someone will come out of the house and make this decision for me. But the longer I sit here, watching Mateo’s lights go on and off, the more my gut knots.
This isn’t my business. Whatever Knox and Mateo have between them should remain between them. Mateo’s technically my boss now. Asking questions could set things off in a direction I don’t want. I’m not even on good terms with Knox. Why should I care what Mateo plans to do with him?
But curiosity is one of my lifelong curses.
From the front seat, Elias glances at me in the rearview. “Are we waiting for someone, sir?”
I exhale and stub the cigar against the little metal ashtray mounted near the door.
“No,” I say. “I’m going in. Wait for me here. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I open the door and step out. After smoothing my palms down my suit, I head toward the house and knock when I get there.
It’s not long before a member of the staff answers. I introduce myself and tell him I’d like a word with Mr. Torres. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t invite me in. Just nods and closes the door. I’m left standing on the porch, hands in my pockets.
A few minutes pass before the door opens again, and this time, it’s him.
Mateo stands in the threshold, leaning slightly on his cane. He’s dressed in casual slacks and a cashmere sweater.
“Hunter,” he says. “Is something wrong? I wasn’t expecting you.”
I give a half shrug. “I wasn’t sure I’d come either.”
He tilts his head a little, waiting for more explanation. When it’s clear none is coming, he gestures inside. “Come in.”
As soon as I step in, I see a massive black Cane Corso standing just to the left of Mateo’s frame. I hadn’t noticed it before. It must have been tucked in a shadowed corner, but now it’s watching me with dark, unmoving eyes. I stop short.
I don’t hate dogs. I’ve owned a few. But the large ones are not my thing.
Mateo catches my hesitation and smiles. “Patty is harmless.”
“Patty?” I arch a brow, recovering enough to step in fully. “Seems like a mild name for a dog of that size.”
1/3
Chapter 115
He chuckles and gestures for me to follow as he begins walking. “What’d you expect? Shadow? Ghost?”
“More like Death. Or Devil. In Spanish. Maybe Italian.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, he laughs aloud. It almost makes him human in my eyes. Almost. I still think he’s a grumpy alien, though,
We head into a side room–some kind of informal lounge. And I catch sight of a pretty woman curled into one corner of a couch, legs tucked beneath Her curly hair spills over her shoulders. I know that face.
Soraya.
She’s flipping through a magazine like she’s on a spa retreat, but when she spots me, her spine straightens.
“Hunter,” she says, blinking. “What are you doing here?”
I walk further into the room. “I could ask you the same, Soraya. Does your husband know you’re here?”
“Ex–husband. We’re divorced.”
“Right.”
Mateo lowers himself into one of the armchairs, and I settle into a seat across from them, angling slightly so I can see both their faces. Soraya’s initial
1- surprise has worn off. She’s sipping from a glass of lemonade now, the magazine still open on her lap.
“I see you two are acquainted,” Mateo says. “May I offer
you something, Hunter?”
here?”
“I’m okay,” I reply. “If you don’t mind me asking… what is she doin
“I’m right here, you know,” Soraya interjects without looking up. “You could just ask me.”
“I don’t trust you to tell me the truth.”
She snaps the magazine shut and sets it aside. “Why? Have I lied to you before?”
“Okay then,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. “Tell me. Why are you here?”
She leans back. “Mr. Torres reached out to me with news about my family back home. I haven’t heard from them in years. I thought something happened while I was gone. Knox made it sound like my father couldn’t have survived after helping him escape. And without my father… there’s no way to contact them to find out how they’re faring. Mateo brings news from home. He’s going to help me reconnect with them.”
My gaze shifts to Mateo, whose expression is unreadable.
“At what cost?” I ask. “I mean, he must want something, right?”
“Information is the cost. He simply wants me to answer certain questions about Knox.”
“Such as?”
She shrugs. “Little things. Why are you being so inquisitive?”
“So you’re bargaining to give out information about your ex–husband just to get reunited with your family. You could just go home and see them yourself, you know? You’re a permanent resident now.”
“You think if I could do that, I’d be here?”
“It starts by getting a plane ticket.”
“There’s a reason I left home, Hunter,” she says. “The same reason I can’t go back.”
2/3
Chapter 115
I rub a hand over my jaw in frustration. I don’t even know why I’m arguing. Why I care. Maybe because Knox has been my friend for years even if I hate him right now. Maybe because no matter how much I resent what he did, I won’t let him be ambushed like this. Especially not by someone he helped.
I look her square in the eye, “When I leave this house, Soraya, you’re leaving with me. There’s nothing you need from Mateo that Knox can’t give you. If you want information about your family, just ask. Pls aren’t that expensive.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Hunter.”
“Oh, I absolutely can. And trust me, you don’t want to test my patience.”
Her voice sharpens. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the one with common sense, apparently. The one trying to stop you from making a fool of yourself. You weren’t even intimately married. What’s all this scorned woman act for?”
She glares at me. “Not everything is about your friend, Hunter.”
Mateo clears his throat. “People, people,let’s tone it down, shall we?”
I blow out a long breath, trying to cool the heat crawling up my neck. I didn’t even realize I’d gotten this worked up. Somewhere between walking through that door and locking eyes with Soraya, I let myself get dragged into the middle of something that was never supposed to be my business.
At first, when Sloane brought it up at the office–her little theory about Mateo being up to something–I’d brushed it off. I thought she was being dramatic, paranoid maybe. But now? I’m seeing it. There’s a pattern forming in front of me, and it’s not subtle anymore.
Soraya.
Sloane.
Me.
Mateo’s collecting people. For what? That’s what I’d like to know.
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