As Eddie’s footsteps receded, Matt leaned back in his chair, the soft creak of leather a familiar comfort. He allowed himself a rare moment of reflection, his thoughts drifting to Sean. A pang of something akin to guilt tugged at him—slight but unmistakable. He knew the sting of conscience was uncalled for; after all, Sean’s untimely demise was a bed of his own making.
Matt shook his head, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. The audacity Sean had, thinking he could double-cross Matt Caine and live to brag about it. Matt had extended a hand, offering Sean redemption—a chance to straighten out. But instead of slipping into the role of one of the gangsters and feeding information to Matt’s men as planned, Sean saw fit to stuff his pockets with stolen white powder dreams.
Sean’s betrayal stung not just because it jeopardized the entire operation but because he’d dragged Andy into his mess. A mess that could have cost Andy his life. The thought twisted in Matt’s gut like a rusted knife.
The chaos that erupted was the kind of mess that even a vacuum cleaner salesman would admire for its sheer suction power. For a man who seldom blinked at danger, Matt had felt an unfamiliar jolt of fear at the thought of losing Andy—a realization that still had him reeling.
The incident itself ended with a semblance of control; his men turned over the drugs to the authorities as they’d intended. But Carlos slipping through their fingers like sand was a bitterpill to swallow—a reminder that not every victory came with a neat bow.
He swiveled in his chair, gaze sweeping over the panoramic view of Las Vegas below him. His city, where fortunes were won and lost with the flip of a card. Yet amid all this, it was Andy who held stakes high enough to rattle him.
Matt’s heart clenched at the thought—the mere possibility of losing Andy was enough to send waves of cold dread crashing through him. He’d faced down rivals, dodged more legal pitfalls than he cared to count, but nothing—nothing—had ever terrified him as much as the idea of Andy slipping through his fingers.
The realization was sharp and clear: Andy had become more than just another person in his life. The mere idea of Andy being snatched away from him bordered on unbearable—a fear so potent it verged on madness.
The sharp trill of Matt’s phone sliced through the quiet, yanking him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, spotting Tory’s name flashing with insistent urgency.
“Tory,” Matt’s voice was a mix of curiosity and guardedness.
“Matt, just had a little birdie whisper in my ear about that drug deal fiasco. Enlighten me—what on earth transpired with that?” Tory’s voice crackled through, tinged with equal parts concern and curiosity. “And why in blazes didn’t you holler for backup?”
Matt leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I see your network’s as efficient as ever.”
“You know it. But seriously, why didn’t you ask for help?”
“Urgency over protocol,” Matt replied tersely.
A soft chuckle came from Tory. “Your pet’s in the mix, isn’t he? That’s why you’re playing lone wolf.”
The corners of Matt’s mouth tightened. He knew Tory’s men were no strangers to sifting through Vegas’ underbellyfor information. But Andy was off-limits—his fierce spirit something Matt sought to protect, not exploit.
“I’m throwing a dinner party,” Tory continued, undeterred by Matt’s silence. “Bring your pet along, why don’t you?”
“So you can have your fun at his expense?” Matt’s words were ice, protective instincts flaring like neon lights down The Strip.
“Tease him? Hell no,” Tory assured him with an earnestness that almost—almost—had Matt believing him. “The kid lost a friend; he needs to get out, shake off the shadows.”
Matt felt the tension ease from his shoulders just enough for reason to slip through. Tory was right; Andy needed more than just solitude and somber thoughts.
“Fine,” Matt conceded after a moment, reluctance threading through his voice.
Tory’s tone brightened instantly. “Splendid! And tell him to bring some companions too. Don’t want him feeling like a third wheel.”
A sigh escaped Matt’s lips. “Alright, I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Excellent! See you both this weekend, then.” Tory’s cheerfulness was almost contagious.
Matt hung up, staring at the phone for a moment longer before slipping it back into his pocket.
Matt’s office hummed with the kind of efficiency that could make a Swiss watchmaker weep. His desk, an altar to productivity, was a chaotic array of contracts, reports, and high-stakes deals. Calls were made, emails fired off with the precision of a sniper, and every move calculated to maintain his empire’s iron grip on Vegas.
By noon, Matt had already orchestrated three meetings, signed off on a multimillion-dollar acquisition, and ensured the casino’s new VIP lounge would open on schedule. His fingers danced over the keyboard, his mind a whirlwind of numbers and strategies.
Matt had barely looked up when Eddie’s hulking form appeared in the doorway again. Eddie stepped inside, a folder clutched in his meaty hand.
“Got that report you wanted,” Eddie announced, placing it on Matt’s desk.
Matt’s eyes locked on to the folder like a hawk spotting prey. He opened it with deliberate calm, scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. The deeper he delved into Herbert and Miley Weston’s sordid history, the tighter his grip became on the paper. His knuckles turned white against the stark contrast of black ink detailing a nightmare of abuse.
