⋆Star⭑

Don't blame me chapter 4

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of blood and death, grief, mafia,

Dove had been in Matt's estate for exactly three hours and forty-two minutes.

Not that she was counting.

Okay, she was counting.

The place was enormous. Every hallway seemed to lead to another hallway. Every room looked like something out of a magazine. Dark wood, expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking acres of land.

It was beautiful.

And intimidating as hell.

Dove stood in the guest room, staring at the last of her belongings she'd unpacked.

Some clothes

Her favorite sweater.

A framed photograph.

A necklace that had belonged to her mother.

That was all she'd brought.

The realization settled heavily in her chest.

This wasn't a visit.

She was hiding.

Living out of a guest room while trying to figure out who murdered her parents.

Years ago she'd had a home.

A family.

Now she had questions.

And grief.

Lots of fucking grief.

A knock sounded against the open guest room door.

She looked up.

Matt stood there.

Black dress shirt.

Sleeves rolled up.

One hand resting against the doorframe.

"You settled in?"

"As settled as someone can be when they're living in a mansion."

His mouth twitched.

"It's not a mansion."

Dove laughed.

"You're insane."

"It's an estate."

"It's a mansion."

"It's an estate."

"Its twice the size of my estate."

That earned the smallest smile.

Matt glanced toward her unpacked bag.

"You need anything?"

"I'm good."

He nodded.

"I'll be in my office."

"Working?"

"When am I not?"

Fair point.

Matt started walking away before pausing.

"If you need anything, come find me."

Dove crossed her arms.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"What if I get lost?"

A rare amusement flashed across his face.

"Then definitely come find me."

She smiled despite herself.

Then he disappeared down the hallway.

---

After twenty minutes of staring at the walls, Dove decided she couldn't sit still anymore.

She wandered.

And wandered.

And wandered some more.

The estate seemed endless.

She found a sitting room.

A music room.

A balcony overlooking the property.

A dining room that could seat twenty people.

Who the hell needed a table that big?

Eventually she found herself standing in front of a pair of massive wooden doors.

One was slightly open.

The library.

"Oh my God."

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.

Ladders.

Leather-bound books.

New books.

Old books.

Hundreds.

Maybe thousands.

It reminded her of the library in the beauty and the beast.

Without thinking she stepped inside.

The smell hit her immediately.

Paper.

Wood.

Coffee.

Comfort.

For the first time all day, she felt herself relax.

Maybe because books had always been her safe place.

Even after her parents died.

Especially after.

She wandered slowly through the shelves.

Running her fingers across spines.

Fantasy.

History.

Politics.

Business.

Psychology.

Everything.

Apparently Matt collected books like she did.

Which felt strangely personal.

Most people saw the blood.

The power.

The money.

They didn't imagine him spending evenings reading.

But here was proof.

A smile tugged at her lips.

Who are you, Matt?

Her attention landed on a title near the top shelf.

One she'd been looking for for months.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Of course it was on the highest shelf imaginable.

Dove stretched upward.

Nothing.

She stood on her tiptoes.

Still nothing.

She reached again.

A little higher.

Almost—

A hand appeared beside hers.

Large.

Tanned.

Strong.

The book slid effortlessly from the shelf.

Dove froze.

Her heart nearly launched itself out of her chest.

Before she could react, the person behind her stepped closer.

Close enough that she caught the familiar scent of cedar and expensive cologne.

Matt.

Slowly she turned.

And suddenly there was almost no space between them.

The breath caught in her throat.

Blue eyes.

That was her first coherent thought.

She'd forgotten how blue they were.

The kind that had probably been the last thing plenty of men saw before they died.

Matt was looking down at her.

The book still in his hand.

Neither of them spoke.

Dove became painfully aware of everything.

How close he was.

How broad his shoulders were.

The warmth radiating from him.

The way her pulse had completely lost its mind.

For a second she thought he looked just as caught off guard as she felt.

Then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips.

Shit.

The realization hit like a truck.

Tension filled the space between them.

Thick.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

And neither of them moved.

A heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Matt cleared his throat.

The sound seemed to break whatever had settled between them.

His jaw tightened slightly.

Then he held out the book.

"You looked like you were struggling."

Dove accepted it.

Trying very hard not to notice their fingers brushing.

"I had it handled."

"You absolutely did not."

She rolled her eyes.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Just barely.

And somehow that was worse than if he'd smiled fully.

Because it felt rare.

Like something only a few people ever got to see.

---

They spent the next hour talking in the library.

Not about her parents.

Not about death.

Not about investigations.

Just talking.

Books.

Childhood memories.

Things they'd missed while growing up apart.

Dove learned Matt read constantly.

Matt learned Dove could spend an entire day inside a bookstore.

At one point she caught herself laughing.

A real laugh.

The kind she hadn't heard from herself in weeks.

Then guilt slammed into her immediately.

Her smile faded.

Matt noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Nothing seemed to escape him.

"You okay?"

Dove stared down at the book in her lap.

No.

Not even remotely.

Her parents were dead.

Someone had murdered them.

She still woke up expecting to hear her mother's voice.

She still reached for her phone wanting to call her father.

Every day felt like she was drowning.

It didn't matter how long ago they had died. She was convinced dove would always feel like this. Grief doesn't go away it just gets better.

But saying that out loud felt impossible.

So she nodded.

"I'm fine."

Matt didn't call her out on the lie.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because she knew he knew.

The silence stretched.

Then quietly he said,

"You don't have to pretend with me."

Dove swallowed.

Hard.

Her throat suddenly felt tight.

Matt looked away first.

Giving her an escape.

Giving her room to breathe.

A gentleman.

Always a gentleman.

Even with blood on his hands.

Even with bodies buried somewhere in his past.

The contradiction made her head spin.

How could someone be both?

How could someone be dangerous enough to make grown men terrified...

And kind enough to make sure she felt safe?

The answer scared her.

Because she was starting to care.

And caring got people hurt.

---

Later that evening Matt was called away for business.

Dove heard fragments while passing his office.

Raised voices.

Discussions about shipments.

Territory.

Money.

The kinds of conversations that reminded her exactly who he was.

A mafia boss.

A dangerous man.

A man capable of ordering deaths.

And yet when she walked past the office doorway, Matt looked up from his desk immediately.

His expression softened the second he saw her.

"You need something?"

The question came instantly.

As if whatever criminal empire he was running could wait.

Dove smiled.

"No."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You got lost again."

"Maybe."

A rare laugh escaped him.

Low and warm.

God help her.

She liked that sound.

Far too much.

And as she walked away, heading back toward the guest room, one terrifying thought followed her the entire way.

For the first time since her parents died...

She felt safe.

But she wouldn't allow herself to feel that way for long. Feeling safe means being vulnerable. Dove learned early in life that in the world she lived in vulnerability would get her killed.