64

64
One of the guards leaned closer to the other, lowering his voice but not enough to hide it from Silas.

“Hm. Mr. Woods is drunk up there,” he muttered. His eyes slid over Silas with a slow, mocking grin. “Maybe he did order this one. He looks pretty good.”

The other guard chuckled under his breath. “Could be. Wouldn’t be the first time he changed his mind.”

They both turned back to Silas, their smirks making his stomach twist.

“Get in,” one of them said at last, stepping aside and pulling the heavy door open.

Silas’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. He swallowed, forcing his legs to move past them, even though shame and nerves burned in his chest.

He stepped inside, the door shutting behind him with a dull thud that echoed in the dark space ahead.

Silas clenched his fists at his sides, his chest aching as the guards’ laughter still rang in his ears. Whatever humiliation I’m taking… it’s for you, Mateo Woods, he told himself. I just came to fix things.

He took a shaky step forward when the sound of heels clicked against the marble.

A woman appeared from another corridor, her perfume hitting the air before she did. She stopped when her eyes landed on him, her red lips curving into a sly smile.

“Oh,” she purred, tilting her head. “Another one?” Her gaze dragged over him like she was sizing him up. “He’s upstairs. If you’re his… entertainment, you’d better hurry before he passes out completely.”

Silas froze, his face heating. “I’m not—”

But she wasn’t listening. She reached into a box she carried and pulled out a mask, sleek and dark, pressing it into his hand with a smirk.

“Here. He likes them in masks.”

The mask felt heavy in his palm, his heart thundering at the implication.

He stood there, speechless, the woman brushing past him as if he were nothing more than another hired body for the night.

Silas climbed the stairs slowly, the mask still clutched in his hand, his chest tight with every step.

The air grew heavier the higher he went, the muffled sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears.

At the top, he found the door ajar. He pushed it gently, and there—

Mateo.

His back was to him, broad shoulders bare, skin.

His shirt lay discarded on the floor, and his dark hair was a mess, like he’d been dragging his hand through it all night. A bottle sat half-empty on the table beside him.

Silas’s breath caught.

“This is it,” he whispered to himself, his throat thick. He squeezed the mask in his palm until it bit into his skin. “Maybe after today… we’ll go our own way.”

His jaw tightened, anger mixing with the ache in his chest. “I’m still so mad at you, Mateo,” he muttered under his breath.

And yet… his feet kept moving closer.

Silas slid the mask over his face, the fabric pressing tight against his skin.

His hands trembled as he lifted a tray with a glass of water from the table downstairs, balancing it carefully. He needs to be sober first, he told himself, forcing steady breaths.

When he stepped into the room, his heart raced so hard it almost drowned his own voice. He lowered his tone, roughened his accent, and spoke.

“Your water, sir…”

Mateo turned, his dark eyes bloodshot, his jaw tight. His gaze sharpened when it landed on Silas, the mask hiding every hint of who he was.

“Who the hell let you in?” Mateo snapped, his voice harsh, the kind that could cut straight through skin. “I thought I fucking said I wanted to be alone.”

The words slammed into Silas harder than he expected.

His grip on the tray faltered, the glass trembling with his hands. Behind the mask, his eyes stung, though he forced himself not to let it show.

He flinched, shoulders shrinking in against the weight of Mateo’s rage.

Mateo’s glare lingered on the stranger’s trembling hands, the way his shoulders folded in on themselves at his words.

Something in that flinch—was familiar it sent a jolt through him.

He narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer. “Wait…” he muttered under his breath.

Before Silas could retreat, Mateo’s hand shot out, fingers curling in his hair. He yanked him forward, the tray clattering to the floor, water splashing across the carpet.

Silas gasped, his heart lurching as Mateo’s other hand tore the mask away.

The fabric slipped, and there he was—

Mateo froze, staring down at the face he thought he’d lost. His grip loosened just enough for his fingers to slide from Silas’s hair, but he didn’t step back.

“Silas,” he breathed, his voice breaking.

Silas, eyes wide, stood frozen, caught between wanting to bolt and wanting to collapse right there in his arms.

Mateo staggered back a step, the mask dangling from his hand. His chest rose and fell sharply, eyes locked on Silas as if he didn’t dare blink. Then, all at once, the tension in his body broke.

He dropped to his knees.

Head tilted up, eyes glassy, he looked at Silas like a man who’d been starving and suddenly saw food laid out before him. “Am I… am I seeing things,” his voice cracked, “or are you really here?”

Silas’s throat tightened. He’d never seen Mateo like this—stripped of arrogance, of that untouchable confidence.

Mateo’s hands curled into fists against his thighs, knuckles white. “Why did you ask me to leave you?” His voice was raw, almost childlike, a yearning ache spilling out of him. “Do you know what it did to me, Silas? Do you know how pathetic I’ve become without you?”

The powerful Mateo Woods, now on the floor, looking up at him like a broken boy.

Mateo’s broad shoulders shook as he stayed on his knees, head still tilted up toward Silas. His jaw was tight, but the tears betrayed him—slipping .

A powerful mafia alpha, feared by everyone, was crying. Crying over him.

“I can order men to be killed with a single call… I can crush empires with a pen… but I can’t stop crying over you, Silas.”

He pressed his palms flat against the carpet, bowing forward like the weight in his chest had grown. “I don’t care if it makes me pathetic. I don’t care if the world sees me on my knees. I’d burn it all just to have you look at me the way you used to.”

His breathing caught,between a sob and a groan. “Why? Why did you push me away? Why do you hate me enough to leave me bleeding like this? I can’t—” he choked, tears falling harder, “I can’t stop yearning for you.”