Chapter 1 - THE FOUR LITTLE GIRLS UNDER MY TABLE
Four terrified little girls hid beneath my table and begged me to pretend I was their father after a powerful businessman tried to force their mother into marrying him. He thought he could intimidate a helpless single mother and her daughters, but he had no idea the stranger they'd chosen was Alexander Hayes, the one man Chicago's most dangerous criminals knew better than to threaten.
I was halfway through my coffee when a tiny hand grabbed my ankle.
I looked down.
Four little girls were crouched beneath my table, wearing matching navy-blue coats and cream ribbons. Their faces told four different stories: fear, anger, desperation, and tears.
The smallest couldn't have been older than five.
"Please, mister," she whispered. "Don't tell him we're here."
"Don't tell who?"
She pointed toward the café entrance.
A tall man in an expensive suit stood beside a beautiful auburn-haired woman. Two men hovered behind them.
The woman looked composed, but her eyes were frantic.
"That's our mommy," one girl whispered.
"And that's Mr. Mercer," another said, her voice trembling. "He wants to be our new daddy."
I frowned. "Isn't that something your mother should decide?"
The oldest girl shook her head fiercely.
"Mommy keeps saying no. But he won't listen."
My expression hardened.
"He told her nobody respects a woman raising four daughters alone," another girl explained.
"He said our family was embarrassing," the third added.
Then the smallest spoke.
"He said if Mommy doesn't marry him, he'll make sure she loses everything."
I stopped breathing for a moment.
I'd heard threats like that before.
I'd made a few myself.
My name is Alexander Hayes. In Chicago, people whispered it behind locked doors. I owned businesses, controlled territory, and commanded loyalty from men who feared almost nothing.
But these children didn't recognize me.
They only saw a stranger who might help.
"Please," the smallest whispered, pulling my sleeve. "Can you pretend you're our daddy? Just until he goes away?"
I thought of my son, Ethan.
After his mother died, I'd watched him cry himself to sleep, terrified someone else he loved might disappear.
No child deserved that fear.
I leaned closer.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Lily."
"Well, Lily, come sit beside me."
Her eyes widened. "You'll do it?"
I nodded.
"All four of you."
For the first time, she smiled.
Then a man's voice cut through the café.
"THERE YOU ARE!"
Mercer was marching toward us.
"Girls! Get away from that stranger immediately!"
Lily grabbed my hand.
I gently lifted her onto my lap.
Mercer stopped beside our table, his face turning red.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
I calmly took another sip of coffee.
Then I looked him straight in the eyes.
"Funny," I said quietly. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Behind him, one of his bodyguards finally recognized me.
His face went white.
"Sir," he whispered urgently, grabbing Mercer's arm. "We need to leave. Right now."
Mercer jerked away.
"Why?"
The bodyguard leaned close and whispered my name.
And suddenly, the man who had terrorized four little girls looked absolutely terrified.
But what happened when their mother approached our table was something even I never saw coming.
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The woman stopped three feet from my table.
Her eyes moved from Lily on my lap to the three girls clustered beside my chair.
Then she looked at me.
The color drained from her face.
"Alexander?"
I knew that voice.
Eleven years had passed since I'd heard it.
But some voices don't disappear from a man's memory.
They simply wait.
"Claire?"
She covered her mouth.
For one impossible second, I was twenty-nine again, standing outside a hospital in the rain, listening to a young woman tell me she couldn't stay in my world.
Claire Bennett.
The nurse who had once saved my life.
The woman I'd spent eleven years trying not to remember.
And now she was standing in front of me with four frightened daughters.
Mercer looked between us.
"You know this man?"
Claire didn't answer.
She was staring at my face.
Then Lily tugged my sleeve.
"Mister Alexander?"
I looked down.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
She pointed at her mother.
"Why is Mommy crying?"
I lifted my eyes.
Claire had tears running down her cheeks.
But she wasn't looking at me anymore.
She was looking at the oldest girl.
A girl with dark brown eyes.
My mother's eyes.
And suddenly, a terrible possibility entered my mind.
"Claire," I whispered.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Not here.
Not now.
But it was too late.
Because I had already started counting.
Eleven years.
May you like
Four daughters.
And one secret she'd carried into a Chicago café.
