Matthew Bernard Novels & Stories

It was him. Mateo Santiago.

“You lost the bet, didn’t you? Trying to see if I was an easy catch. Must’ve been fun explaining that to your girlfriend. Although Cherry only has about two brain cells rattling around up there, so maybe she didn’t mind.” I managed to get myself on my feet. Matt’s smirk faltered, just for a second. “Watch it dork, your walking on thin ice.” I stepped closer, glaring up at him. “And don’t you ever get tired of playing with the same toy, Matt? You’re Matthew Brown, ‘the’ Matthew Brown. You’ve got money to burn. Surely you can afford a better target than me. Or did you go broke?” Jake stepped forward. “What did you just say?”

Perhaps because she had no idea I was the man he was speaking to. "Hello, Zach! How’s your meet-up with a friend you met on the internet?" Matthew yelled at me, attempting to get any information from me, and requesting a positive review on the APP. "You don't have to shout at me and tell everyone," I'm irritated. "I’m not announcing anything," he said and sat on the couch, opening his laptop, and checking the app that he created. "I think your software has a lot of flaws," I said, drawing his attention to me.

After the attempted scandal by NYFJ was taken down by Matthew’s brother, Ben, and his amazing hacking skills, life went back to normal for us. Matthew and I were dating, we were happy, Trish was his full-time assistant, and he even comes by to help me with Emile sometimes on his lunch break when I’m babysitting.

Michael pushed on the side of the creaky old warehouse door first, his gun out, his eyes flicking back at me for the signal to proceed. I nodded once. He darted in, forcing his way through, and we trailed after. Inside, the smell of old wood and dust blended with the acrid odour of gasoline cleaner. It was mostly abandoned aside from the crates along the sides that rested haphazard stacks high, labels faded but still readable. Hijacked shipments. Firearms. Probably some drugs. And at the centre, waiting for us like he had been waiting for us, stood Matthew Bernadi. The Don himself. A slow, patronising smile crossed his face as he spun to welcome us, hands carelessly in pockets. His dark eyes

" ​Twisting around, Henri faced his guest. Matthew Smith—corporate raider, self-made millionaire, and currently inquisitive nuisance—was helping himself to a bowl of nuts he’d scavenged from the bar. ​"My assistant," Henri said, swirling the amber whiskey in his glass. ​Matthew had arrived promptly at eleven. The blond, Toronto-born millionaire was never late, and like a predator catching a faint scent, he had cocked his head the moment he spotted Elizabeth nearly in Henri's arms. As she had whispered her goodbye, Henri’s own instincts had flared, signaling that she didn’t truly want to leave. ​But when "The Vagabond of Toronto"—as the press had dubbed Matthew—said he’d deliver, he delivered

Matthew looked at Denver and asked in a sharp voice. Hearing Matthew's words, Denver looked at his father in surprise. He didn't understand how his Father knew that already many companies had objected to working with him on this project. Denver himself didn't want to work with a stupid person like Damien, but when everyone objected to working on his project, he went to Lucian without finding any other way, but Lucian rejected his project plan before he heard it fully.

Morgan must have noticed me studying him because he introduced us right away. “Alex,” he came over to me, leaning close to my ear. “This is Matthew Durand. I was at his house when I heard the news. He drove me down here and insisted on meeting you,” I was stunned for a second, but I regained myself and made my way to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Durand,” I shook his hand firmly. “Please, call me Matthew. I must say, that is one heck of a mate you have,” he complimented. “I’ve known Vance and his notorious acts for a very long time now,”

“Hey, babe.” “Baby,” was Daniella Matthew’s answering croon, as seductive as she was in person. “I thought you were working.” “I am,” he replied because, technically, this was work. “I just wanted to say hi.” There was a breathless laugh. “Hi. What time do you get off?” “I have to stay here for the night, but I will be off at around six. How are you?” “I’m free now.” There was a sigh. “And lonely. Would you like to come over now? Take a break?”

MATTEO RODRIGUEZ Matteo Rodriguez has just gotten back from his morning exercise. His body dripped of sweat and smelt of fresh leaves and of woods. He marched straight to the fridge and grabbed a sachet of packaged blood. He tore it open with one bite and gulped the whole content at a go. He wheezed out air and hissed noisily with a squeezed face. There was nothing better than drinking human blood.