Chapter 6 - The Fortress in Westchester
The escape from Manhattan was a blur of black armored Suburbans, flashing police sirens in the distance, and Gabriel’s silent men flanking us like an iron wall.
By two in the morning, the heavy wrought-iron gates of the Westchester estate swung open to welcome us.
It was the same estate I had fled five years ago in tears, pregnant and broken-hearted. The towering stone manor, the manicured rose gardens now covered in a light dusting of autumn frost, the sprawling drive lined with ancient oaks.
The car stopped. The boys had finally fallen asleep, exhausted by terror and adrenaline, piled on top of each other in the back seat.
Gabriel stepped out, opening my door. Without a word, he reached in and gently lifted Liam and Caleb into his massive arms, cradling them against his chest with an innate gentleness that defied the bloodstains on his shirt.
I picked up Noah, resting his heavy little head on my shoulder.
We walked inside. The grand foyer was warm, lit by soft golden sconces.
Mrs. Higgins, Gabriel’s elderly housekeeper who had held me while I wept on the night before my divorce, stood waiting with tears shining in her eyes. When she saw the three sleeping boys in our arms, her hands flew to her mouth.
“Oh, dear God in heaven,” she whispered. “Master Gabriel... Miss Claire...”
“Prepare the master suite, Mrs. Higgins,” Gabriel said quietly. “And bring up fresh milk and sandwiches for when they wake up.”
“Right away, sir.”
We walked up the sweeping grand staircase and into the master bedroom. I froze at the threshold.
Nothing had changed.
My vanity table still held my perfume bottles. My silk robe hung on the armchair in the corner. On Gabriel’s nightstand sat a framed silver photograph of our wedding day in Tuscany—the two of us laughing in the rain, my veil caught in the wind.
He had kept it all. For five years.
Gabriel carefully laid Liam and Caleb down on the king-sized bed, pulling the goose-down comforter over them. I set Noah down beside his brothers. The three boys immediately gravitated toward each other, curling into a tangle of small limbs and peaceful breathing.
Gabriel stood at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly as he stared at them.
“I thought I was cursed,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “My father died in the street. My brother died in prison. I thought my bloodline was poison, Claire. That’s why I convinced myself it was better for you to be free of me.”
He turned around to face me, his gray-green eyes reflecting the firelight from the hearth.
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“I had no idea I was leaving behind the only light in this entire godforsaken world.”
***
