Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Garden
I sat on the velvet chaise lounge near the balcony doors, my nerves humming with exhaustion, but sleep was impossible.
Gabriel had disappeared into the private bathroom to wash away the soot and blood. When he returned, he wore only a pair of soft gray sweatpants, a white bandage wrapped tightly around his left shoulder where a bullet graze had torn his flesh.
He handed me a warm mug of chamomile tea with honey. Exactly how I liked it five years ago.
“Drink,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the chaise near my feet. “You’re shaking.”
My hands were indeed trembling around the porcelain. “They tried to kill our sons tonight, Gabriel. Real people with real guns. That was the life I was running from.”
“I know,” he said, looking down at his scarred knuckles. “And you were right to run. If I had known about them, my enemies would have targeted them five years ago when I was fighting a three-front war. But that war is over now, Claire. Vincente Rossi is the last remnant of the old guard.”
“Why does he want them?”
Gabriel’s jaw hardened. “Because according to the Commission's bylaws, an heir secures the Romano family’s control over the entire East Coast shipping ports and financial trusts. Without an heir, my territory would have fractured upon my death. Vincente wanted to kidnap them, force me to sign over our empire, and then eliminate all of us.”
I pulled my knees to my chest. “And Serena?”
“Serena made a deal with Vincente,” Gabriel’s voice turned venomous. “Her family lost their fortune in the real estate crash. Vincente promised her half our assets if she helped deliver my downfall. She hid your pregnancy records because she knew that if I found out I had sons, I would never look at another woman. I would have torn the world apart until I found you.”
I looked at him, searching his exhausted, handsome face. “Would you have?”
Gabriel leaned forward, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. His palm was warm, rough, and familiar, sending an electric shiver straight down my spine.
“I never stopped looking for you, Claire,” he whispered, his eyes dark with an intensity that took my breath away. “I hired every private investigator in North America. But you changed your name, you lived off cash, you kept off the grid. You were brilliant. And every night I spent in this bed alone, I died a little more.”
Our faces were inches apart. The air between us grew thick with unspoken grief and rekindled fire.
Just as his lips hovered over mine, a sharp knock sounded at the heavy oak bedroom door.
Marco stepped into the room, his expression grave.
May you like
“Boss. We intercepted a transmission from Vincente Rossi’s compound in Long Island. He’s not waiting for morning. He’s hired mercenaries from Eastern Europe. They’re moving right now.”
***
