Chapter 8 - The Matriarch’s Resolve
Gabriel immediately stood up, the softness vanishing from his posture as the mafia Don took control.
“How many?”
“At least thirty,” Marco replied grimly. “Heavily armed. They know our estate’s perimeter security protocols. Someone sold them the schematics.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice. “The security codes were only known by three people outside this house. One was Serena. Who were the other two?”
“One was Councilman Davis. The other...” Marco hesitated, casting a quick glance in my direction. “The other was your cousin, Victor.”
Gabriel let out a low, humorless laugh that sent chills down my arms. “Victor. Of course. Greed always runs in the family.”
He turned to Marco. “Activate the inner courtyard traps. Have snipers set on the roof parapets. I want every man in this perimeter on full lethal engagement. No survivors.”
“Understood.” Marco gave a sharp nod and hurried down the corridor.
I stood up, walking toward Gabriel. I was no longer the fragile, terrified girl who had signed divorce papers five years ago. Motherhood had forged me in fire. Raising three boys alone on a modest salary in an unfamiliar town had made me stronger than he could ever imagine.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked firmly.
Gabriel looked at me, surprise flickering across his features before settling into profound respect.
“I need you to protect our sons,” he said. “In the sub-level wine cellar, there is a vault behind the third barrel rack. It has its own oxygen supply, reinforced titanium walls, and rations for three weeks. If the perimeter falls—”
“The perimeter will not fall,” I interrupted, stepping directly into his personal space and resting my hand against his uninjured chest. “You are Gabriel Romano. You fought your way to the top of this city. You are not dying tonight, and neither are our children.”
Gabriel stared at me, a slow, fierce pride igniting in his gray-green eyes. He took my face in both hands and kissed me hard, deep, and without hesitation.
It was a kiss of blood, survival, and reignited devotion.
“I will burn this city to the ground before I let anyone take you from me again,” he vowed against my lips.
Then he reached into a drawer, pulled out a small, sleek chrome revolver, and placed it into my hands.
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“Keep the safety on until you see a face you don't recognize,” he commanded. “If anyone comes through that cellar door who isn't me or Marco... empty the cylinder into their chest.”
***
