Prrt 2: She shoved my five-year-old daughter for offering a flower at her engagement dinner, until the mafia boss walked in and heard the name the little girl gave for her father.

While Gabriel was underground, I stood in the palatial bathroom of the penthouse suite, washing Lily’s hands and face with fragrant lavender soap.

The contrast was dizzying. Two hours ago, I was kneeling on stone flags, scrubbing spilled red wine out of Vanessa’s silk hem while she hissed insults into my ear. Now, Lily was wrapped in an oversized plush Egyptian cotton towel, giggling as she dipped her toes into a bubble bath that smelled like heaven.

"Mommy?" Lily asked, splashing the water softly.

"Yes, my love?"

"Are we going back to the basement room with the mice?"

Tears burned behind my eyes. I pulled her small, warm body out of the water, wrapping her tightly in the towel and holding her against my chest. "No, baby. We are never going back there. Never again."

A soft knock came at the suite door.

I tensed instinctively—the trauma of the last nine months was a reflex that couldn't be unlearned in an afternoon. But when the door swung open, it wasn't Vanessa or her sneering security guards.

It was Gabriel.

He looked exhausted, his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt cuffs rolled back, but his eyes carried a fierce, protective light. Behind him, two female staff members carried rolling racks filled with brand-new children’s clothing, winter coats, cashmere sweaters, and dresses, along with designer outfits suited for a woman of my exact measurements.

"The boutiques in Manhattan opened their private doors after hours," Gabriel said quietly, stepping into the room. "I had Marcus guess the sizes. If anything doesn't fit, it will be remade by tomorrow afternoon."

"Gabriel, this is too much," I protested, my voice breaking. "You don't owe us this. Just let me take Lily somewhere safe. A small town in Maine, anywhere—"

"You're not going anywhere, Rachel," Gabriel interrupted firmly, walking across the room until he stood barely two feet from me. "For nine months, my brother’s wife and daughter were treated like cattle under my own roof because I was blind. I was mourning Daniel while his killers slept in my bed and drank my vintage scotch."

He reached out and gently touched Lily’s damp hair.

"Vanessa is locked in the west tower," Gabriel continued, his voice hardening. "Her father, Don Moretti, has mobilized forty armed men outside the estate gates. He thinks he can intimidate me into returning his daughter and negotiating a truce."

My breath hitched. "Moretti is here?"

"His cars are parked along the highway line," Gabriel replied calmly, pulling an ornate, heavy steel revolver from a hidden holster beneath his arm and placing it securely on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. "He doesn't know that Frank has already confessed. He doesn't know that Daniel’s micro-SD card contained every bank transaction, every offshore routing number, and every murder order Moretti signed for the past decade."