Chapter 7 - Blood on the Marble
The chaos in the grand foyer erupted in a fraction of a second.
Before the masked intruders could even steady their sights, Gabriel moved with terrifying, predatory speed. He didn't flinch, scream, or hesitate; he grabbed Tessa by the waist, shoving her forcefully behind a thick marble structural pillar just as the first round of gunfire shattered the decorative glass chandelier above them.
Glass rained down like deadly crystal hail, exploding across the imported Italian floor.
“Stay down!” Gabriel barked, drawing a sleek, suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster with fluid precision.
From the side corridors, Rocco and two other armed enforcers materialized instantly, returning fire with ruthless efficiency. The air filled with the deafening roar of automatic gunfire, the sharp smell of cordite and burning gunpowder mixing with the lemon polish on the floor.
Tessa pressed herself flat against the cold marble pillar, her hands clamped over her ears, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had spent eleven months cleaning up the aftermath of this brutal world, but experiencing it firsthand—the sheer, violent brutality of the Chicago underworld—was entirely different.
Across the foyer, one of Morales’s hitmen dropped his weapon, clutching a bleeding shoulder as Rocco tackled him hard against the oak paneling, disarming him with a brutal sweep of his boot.
The remaining two intruders began backing toward the massive front doors, realizing their element of surprise had completely failed.
Gabriel stepped out from behind the pillar, his posture completely composed, his pistol raised with steady, unblinking accuracy. He fired two controlled shots into the floor directly in front of the retreating gunmen’s boots, splintering the hardwood and stopping them dead in their tracks.
“Tell Victor Morales,” Gabriel’s voice rang out across the smoky foyer, cold enough to freeze blood, “that if he ever sends amateurs into my home again, I won't just kill his men. I’ll dismantle his entire operation down to the last brick.”
The intruders didn't hesitate; they threw down their remaining smoke canisters, scrambled through the shattered front doors, and vanished into the snowy Chicago afternoon.
The smoke cleared slowly, drifting upward toward the ruined chandelier.
Gabriel lowered his pistol, sliding it smoothly back into his holster. He turned around and walked back toward the marble pillar where Tessa was still trembling slightly against the wall.
He extended a steady hand down toward her.
Tessa looked up at his outstretched hand—the same hand that had wired two hundred thousand dollars to save her brother, the same hand that commanded syndicates and signed death warrants, the same hand that had just shielded her from a hail of bullets.
Slowly, she placed her hand in his, and he pulled her up to her feet with practiced ease.
“Are you injured?” Gabriel asked, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of harm.
May you like
“No,” Tessa whispered, her voice shaking slightly as she brushed a piece of glass from her gray uniform sleeve. “I’m fine.”
Gabriel nodded slowly, his expression softening just a fraction before returning to its characteristic mask of absolute control. “This is why I told you to stay away from the estate, Miss Harper. The war has arrived at our doorstep.”
