Chapter 8 - Echoes of the Past
Back at the Tribeca penthouse, life had settled into a fragile, cautious routine. Lily was eating regularly now, her cheeks regaining their natural color, and she even managed a small, shy smile when Gabriel brought home a massive golden retriever puppy named Barnaby.
The sight of the terrifying mob boss sitting on the living room floor trying to teach a golden retriever puppy how to sit was something I knew I would never, ever capture in a photograph—mostly because I valued my life too much to try.
One evening, while Lily was asleep upstairs and the penthouse was bathed in quiet twilight, Gabriel and I sat on the private terrace overlooking the Hudson River.
The wind was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and salt water.
"You never talk about your wife," I said softly, staring out at the distant lights of the New Jersey shoreline. "Sarah."
Gabriel’s fingers tightened around his glass of scotch. For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't answer—that I had crossed a line reserved only for his darkest memories.
"Sarah wasn't part of this world," Gabriel finally spoke, his voice unusually raw. "She was an architect. Bright, stubborn, completely unimpressed by my money or my reputation. When I met her, I tried to keep her away from the syndicate. I thought if I kept my two lives separate, she would be safe."
"And she wasn't?"
"You can't partition your soul, Claire," Gabriel said bitterly. "Eventually, the darkness bleeds through the cracks. The ambush that killed her... it wasn't just a random hit by Moretti. It was a message. Because I was trying to transition the syndicate out of the violent rackets and into legitimate real estate."
"And they thought you were weak," I finished.
"They thought mercy was a virus," Gabriel agreed. He turned his dark eyes toward me, the city lights reflecting off the irises. "For three years after she died, I lived on autopilot. I ran the empire, I protected the business, but I forgot how to actually live. Until you walked into my foyer with fifteen thousand dollars in mind and told me I was arrogant."
"I believe I called you honest," I corrected with a slight smile. "Arrogant was implied."
May you like
Gabriel let out a low, genuine laugh—a sound that was rare and startlingly warm.
"Guilty as charged."
