Chapter 3 - The Interrogation by the Fireplace
The grandfather clock in the corner of the grand foyer chimed twice, its deep, resonant bell echoing like a funeral dirge through the sprawling mansion. Gabriel didn’t break eye contact with Clare. The heavy silence stretched out, tightening like a garrotte wire around her throat.
“Leo,” Gabriel said softly, never blinking. “Repeat that.”
Leo shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his collar. He was a man who thrived on control, but standing between Gabriel Russo and his wife when the scent of blood was in the air made even Chicago’s most ruthless second-in-command sweat. “The pavilion logs show Mrs. Russo’s security detail departed with the primary gear convoy, boss. Her transport was... delayed. Security assumed she was coming with the equipment team.”
“Assumed,” Gabriel repeated, the word dripping with lethal sarcasm. He turned his body fully toward Clare, cutting off any escape route to the grand staircase. “And yet, you told me you took a cab, Clare. You told me you flagged down a public taxi outside our gates.”
Clare forced her posture to remain rigid, hiding the white-hot agony radiating from her broken left arm beneath a facade of cool annoyance. She had prepared for this moment the second she decided to walk home instead of waiting for the guards. In the underworld, convenience was suspicious, but defiance was treason.
“I did take a cab, Leo,” Clare said, turning her icy gaze toward the second-in-command with calculated irritation. “Or would you prefer I stood in a freezing blizzard for an hour waiting for your incompetent guards to realize they forgot the boss’s wife?”
Leo raised his hands defensively, offering a tight, diplomatic smile. “Nobody’s saying you were at fault, Mrs. Russo. It was a logistical oversight during the blackout protocol. I’ve already disciplined the transport detail.”
“Save your apologies,” Clare snapped, her tone sharp enough to draw blood. She looked back at Gabriel, letting a flash of authentic anger bleed through her manufactured facade. “Your men left me stranded in sub-zero temperatures, Gabriel. If I hadn’t found a way off that property, I’d still be freezing under that wretched awning. Are you cross-examining me because I dared to find my own way home, or because your security team incompetence is finally coming to light?”
It was a high-stakes gamble. Gabriel Russo did not tolerate backtalk from anyone—least of all a woman he had married as part of a strategic alliance with an old Sicilian family. But arrogance and haughty disdain were armor she wore daily. If she acted too meek, he would smell fear and dig deeper. If she acted too proud, she risked triggering his violent temper.
Gabriel stared down at her, his dark eyes boring into her soul. For three agonizing seconds, she wondered if he would reach out and strike her across the face—something she knew he had done to rivals, though he had never laid a hand on her in violence during their two years of marriage.
Instead, a slow, dangerous smirk touched the corner of his lips.
“You always did have a sharp tongue when you’re freezing, Clare,” Gabriel said quietly, taking a slow step closer. He reached out, his long fingers trailing down the damp wool of her coat until they brushed against her wrist—specifically, her left wrist, right over the hidden fracture beneath her sleeve.
Clare’s breath hitched. Every nerve ending in her body screamed in agony as the pressure threatened to crush the fragile, splintered bone beneath the silk and plaster. She bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted copper, forcing her facial muscles to remain completely slack, refusing to let even a wince escape her lips.
Gabriel’s thumb pressed down for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He felt the unnatural rigidity beneath her sleeve, the stiff, unyielding shape of the hidden cast. His eyes flashed with sudden, razor-sharp awareness.
“You’re shaking,” Gabriel murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing its public edge and becoming something much more intimate—and much more terrifying.
“I’m freezing, Gabriel,” she hissed through clenched teeth, pulling her arm away with a sharp jerk that screamed annoyance rather than pain. “Unlike you, I don't have a roaring fireplace and a private security detail to keep me warm.”
Gabriel watched her retreat a step, his mind clearly turning over the physical data he had just gathered. He knew something was wrong. He knew she was hiding an injury. But before he could corner her further, his secure satellite phone buzzed loudly against the mahogany table.
Leo cleared his throat, pulling out his own device to check an encrypted message. “Boss. The traffic cameras on the main arterial road just picked up the sedan that clipped the streetlight. It crossed the county line toward the docks. The Northside crew.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly from domestic interrogation to an active war zone. The Northside crew—led by Viktor Vance, Gabriel’s bitterest rival in the Chicago syndicate—had been trying to take over the shipping lanes for six months. The shipyard ambush three nights ago had been their handiwork.
Gabriel’s face went completely blank, the mask of the mafia king dropping into place. All thoughts of Clare’s strange walk home, her bleeding feet, and her rigid wrist vanished beneath the overwhelming demand of blood and territory.
“Viktor thinks missing me at the shipyard means he can finish the job in my own backyard,” Gabriel said softly, the calm before a catastrophic storm. He turned his back on Clare, looking toward Leo. “Get the cars. Wake the strike team. We are paying Viktor a visit before sunrise.”
“Boss, it’s a trap,” Leo warned immediately, stepping forward. “The Northside docks are heavily fortified. If they’re moving that car there, they’re waiting for us to retaliate.”
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“Let them wait,” Gabriel replied, walking toward his private study where his arsenal was kept. Over his shoulder, he tossed a final, chilling command without even looking back at his wife. “Clare. Go upstairs. Have the doctor look at those feet before you ruin my floors completely. We aren't finished talking about how you got home.”
The heavy oak doors of the study slammed shut, leaving Clare standing alone in the grand foyer with Leo Vain.
