Chapter 7 - The Return to the Lion’s Den
Sneaking back into the estate was harder than leaving. The private service stairwell was freezing, the old wooden steps groaning under my boots despite my best efforts to tread lightly. By the time I reached the master suite, my breath was coming in ragged gasps, and the new brace hidden beneath my oversized cashmere sweater throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.
I stripped off my wet parka, tossed the ruined black dress into the hidden incinerator chute behind the walk-in closet, and slipped into a silk robe just as the grandfather clock downstairs struck 4:30 AM.
Scarcely ten minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed down the private hallway outside my door.
The handle turned with a sharp click.
Gabriel walked in, bringing the freezing dampness of the Chicago docks right into the bedroom. His dark overcoat was unbuttoned, stained with a dark, wet splatter that wasn't rain. A faint smell of gunsmoke and expensive scotch hung in the air around him. He looked tired, his sharp cheekbones cast in harsh relief by the blue-white light of the storm outside, but his eyes were wide, alert, and dangerously bright.
He stopped just inside the doorway, his gaze locking onto me as I stood near the edge of the oversized bed, brushing my hair.
“You’re awake,” he noted, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth.
“It’s hard to sleep when your husband decides to wage a private war in the middle of a blizzard,” I replied, turning to face him with a carefully calibrated mix of boredom and irritation. “Did you shoot half of Chicago, or are you just coming home to ruin my carpets again?”
Gabriel didn't smile. He took slow, measured steps toward me, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. He stopped only a foot away, towering over me, his dark eyes searching every inch of my face as if trying to decode a cipher he couldn't quite crack.
“Viktor’s men weren't at the docks,” Gabriel said softly, his voice dropping into that low, velvet register that signaled extreme danger. “We walked into an empty warehouse rigged with a thermal decoy. Someone tipped them off that we were coming.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face an absolute mask of indifference. “Is that supposed to surprise me? Your enemies know how you operate, Gabriel. Maybe your security isn't as airtight as you think.”
“My security is fine,” he countered immediately, his gaze dropping slowly from my eyes down to my left shoulder. He remembered the rigid stance from the foyer earlier. He remembered the way my arm had pulled away too fast.
Without warning, his large, calloused hand reached out, his long fingers wrapping gently—yet inescapably—around my left wrist, right over the new, hidden brace.
A shockwave of white-hot agony flared up my arm, so intense that my vision blurred for a fraction of a second. Every instinct screamed at me to yank my arm away, to cry out, to show weakness.
Instead, I forced my facial muscles to relax. I let out a slow, dramatic sigh of pure annoyance, staring down at his hand with disdain.
“If you’re going to interrogate me every time you fail to kill your rivals, Gabriel, at least have the decency to buy me a drink first,” I snapped, my voice steady, dripping with aristocratic contempt. “Let go of my wrist. You’re bruising me.”
Gabriel stared into my eyes, searching for the micro-expressions of pain, the tiny tells of a lie. For three agonizing seconds, we stood frozen in a silent war of wills. He applied just a fraction more pressure, testing the boundary between my performance and reality.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he let go.
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“You walk through blizzards in your bare feet, you vanish into your rooms the second I return, and your pulse races every time I touch your left arm,” Gabriel murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “One of these days, Clare, your little secrets are going to catch up with you. And when they do, I won't be as patient as I am tonight.”
With that, he turned on his heel, stripping off his blood-spattered coat, and walked straight into the adjoining bathroom, leaving me trembling in the dark.
