Chapter 6 - Midnight at the Harbor Basin
By 1:30 AM, the estate had entered a state of complete, silent mobilization.
Thirty armored tactical transports bearing the black cross crest of the Thorne fleet were dispatched across Queens and Brooklyn, securing the commercial concrete terminals along the East River.
In the private master suite on the second floor, a fire of split birch crackled in the limestone hearth, throwing warm golden light across the room.
Chloe had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep in the adjoining guest bedroom beneath a goose-down duvet, her breathing soft and regular, the nightmare of the evening finally washed away.
I sat on the velvet sofa beside the fire, wearing a soft ivory cashmere sweater and dark tailored trousers that Mrs. Gable had brought down from the private wardrobes, holding a mug of warm chamomile tea.
The double mahogany doors opened softly.
Gabriel walked in.
He had showered and changed into an open-collared navy cashmere sweater and dark slacks, looking relaxed, powerful, and remarkably whole.
He walked straight to where I sat, sitting down on the leather ottoman opposite me.
He reached into his pocket and placed an antique silver pocket watch onto the low table between us—a timepiece that had belonged to his late father, Don Antonio Thorne.
“How is Chloe resting, Maya?” he asked softly, his dark eyes searching mine.
“She’s sleeping, Gabriel,” I whispered, a faint, radiant smile touching my lips. “Dr. Vance said the contusion will heal completely in three days. She asked if she could thank you in the morning.”
Gabriel leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his large, warm hand gently taking my fingers into his own.
“She doesn't have to thank me, Maya,” he murmured, his deep baritone rumbling pleasantly in the quiet room. “She is your sister. That makes her my blood.”
I looked down at our joined hands, feeling the steady, rhythmic pulse of his thumb against my knuckles.
“Camilla told Arthur I belonged in the scullery, Gabriel.”
Gabriel let out a low, deep chuckle—a rare, beautiful sound that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Camilla Laurent wouldn't know honor if it stood in front of her with a crown, Maya,” he whispered, leaning closer until his breath stirred the hair at my temple. “Honor isn't an emerald necklace or a finished pedigree. It is the courage to stand unbroken when the world tells you to bow.”
He reached into his pocket and produced an antique velvet jeweler’s box lined with white silk.
May you like
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
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