Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Glass
The smell of cordite and shattered plaster mixed with the buttery scent of spilled popcorn. Red emergency lights strobed across the ceiling, painting the study in pulsing, bloody light.
Vincent Kane burst through the shattered door frame with four armed guards behind him. Their submachine guns were raised, sweeping the dark treeline beyond the breached window.
"Boss! Down!" Vincent yelled, his voice rough with adrenaline. "We’ve got a shooter on the ridge!"
Gabriel didn't move. He sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mahogany desk, his arms wrapped around my chest, holding me so tightly against his neck that I could hear the erratic, thunderous beat of his heart.
"The shooter is gone," Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the blaring security alarms. "He took one shot. It was a contract strike, not an assault."
"We’re locking down the perimeter—"
"Check the west gate," Gabriel cut in, his fingers digging into the fabric of my hot-pink pajama pants. "Check the blind spot behind the carriage house. The camera feed went dead at nine o'clock, didn't it?"
Vincent froze, his radio pressed to his ear. He barked three quick orders into the comms line, listened for five seconds, and his face turned the color of wet chalk. "The feed went black at 9:02 PM, boss. A local power loop cut out."
"It didn't cut out," I gasped, finally finding my voice. My teeth were clicking together so hard my jaw ached. I tried to sit up, but Gabriel held me fast, keeping my head below the line of the window sill. "It's a scheduled override."
Vincent stared down at me. "What are you talking about, nurse?"
"Every Thursday," I stammered, rubbing my damp nose against Gabriel’s sweater. "The west corridor monitor flickers for twelve minutes between nine and nine-fifteen. I noticed it my first week when I went downstairs to steal ice cream from the kitchen. I thought it was a loose cable, but I logged it in my nursing shift notes. Check my notebook on the counter."
Gabriel lowered his chin, his dark eyes searching my face in the crimson strobe of the alarm light. "You logged security glitches in your medical charts?"
"I'm a registered nurse, Gabriel," I said, my voice steadying as my brain finally kicked back into survival mode. "If a machine flickers, I write it down so the next shift doesn't get sued. Your uncle Carmine was in the house at five o'clock today. He brought you a thermos of hazelnut coffee, didn't he?"
Gabriel’s jaw tightened until the muscles bunched like iron cables. "Carmine comes every Thursday."
"And every Thursday, he walks down the west hall to use the private restroom instead of the guest bath," I continued, the memory snapping into crystal clarity. "He carries his leather briefcase. He stands near the utility panel for thirty seconds before he leaves. I saw him on my second shift. He told me to mind my own business and asked why the agency hired a girl who looked like she ate her feelings."
Vincent let out a soft, sharp breath. "Carmine..."
"Clear the room," Gabriel ordered softly. "Pull the backup hard drives from the carriage house before anyone touches them. And get my chair up."
It took two guards to haul Gabriel back into his motorized chair. His face was pale from the physical strain, his lower body completely uncooperative, but the posture of his chest and shoulders was that of a man preparing to go to war.
I stood on wobbling legs, dusting popcorn kernels off my knees. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, but looking at Gabriel—seeing the absolute, lethal focus in his hazel eyes—made the panic recede into something cold and sharp.
He reached out and caught my wrist. His skin was burning hot.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I almost got my head blown off by a high-caliber rifle in cat pajamas," I said, offering him a shaky, sarcastic half-smile. "I think I'm legally allowed a mild tremor."
"You saved my life, Chloe."
"I tripped over a rug," I corrected him. "It was gravity, not bravery."
"If you hadn't landed on me, that round would have taken my head off," Gabriel said, his thumb brushing over the pulse point in my wrist. "In my world, there are no accidents. Only results."
He pulled me an inch closer to his chair, lowering his voice so Vincent couldn't hear. "Carmine thinks I'm a helpless invalid sitting in a dark room waiting to die. He thinks he can bleed my accounts dry and pick up the pieces of the Moretti syndicate before winter."
"Is he right?" I asked softly.
May you like
Gabriel’s hand tightened on mine until it was almost painful. His eyes blazed with a dark, terrifying light that sent a shiver straight down my spine—not of fear, but of something far more dangerous.
"He underestimated my rage," Gabriel whispered. "And he completely missed you."
