Chapter 6 - A Mask Slipped
“You’re not going,” I said, seizing Gabriel’s forearm as he reached for his shoulder holster in the master suite.
The leather was supple, the steel of his custom firearm cold beneath my fingers. Gabriel stopped, looking down at my hand on his arm, then up into my eyes.
“Claire, if I don't go to that meeting, the Commission votes by default,” he explained with eerie patience. “In our world, absence is an admission of weakness. If the Families vote against me, a thousand contract killers will have open season on this tower.”
“Then take us and leave!” I begged, panic stripping away my pride. “We have passports. We can disappear to New Zealand, to South America—anywhere! Why must you fight them?”
Gabriel reached up and cupped my face. His thumb stroked my cheekbone with an aching tenderness.
“Because you can’t run from a syndicate, Claire. If you run, you spend the rest of your life checking the undercarriage of your car for explosives. You look over your shoulder every time your sons walk into a school. I ran this city for ten years. I built this empire with blood. I will not let my boys inherit a life of running.”
“Gabriel—”
“I am going to finish this today,” he said fiercely. “Vittorio Rossi made the mistake of thinking my boys are my weakness. He doesn't understand that they are the reason I will burn this entire city to ash before I let anyone harm a hair on their heads.”
He kissed my forehead—a lingering, desperate press of lips that tasted like a farewell and a vow all at once.
“Marco will stay with you,” Gabriel commanded, strapping the holster over his shoulder and pulling on a dark charcoal suit jacket. “The penthouse is on total lockdown. Blast shutters are down. If anyone approaches that elevator who isn't me, Marco has orders to detonate the stairwell access.”
He turned and strode toward the private elevator.
Two hours later, the blast shutters made the apartment feel like a submarine trapped at the bottom of an ink-black sea. Julian was quietly drawing blueprints of the penthouse security layout on the back of a paper napkin. Theo had fallen asleep holding his giant bear.
Leo was sitting on the floor near the kitchen island, staring at the double doors.
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.
Marco drew his weapon instantly, signaling for me to step back into the fortified bedroom.
“Who is it?” Marco barked into the wall panel.
“Delivery from Dr. Chen’s lab,” a muffled voice replied through the speaker. “Supplemental blood sequencing requested by Mr. Cross.”
Marco frowned. “Chen already cleared the sequence.” He stepped toward the security monitor.
On the screen, a courier in a blue uniform stood holding a thermal medical cooler. But something was wrong. His posture was too rigid. His right hand was buried under the clipboard.
“Claire, get the kids into the vault,” Marco whispered calmly, cocking his pistol. “Now.”
Before I could reach Leo, the double doors didn't open—they exploded inward with a concussive roar.
The blast threw Marco across the foyer into the marble column. The air filled with pulverized drywall, smoke, and the sharp stench of Semtex.
Through the smoke, three men in tactical gear stepped into the room, their suppressed submachine guns raised.
And behind them, stepping over the shattered splintered oak doors, was Serena Vale.
She was wearing a trench coat, her hair tied back, her eyes wide with a manic, deranged gleam. In her gloved hand, she held a small chrome pistol.
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“Where are the little bastards?” she purred.
***
