Chapter 4 - The Lion's Den
The guest suite on the second floor was larger than Paige’s entire apartment in Astoria.
It featured a king-sized bed draped in Egyptian cotton, a marble fireplace that crackled with dry birch logs, and French doors leading out to a terrace overlooking the sodden gardens. A warm bath had been drawn for her, and a clean change of clothes—soft gray cashmere loungewear—lay folded neatly on the foot of the bed.
After bathing and scrubbing the chill of the street from her skin, Paige couldn't sleep. The silence of the mansion was too heavy, punctuated only by the occasional distant click of a guard’s patrol radio outside the courtyard.
At 2:00 a.m., she slipped out of her room, walking barefoot along the plush carpeted hallway.
A sliver of light spilled from a partially open door at the end of the corridor. As she drew nearer, she heard the rhythmic clicking of ice against glass, followed by the faint rustle of paper.
She peeked inside.
It was a library—two stories of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with leather-bound books, accessible by rolling brass ladders. A green banker’s lamp cast a pool of emerald light over a mahogany table.
Gabriel was sitting there, his sleeves rolled up, a glass of bourbon beside him.
On the table in front of him were three of Paige’s sketchbooks.
Paige gasped softly.
Gabriel didn't look up, but his fingers paused on the corner of a page. "Nico retrieved what was salvageable from your apartment," he said, his voice quiet in the cavernous room. "Including your portfolios."
Paige stepped into the room, her bare feet silent on the floorboards. "You shouldn't look at those. They're old. They're silly."
Gabriel turned a page. The drawing was an intricate architectural rendering of a gothic cathedral, combined with geometric typography—a project from her senior year of design school.
"You have extraordinary talent," Gabriel said. He looked up at her, his gray eyes reflecting the emerald light of the lamp. "Why did you stop?"
Paige folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the edge of a bookcase. "Kevin told me design was a hobby. He said we needed immediate cash for his investments. He convinced me to take the clerical job at Moretti because the benefits were good."
"Kevin was an idiot," Gabriel said flatly. "A weak man surrounds himself with talent he can diminish. It makes him feel larger."
Paige looked at the mob boss, struck by the unexpected perception in his words. "And what does a strong man do?"
Gabriel closed the sketchbook with care, smoothing the torn edge of the cover with his thumb.
"A strong man protects what is valuable," he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous timbre that made her breath hitch. "And destroys anything that threatens it."
He stood up, walking slowly toward her. The air between them grew charged, vibrating with an unspoken tension that had been building since she had first walked into his office.
"You shouldn't be wandering the house barefoot, Paige," he murmured, stopping just a foot in front of her.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispered, looking up into his sculpted, shadowed face. "I keep thinking about the knife. About what happens next."
"Nothing happens to you," Gabriel said. He raised his hand, his knuckles brushing against the side of her jawline, trailing slowly down to the hollow of her throat. His touch was mesmerizing, terrifying, and completely intoxicating. "I have already dispatched a team to Forty-Fourth Street. Vance Rinaldi will be out of business by dawn."
"And you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What happens to you when Rossi finds out you threatened him today?"
"Rossi is an old dog with dull teeth," Gabriel said. He leaned down slightly, his breath warm against her temple. "Let him bark."
Suddenly, the glass in the library’s arched window shattered with an explosive, deafening *crack*.
A bullet punched through the pane, tearing a chunk of plaster from the wall six inches above Gabriel's head.
Before Paige could scream, Gabriel’s body collided with hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and slammed them both down behind the heavy mahogany table just as a second shot shattered a row of antique encyclopedias overhead.
Alarms wailed through the mansion—a high-pitched, staccato pulse that shattered the midnight silence.
Gabriel was on top of her, his heavy body shielding her completely from the spray of glass and splintered wood. Paige could feel the hard, coiled muscle of his chest pressed against her ribs, the scent of cedar and gunpowder filling her lungs.
"Stay down," Gabriel hissed, his voice lethal.
From beneath his waistband, he drew a matte-black automatic pistol, checking the chamber with a single, fluid snap of his wrist.
"Gabriel..." she gasped, terror seizing her throat.
He looked down at her. His eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying fury, but when he met her gaze, his expression softened for a fraction of a second. He touched her cheek with his thumb, checking for blood.
"You're not hurt," he confirmed.
"Are they... are they inside?"
"No," Gabriel said, rising to a low crouch as the heavy thud of tactical boots echoed down the hallway. "They took a shot from the perimeter wall. Amateurs."
Nico burst into the library, an assault rifle held at the low-ready position. "Perimeter breached on the west garden, boss. Two shooters. One neutralized, one fleeing toward the avenue."
Gabriel stood up, towering over the room like an avenging god.
"Take him alive," Gabriel commanded, his voice dripping venom. "I want to know who paid them. And Nico?"
Nico paused at the door. "Yes, boss?"
Gabriel looked down at Paige, who was still trembling on the floor amidst the shattered glass.
May you like
"Tell the council that the gala on Saturday is moving forward," Gabriel said coldly. "And tell Salvatore Rossi to prepare his seating arrangements. Miss Winslow will be accompanying me as my guest of honor."
***
