Chapter 2 - “Right.”
“It’s going to hurt.”
“I need to clean the wounds thoroughly.”
“Go ahead.”
Iodine touched the split skin.
Norah’s eyes watered.
Her jaw stayed locked.
Gabriel watched her.
Tougher than many men he paid to carry guns.
For years she had occupied the edge of his vision as a flawlessly efficient ghost.
Now he understood how little he had truly seen.
“Let me check the ribs.”
Evans said.
Norah hesitated.
Then looked at Gabriel.
A clear request for privacy.
Gabriel did not move.
“I’ve seen worse.”
He said.
“Let him examine you.”
Color rose faintly along the unbruised side of her neck.
She unbuttoned what remained of the shirt.
Pulled the fabric aside.
Gabriel stopped breathing.
A huge bruise covered her left ribs.
The shape was unmistakable.
The toe of a heavy boot.
The man had kicked her.
Silence became lethal.
Evans pressed carefully.
“Nothing broken.”
He said too quickly.
“Deep tissue contusion.”
“Breathing deeply will hurt.”
“So will laughing.”
“I’ll leave painkillers.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Gabriel’s words sounded dragged over broken glass.
Evans packed with remarkable speed.
Frankie escorted him out.
The elevator closed.
Norah buttoned her ruined shirt as best she could.
Pulled Gabriel’s jacket tighter around herself.
Gabriel went to the window.
He needed something other than that bruise in front of him.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
“Mr. Rossi, I have an apartment.”
“Clothes.”
“An alarm set for 6:30.”
“Cancel it.”
Gabriel turned.
“You aren’t going to the office tomorrow.”
Then:
“And my name is Gabriel.”
“You used it in the car.”
“Keep using it.”
Norah looked at him.
Fatigue finally reached her face.
She had no strength left for another argument.
“Fine.”
A pause.
“Gabriel.”
Hearing his name in that tired voice did something dangerous to his chest.
Gabriel took a cashmere throw from a nearby chair.
Draped it over her legs.
Then sat in the armchair opposite her.
He remained there as Norah’s breathing slowly deepened.
He watched until sunrise.
Norah woke to coffee.
For several seconds, she did not know where she was.
Then the throbbing hand and pain in her ribs explained everything.
Pale daylight filled the penthouse.
The rain had stopped.
Norah pushed herself upright.
She still wore the torn shirt and Gabriel’s jacket.
Across the open space, Gabriel stood at the kitchen island.
No suit.
Dark sweatpants.
Tight black T-shirt.
He poured coffee from a French press into 2 matte black mugs.
When Norah stood, he looked over.
“Sit.”
“I’ll bring it.”
Norah ignored him.
She waited for the dizziness to pass.
Then walked toward the kitchen.
She was injured.
Not helpless.
Gabriel pushed a mug toward her.
“Black.”
“No sugar.”
“Exactly how you make mine.”
“Thank you.”
Norah drank.
Perfect.
Strong.
Bitter.
Hot.
Gabriel leaned against the island.
“His name is Leo Moretti.”
Norah stopped with the mug halfway upward.
“You looked into it.”
“Obviously.”
Gabriel drank.
“I don’t let things like this go.”
“Leo is Paulie Moretti’s nephew.”
“Stupid.”
“Careless.”
“Habit of making messes his uncle has to fix.”
“He’s at Mercy with his jaw wired shut.”
Norah looked into the coffee.
“If he’s Paulie’s nephew, I’ve created a problem.”
“It’s my problem.”
“No.”
She met his eyes.
“It’s a business problem.”
“The Morettis have been pushing on the south-side docks for 2 months.”
“If you retaliate openly, Paulie uses it as an excuse to start a territory war.”
“He’ll claim you violated the truce over a bar fight.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes.
She managed his schedule.
She saw the meetings.
Some knowledge was expected.
But listening to her perform street-level political analysis while standing in his kitchen with a broken hand was another matter.
“So what do you suggest?”
Gabriel asked.
“Let him walk after he touched you?”
The anger was unmistakable.
“Hit them where they actually feel it.”
Norah leaned against the counter.
“Leo runs their illegal sports-betting operation from the meatpacking plant on 4th Street.”
Gabriel stared.
“How do you know that?”
“I balance your books.”
“I notice when our runners complain about losing traffic.”
“I pay attention.”
She took another drink.
“You don’t have to shoot him.”
“You bankrupt him.”
Gabriel set down the mug.
Arms crossed.
Full attention now.
“Go on.”
“Leo is an idiot.”
“You already said so.”
“He’s almost certainly stealing from his uncle.”
“That’s what entitled nephews do.”
Her voice was detached and analytical.
The secretary had vanished.
A strategist had taken her place.
“We leak the actual betting ledgers to Paulie.”
“We prove Leo is stealing from the family.”
“Paulie is greedy and paranoid.”
“If he thinks his own nephew is robbing him, he won’t declare war on you.”
“He’ll handle Leo himself.”
The penthouse went silent.
Gabriel studied her.
Messy hair.
Darkening bruise.
Splinted hand.
And absolute composure while describing how to destroy a mafia captain through financial evidence and family paranoia.
“And how exactly do we obtain Leo’s private ledgers?”
Norah met his eyes.
“I already have them.”
Gabriel froze.
“Excuse me?”
“3 weeks ago, one of Leo’s bookies left a decrypted flash drive at a diner in our territory.”
“Frankie brought it into the office.”
“He didn’t know what to do with it.”
Norah lifted one shoulder.
“I copied the files.”
“I’ve been going through them during lunch.”
“I built a spreadsheet documenting Leo’s embezzlement.”
“I was going to place it in your Friday briefing folder.”
Gabriel laughed.
A low sound of genuine disbelief.
“You were going to put the financial destruction of a mafia captain in my Friday briefing folder.”
“Between dry-cleaning receipts and meeting notes.”
“It seemed relevant.”
Gabriel approached.
Stopped inches away.
Norah did not retreat.
“You are terrifying.”
“I’m organized.”
She corrected him.
Gabriel lifted a hand.
Brushed a loose strand of hair away from her bruised cheek.
His fingertips lingered.
The contact sent a sudden heat through Norah.
“You aren’t going back to the front desk.”
Gabriel said.
“When you recover, you move into the inner office.”
Norah’s breath caught slightly beneath the touch.
The old boundary was gone.
“I’ll need a new chair.”
She whispered.
“The one inside has terrible lumbar support.”
Gabriel smiled.
“I’ll buy you the entire building.”
For the next 48 hours, the penthouse became a gilded cage.
Gabriel did not lock Norah inside.
He did not have to.
The implication was clear.
She remained under his protection.
And his protection did not extend beyond the reinforced private elevator without permission.
Norah hated the arrangement.
She depended on routine.
Schedules.
Lists.
Structure.
At the penthouse, 50 floors above the city, she felt unmoored.
Her ribs throbbed constantly.
The fiberglass splint on her hand felt less like protection than a useless club attached to her arm.
Gabriel, by contrast, adapted instantly.
He moved his operations to the dining table.
Phone calls.
Encrypted files.
Orders.
Men reporting.
Norah had worked for him for 3 years through the filter of an executive outer office.
She handled the consequences of decisions.
Payments.
Schedules.
Cleanups.
Investments.
Now she watched those decisions being made.
Gabriel did not shout.
He did not perform power.
He spoke quietly.
Stated facts.
The people on the other end of the line rearranged reality to match them.
On the afternoon of the 2nd day, Frankie arrived with a slim metallic briefcase.
He placed it on the table.
His eyes moved briefly toward Norah, who was pretending to read a large book on architectural history while wearing Gabriel’s sweatpants.
Frankie looked unsettled by the sight.
The men closest to Gabriel had no category for a secretary living on the boss’s private floor.
“I got it.”
Frankie touched the case.
“The drive.”
Gabriel looked toward Norah.
“Come here.”
She closed the book.
Stood carefully.
Walked to the table.
The silver case waited in front of her.
“Open it.”
Frankie released the latches.
A single black USB drive lay inside dark foam.
“Norah built the file.”
Gabriel said.
“Explain the drop.”
Frankie shifted.
“We have a guy inside Paulie Moretti’s social club.”
“Busboy.”
“He cleans the private back room where Paulie plays cards every Tuesday.”
“The drive gets taped under Paulie’s chair.”
“He finds it.”
“Opens it.”
“Sees the spreadsheets.”
“He sees Leo has been stealing approximately $250,000 a month from the sports books.”
“And the metadata?”
Norah asked.
Frankie blinked.
“The what?”
“The file metadata.”
She repeated.
“If Paulie’s IT people inspect creation dates and machine information, the documents need to look as though they were compiled on hardware registered to Leo’s front company.”
“If anything traces to us, Paulie knows it was planted.”
Frankie looked at Gabriel.
“It’s clean.”
Gabriel answered.
“I had tech scrub it exactly the way you wrote down this morning.”
Norah nodded.
“Then it’s ready.”
“He plays at 9:00.”
“Paulie should find it by 10:00.”
“Expect fallout by tomorrow morning.”
“Drop it.”
Gabriel ordered.
Frankie closed the case.
Left.
The elevator doors shut.
Silence returned.
Gabriel turned his chair.
Held out a hand.
Caught Norah by the left wrist.
Pulled her closer until she stood between his knees.
Territorial.
Intimate.
Norah’s breathing changed.
She did not step back.
“You don’t flinch.”
Gabriel looked up at her.
“You just handed a death sentence to a mafia captain.”
“Paulie doesn’t forgive theft.”
“He may kill his own nephew.”
“You didn’t even blink.”
Norah looked down at him.
“Leo Moretti made a miscalculation in a bar.”
“He assumed he had all the power.”
“I’m correcting his math.”
Gabriel made a low sound.
Almost laughter.
Almost something else.
His thumb traced the inside of her arm.
“You’ve sat outside my office for 3 years.”
“Handling laundry.”
“Making coffee.”
“And all this time you had ice in your veins.”
“I am very good at my job.”
May you like
“Your job changed.”
Gabriel pulled her fractionally closer.
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