Chapter 3
A book.
Anything to fill the silence until his breathing slowed.
Then, on a Tuesday afternoon, rain began falling heavily over the city.
Gabriel had a meeting across town at a neutral location, an expensive Italian restaurant owned by a civilian who stayed outside the criminal world.
They traveled in multiple vehicles.
Standard protocol.
Gabriel and Chloe occupied the lead SUV.
2 vehicles filled with armed men followed behind them.
Chloe sat beside Gabriel in the rear seat.
Rain hammered against reinforced glass.
“You’re quiet,” Gabriel observed.
He was reading a dossier on his tablet, although his attention was never fully occupied by any 1 thing.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“My sister. Sarah. Her doctor called this morning. The experimental treatment is working, but she’ll need another 6 months of daily infusions.”
Gabriel did not look up.
“I’ll transfer the funds to her account this afternoon. Tell them to move her into a private room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He switched off the tablet and looked at her.
“I do it because it means you sleep at night. I need you sharp.”
It was a cold, transactional explanation for an act of extreme generosity.
Chloe did not challenge it.
She understood better than to thank him for kindness.
Calling it kindness would have insulted the armor he wore.
The SUV slowed at a busy intersection.
The light was red.
Chloe looked through the rain-streaked window.
Pedestrians hurried across sidewalks beneath umbrellas.
A garbage truck idled in the opposing lane, its yellow warning lights blinking through the rain.
Chloe frowned.
The truck was not collecting trash.
No workers stood outside.
The driver sat inside wearing a heavy raincoat.
He was staring directly ahead.
Not at the traffic signal.
At them.
And the truck was positioned incorrectly.
Its front wheels were turned sharply left.
Toward the median.
Toward Gabriel’s SUV.
A familiar cold feeling spread through Chloe’s stomach.
The same one she had felt inside the opera house.
“Driver,” she said sharply. “Run the red light.”
The new driver, a stern former military man named Vance, hesitated.
“Ma’am, there’s cross traffic.”
“Run it!”
Chloe grabbed Gabriel by the lapels and pulled him violently downward.
Vance hit the accelerator.
The SUV surged forward.
A fraction of a second later, the garbage truck accelerated.
It jumped the concrete median.
The massive steel grille moved through the rain like a battering ram.
It missed the center of Gabriel’s SUV by inches.
Instead, it struck the rear quarter panel with tremendous force.
The world spun.
Metal screamed.
Glass cracked.
The reinforced windows held, but transformed into opaque webs.
The SUV rotated violently on the wet pavement before slamming sideways into a concrete light pole.
Airbags exploded into the cabin.
White powder filled the air along with the smell of burned chemicals.
For 5 seconds, there was nothing but hissing steam and rain.
Chloe was trapped beneath Gabriel’s body.
Her ears rang so loudly that the world seemed distant.
She tasted blood.
She had bitten her tongue.
“Gabriel.”
He groaned and lifted himself from her.
A cut over his eyebrow bled freely, sending crimson down the side of his face.
“Are you hit?”
His hands moved over her arms and body, checking for wounds and broken bones.
“No. I’m okay. The truck—”
Gabriel looked through the shattered-patterned window.
The garbage truck had struck a brick wall across the street.
Its driver’s door opened.
2 men emerged carrying short-barreled assault rifles.
“Down!”
Gabriel threw himself over Chloe again as the first burst of gunfire struck the SUV.
The armor held.
The force of repeated impacts rocked the vehicle.
Sparks flashed while bullets stripped paint and hammered steel.
Vance was slumped over the steering wheel.
Blood covered the dashboard.
They were trapped.
Gabriel reached beneath the seat and pulled a compact submachine gun from a hidden compartment.
He chambered a round.
His face became pure violence.
“The tail cars are blocked by the wreck,” he shouted over the gunfire. “I’m going to kick open my door and give you cover. You open yours and run to the alley on your right. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
Chloe grabbed his arm.
“You are a liability in a gunfight, Chloe. Run.”
Before she could answer, Gabriel kicked his door open.
Rain rushed inside.
He leaned out and fired continuously, forcing the riflemen behind the garbage truck.
Chloe knew he was right.
She could not fight.
If she stayed, she would only make it harder for him.
She kicked her own damaged door.
The bent hinges groaned.
Then she threw herself onto the wet asphalt.
Her knees scraped against the road.
Freezing rain hit her face.
She got up and ran toward the narrow brick alley 20 yards away.
Gunfire echoed between the buildings.
She reached the alley and dove behind a rusted dumpster.
Her lungs burned.
She looked around the edge.
Gabriel’s first weapon had emptied.
He discarded it and drew his sidearm.
He moved slowly around the ruined SUV, firing measured shots.
1 of the attackers leaned from behind the garbage truck.
Gabriel shot him twice in the chest.
The man collapsed into the gutter.
The remaining shooter panicked.
He fired blindly around the truck.
1 bullet struck Gabriel’s left shoulder.
The impact spun him completely around.
He hit the asphalt hard.
His gun slid beyond his reach.
Chloe stopped breathing.
For an instant, even the rain seemed suspended.
Gabriel attempted to push himself up.
His left arm collapsed beneath him.
He was fully exposed.
The surviving gunman stepped out from behind the truck.
He raised his rifle and began walking toward Gabriel.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Preparing to finish him.
Chloe had no gun.
She had no plan.
But she could not stand there and watch him die.
Her eyes searched the alley.
A heavy iron crowbar lay among discarded construction debris.
She grabbed it.
Cold.
Heavy.
Rough against her palms.
She did not scream.
She did not announce herself.
She ran.
Her heels struck puddles as she emerged from the alley.
The attacker was entirely focused on Gabriel.
He raised the rifle to his shoulder.
Gabriel looked up.
Then he saw Chloe coming from behind the shooter.
His eyes widened.
For the first time, Chloe saw fear on his face.
Not for himself.
For her.
Chloe swung the crowbar like a baseball bat, putting every ounce of her 130 lb body into the movement.
Iron struck the backs of the gunman’s knees.
A sickening crack cut through the rain.
The man’s legs folded.
As he fell, his finger tightened on the trigger and the rifle fired harmlessly into the air.
He struck the pavement and lost the weapon.
Then he rolled over and reached for a knife at his belt.
Chloe did not hesitate.
She did not think about morality.
She thought about Gabriel bleeding only a few feet away.
She brought the crowbar down against the man’s wrist.
Bone shattered.
The attacker screamed and clutched the destroyed arm.
Gabriel forced himself forward through the pain.
He recovered his pistol and pressed the barrel against the attacker’s forehead.
“Who sent you?”
His face was pale.
Blood soaked his suit.
The man sobbed.
“Sal Maroni. He said you were weak.”
Gabriel pulled the trigger.
The crying stopped.
Suddenly, the street became terrifyingly quiet.
Only rain remained.
Chloe stood over the body.
The crowbar slipped from her numb fingers and struck the pavement.
She stared downward.
Her chest rose and fell violently.
She was drenched, freezing, and shaking hard enough to make her teeth chatter.
Gabriel pushed himself onto his knees.
He dropped the gun.
He looked at the corpse.
Then at Chloe.
He did not examine his wound.
He did not check the street.
Instead, he crawled toward her, caught the lapels of her soaked coat with his good hand, and pulled her down to her knees.
He held her face.
His bloody fingers left streaks across her cheeks.
“I told you to run,” he breathed.
His voice was ragged.
Desperate.
“I did,” Chloe whispered.
Her voice broke.
“I ran to you.”
Gabriel released a shuddering breath.
He did not kiss her.
That moment was not about romance.
It was about gravity.
They were 2 objects falling from the sky, holding each other because there was nothing else to stop the impact.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Gabriel whispered against her skin as rain washed blood from both of their faces.
“Not today.”
Sirens grew louder in the distance.
The city was coming.
But in the wet gutter, surrounded by broken glass and dead men, Gabriel pulled Chloe against his chest and buried his face in her wet hair.
He held her as though she were the only real thing remaining in a world built from lies.
The safe house was a windowless basement beneath a defunct meatpacking plant in the Meatpacking District.
It smelled of ammonia, old concrete, and iodine.
Gabriel lay on a stainless-steel table beneath harsh surgical lights.
An underground doctor whose medical license had been revoked 10 years earlier for reasons no one discussed was removing the bullet from his shoulder.
Gabriel remained awake.
He had refused general anesthesia and accepted only local numbing.
His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles appeared ready to tear.
Chloe stood in the corner with her arms wrapped around herself.
Her coat was ruined.
Stiff with dried blood and rainwater.
She was shivering despite the suffocating warmth of the basement.
The doctor dropped the deformed bullet into a metal kidney dish.
It landed with a sharp clink.
“Clean through the muscle. Chipped the clavicle,” he said while threading a curved needle. “You’re lucky, Mr. Rossi. 1 in lower and it would have shattered the joint.”
Gabriel said nothing.
His eyes stayed on Chloe.
They were glassy from pain and shock but locked onto her with unnerving intensity.
Outside the heavy steel door, muffled voices argued.
Russo and 3 other lieutenants had arrived 10 minutes earlier.
The city was already burning.
Maroni’s attack had encouraged every opportunist in the tri-state area.
Rumors were spreading that Gabriel Rossi had died in the street.
Panic moved quickly through criminal organizations.
Gabriel’s syndicate was no exception.
“They need to see you,” Chloe said.
Her voice was hoarse.
“I can’t.”
Gabriel grunted as the doctor pulled a stitch tight.
“If they see me bleeding on this table, half of them will defect to Maroni before midnight to protect themselves.”
“If they don’t see you, they’ll think you’re dead. They’ll run anyway.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
His breathing sounded rough.
“I need time. 24 hours. Enough to get back on my feet.”
The steel door rattled.
A fist hammered against it.
“Boss!”
Russo’s voice came through the metal, frantic and muffled.
“Boss, we have a problem. The docks are locked down. Maroni’s men are torching warehouses. We need orders.”
Gabriel attempted to sit up.
The doctor immediately shoved him back down with a gloved hand.
“Don’t be an idiot. You tear these stitches and you’ll bleed out.”
Gabriel looked at Chloe.
For the first time, she saw absolute defeat in his expression.
The king was physically incapable of holding the crown.
Chloe looked at the door.
Then at the blood covering her hands.
She had crossed the line in the rain with an iron crowbar.
There was no retreat left.
If Gabriel fell, she fell with him.
Chloe walked to a metal basin in the corner and scrubbed the drying blood from her hands and face with a rough towel.
Cold water stung the abrasions on her knees.
She had no clean clothes.
Only the ruined garments she had been wearing and the terrifying authority that came from being the only person Gabriel Rossi appeared to trust.
She walked to the steel door and released the deadbolt.
Russo nearly fell inside.
2 other capos stood behind him, pale and disheveled.
All 3 attempted to look beyond Chloe toward Gabriel.
She stepped directly into the doorway and blocked their view.
“Where is he?” Russo demanded.
He tried to move around her.
Chloe planted 1 hand flat against his chest.
The gesture stopped him.
A maid.
A woman who had once ironed the man’s shirts.
“He’s handling it.”
Her voice was flat and cold.
Her knees were trembling.
Nothing in her tone revealed it.
“Handling it?” shouted a wiry capo named Tommy from behind Russo. “The whole East Side is burning. Maroni put a $1 million bounty on his head. We need to know whether we’re hitting back or going to the mattresses.”
“You will not raise your voice in this hallway,” Chloe said quietly.
May you like
Tommy stopped.
The complete calm of her delivery unsettled him.
