Chapter 3 - The Hunter and the Wolves
Rose pressed her back flat against the corrugated metal wall, her fingers white-knuckled around the iron wrench. Her pulse hammered in her throat so violently she could barely hear the sound of the rain.
Gabriel didn’t draw his gun. He didn’t need to.
Yuri was on his knees, clutching his shattered wrist and whimpering in the mud. Without glancing down, Gabriel swung his heel in a short, brutal arc, catching the Russian under the jaw. The man went limp instantly, collapsing face-first into the puddle at the threshold.
Gabriel stepped over the unconscious body into the shed, kicking the door half-shut behind him to block the whistling wind. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold-plated lighter, and ignited the wick of the fallen battery lamp with an easy flick of his thumb, setting it upright on the shelf.
The yellow beam cut through the gloom, casting Gabriel’s broad frame in sharp, predatory relief. The black ink of the serpent tattoo curling up the right side of his neck seemed to move in the flickering light.
“You have terrible taste in hideouts, Rose,” he said. His voice was steady, devoid of the fury she had expected.
Rose raised the wrench higher. “Stay back.”
Gabriel paused three feet away. His eyes drifted from the weapon in her hands down to her mud-stained sneakers, the oversized gray sweater, and the aluminum briefcase tucked securely between her feet.
“You cut a six-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown to ribbons,” he noted, his tone conversational. “You climbed down an exterior fire escape in November, leaped into an alley of broken glass, and walked four miles through industrial sludge.” He tilted his head, studying her face with an intensity that made the air feel thin. “And you did all of that without a coat. Why?”
“Because I’m not your property,” Rose spat, refusing to lower the wrench. “And I’m not my father’s collateral. Go back to your ballroom, Gabriel. The wedding is off.”
Gabriel let out a low, dry chuckle that rumbled in his chest. “Do you honestly believe I care about the wedding?”
Rose blinked, caught off guard by the admission.
“I have two hundred drunken parasites in my house drinking my vintage champagne,” Gabriel continued, stepping closer until the tip of her wrench was two inches from his chest. “I have twelve councilmen wondering if they backed the wrong boss, and a three-tiered almond cake going stale. None of that interests me. What interests me is why my bride—who spent the last four weeks staring at her salad plates and speaking only when spoken to—suddenly decided to break into Petrov’s territorial drop point with a stolen corporate ledger.”
Rose’s eyes widened slightly. “You know about Petrov?”
“I know Yuri works for Petrov,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “I know Victor Petrov has been trying to run illegal ordinance through my harbor for three years. And I know your father hasn’t won a hand of cards since 2018.”
He reached out. Rose tensed, preparing to swing, but Gabriel’s hand didn’t go for her throat. His fingers gently closed around the shaft of the wrench, his grip unbreakable as iron, yet his touch surprisingly warm against her freezing skin.
“You can put the tool down, little bird,” he said quietly, his gaze holding hers. “If I wanted you dragged back to the altar, Cole would have had you in handcuffs before you crossed Fifth Street.”
Rose hesitated, searching his face. There was no mockery in his dark eyes. There was only a cold, calculating brilliance—and something else. Respect.
Slowly, she released her grip on the wrench. Gabriel set it carefully on the shelf beside the lamp.
“He set you up,” Rose said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “My father didn't just borrow money from you, Gabriel. He took out an insurance policy with Victor Petrov. Pier 14. Midnight tonight. There’s a shipment of black-market hardware registered under your shipping license. The feds are already tipped off. As soon as the containers hit the apron, Homeland Security raids the terminal. And Petrov’s hitters will be waiting outside the perimeter to execute you in the crossfire.”
Gabriel didn't show surprise. He merely listened, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
Rose kicked the aluminum case at her feet. “Because my father keeps duplicate manifests. He thinks he’s a genius. He kept the real bills of lading in his personal safe behind his mother’s portrait. He thought I was too stupid to notice the combination while he was blackout drunk on Tuesday.”
Gabriel looked down at the case, then back at Rose. For the first time, the cold indifference in his eyes cracked, replaced by a genuine, searing curiosity.
“You knew this before you put on the veil,” he said.
“I found the papers yesterday at midnight,” she answered, her chin lifting defiantly. “I was going to burn them. Then I realized if I just vanished, you’d kill my father, Petrov would kill him, and you’d hunt me down to the ends of the earth thinking I was an accomplice. I came here to get the physical proof so I could trade it to you for my freedom.”
“You were going to negotiate with me?” Gabriel asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “A barefoot runaway girl against the Moretti syndicate?”
“I’m standing here, aren't I?” she countered, her voice trembling with spent adrenaline. “And I’m not dead. Which is more than your guards can say about Yuri’s friend outside.”
Gabriel stared at her for a long, silent moment. Outside, the sound of rain intensified, drumming against the metal roof like distant gunfire.
He unbuttoned his heavy wool overcoat, slipped it off his shoulders, and stepped forward. Before Rose could flinch away, he draped the thick, warm garment around her trembling shoulders. It smelled of expensive cedar, expensive tobacco, and rain.
“You’re wrong about one thing, Rose,” he murmured, his hands lingering on the heavy lapels near her throat.
“About what?”
“You’re not going to trade this for your freedom,” Gabriel said, picking up the aluminum briefcase with one hand and taking her icy fingers in the other. “Because you’re not running anymore. You’re coming with me to Pier 14.”
Rose tried to pull her hand back. “I’m not getting caught in a firefight between you and Petrov!”
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Gabriel leaned down until his lips were inches from her ear. “There won't be a firefight, Rose. There will be an execution. And after that... you and I are going to have a very long conversation about your father’s retirement.”
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