Chapter 6
The warehouse erupted into blinding chaos. Muzzle flashes strobed from the catwalks, casting jagged, terrifying shadows against the brick walls. The deafening crack of automatic gunfire tore through the damp air, bullets striking the concrete floor and sending up plumes of dust and debris.
Gabriel didn’t flinch. Moving with brutal, calculated precision, he tackled Martha and the children to the ground, shielding them with his own body behind a rusted industrial loom. His men, seasoned veterans of the city's underbelly, instantly returned fire. The tactical precision of Gabriel’s crew quickly overwhelmed the chaotic, undisciplined spraying of the thugs above.
"Rose!" Gabriel shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire. "Keep them down!"
"I've got them!" Rose screamed back, throwing her arms over the nearest children, her beautiful face smeared with dust, completely stripped of the gala's elegance.
Gabriel rolled out from behind the loom. He fired three times in rapid succession. A man on the catwalk shrieked, his weapon clattering to the floor before his body pitched over the railing, crashing onto the concrete below. Gabriel’s eyes were entirely dead, empty of anything but the absolute necessity of violence. He moved methodically, a phantom in a three-piece suit, his silhouetted form tracking the remaining shooters.
Within ninety seconds, the warehouse fell violently silent. The smell of cordite overpowered the mildew.
"Clear!" Marcus, his lead enforcer, shouted from the stairwell.
Gabriel slowly lowered his weapon, his chest heaving slightly. He walked over to the man who had fallen from the catwalk. The thug was gasping, blood pooling around his leather jacket. Gabriel recognized the tattoo on the man’s neck—a jagged, two-headed eagle. The Romanov syndicate.
Gabriel knelt beside the dying man, his high-bridged nose catching the ambient light of the dropped flashlights. "Who gave you the contract?" he asked, his volume dropping back to that terrifying, measured whisper.
The man coughed, a wet, rattling sound. "Your bitch," he choked out, grinning through blood-stained teeth. "She gave us the land... to clear her father's debts. Knew you'd come for the brats. It was a trap, Mercer."
Gabriel stared at him. The betrayal was absolute. Serena hadn't just sold his past; she had traded his life to his greatest rivals to save her own bankrupt, aristocratic family.
Gabriel stood up slowly, smoothing the lapels of his suit. He looked down at the thug with eyes as cold as a frozen lake. "You missed."
May you like
He turned his back on the man, walking toward the children. "Marcus. Bring the vans inside. We are moving them to the penthouse at the Continental. No one touches them. No one speaks of them."
As his men scrambled to load the traumatized children into the armored SUVs, Gabriel looked at his hands. The negative space tattoos seemed to mock him. He had built an empire to protect himself from the monsters of his youth, only to invite one into his bed.
