Chapter 5 - The Reckoning at the DocksBy dawn, the storm had passed, leaving the Tennessee River swollen, muddy, and rushing violently beneath a pale gray sky.
The Mercer Manor courtyard looked like a war zone. Two federal transport vans and three local police cruisers—commanded by officers on Gabriel’s permanent payroll—were parked across the wet gravel. Handcuffed men in tactical gear were being loaded into the back of the vans, while federal marshals collected dropped assault rifles from the grass.
The Moretti attack had failed completely.
And Gabriel Mercer was about to collect the interest.
Inside the private office of the Mercer Shipping Terminal down by the riverfront, Victor Moretti sat tied to a wooden chair, bleeding from a split lip, staring up with hatred at the man leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk.
Gabriel wore a fresh charcoal suit. His face was cold, impassoned, and utterly dead.
"You think hitting my house during a storm makes you a player, Victor?" Gabriel asked softly, swirling a glass of amber scotch.
Moretti spat blood onto the concrete floor. "You’re slipping, Mercer. You got soft. Marrying some fat thrift-store girl from downtown, playing house in the suburbs—you lost your edge."
The office door clicked open.
Gabriel didn't look back, but he knew who had entered.
Emma walked into the office. She wore a simple camel-wool coat, her brown curls falling neatly around her shoulders, her hazel eyes steady and completely devoid of fear. She had insisted on coming. When you spend your whole life fighting for survival, you don't stay home while the wolves are being put down.
Gabriel pushed off the desk, walking slowly toward Moretti until he stood directly over him.
"You called my wife fat," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register so chilling that even Moretti flinched. "You called her a thrift-store girl."
"She’s nothing!" Moretti sneered. "A nobody from a failing antique shop!"
Gabriel didn't yell. He didn't lose his temper.
Instead, he reached down, grabbed Moretti by the collar, hauled him out of the chair with effortless strength, and drove his fist straight into Moretti’s jaw. The sound of cracking bone echoed off the concrete walls.
Moretti collapsed into a heap, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Gabriel straightened his cuffs, exhaled slowly, and turned around to face Emma.
She stood by the door, watching him with an unreadable expression. Gabriel walked over to her, his large hands coming up to cup her face, his thumbs gently resting against her cheekbones.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said quietly.
"This is my life too, Gabriel," Emma said, placing her hands over his. "I’m not hiding in a panic room while you clean up the city. We build this together, or we don't build it at all."
May you like
Gabriel looked down at her, a slow, genuine smile—rare, fierce, and entirely devoted—breaking across his handsome face for the very first time.
"Together," he agreed.
