Chapter 6 - The New RulesThe sun was setting behind the Hudson River, turning the Manhattan sky into a vast canvas of bruised purple and burning gold, by the time the Escalade pulled up to the brick building on 82nd Street—the St. Vincent’s Children's Home.
The one-day deal was over.
Gabriel sat in the back seat, staring out the window at the heavy oak doors of the facility. The engine idled with a low, steady thrum.
Ellie sat beside him, her charcoal wool coat neatly buttoned, her hands resting in her lap over the velvet box that held her photograph. She hadn't said a word during the entire twenty-minute drive from the school.
Sal opened the door from the outside, stepping back to give them space.
Gabriel turned to her. He pulled a thick white envelope from his jacket pocket—an envelope containing enough untraceable currency and corporate trust documentation to ensure Ellie Marsh would never have to worry about tuition, healthcare, or housing for the rest of her natural life. He set it on the seat between them.
"This goes to the director of the home," Gabriel said, his voice tight and formal. "It’s all arranged. You’ll have your own room starting tonight. In three weeks, a family from upstate—good people, vetted by my own team—will come to meet you. They don't know who I am, and they don't know your father’s old cases. They just want a daughter."
Ellie didn't look at the envelope. She looked at him.
"That wasn't the deal," she said softly.
Gabriel frowned slightly. "The deal was one day. Father's Day. It's six o'clock, Ellie. The day is done."
"No," she said, her voice small but entirely firm. "The deal was you were supposed to teach me how to survive so nobody could ever hurt me again."
Gabriel felt a cold knot form in his throat. "I just spent twenty-four hours clearing the board so nobody can hurt you, Ellie. You're safe."
"I don't want to be safe with strangers upstate," she said, her eyes flashing with that same stubborn, terrifying fire he’d seen in the alley two nights ago. "I want to learn how to build walls."
Gabriel stared at her, speechless. "Ellie... you can't stay with me. I'm a criminal. The police are watching me. Falcone’s people—or someone else like them—will always be around the corner. My life is a war zone."
"My dad’s life was a war zone too," she countered instantly. "And he got killed because he fought it alone. You have Sal. You have Viktor. But you don't have anyone at your breakfast table."
Gabriel looked at Sal, who was standing outside the open door, looking up at the evening sky, pretending he wasn't listening to every single word.
"She's got a point, boss," Sal muttered under his breath, not turning his head. "The penthouse has four bedrooms. And the kitchen needs someone who knows how to use a toaster."
Gabriel glared at the back of Sal's head, but the anger had no teeth left in it. He turned back to Ellie.
She reached out and took his large, calloused hand in hers again. "Please, Gabriel. Don't send me back to people who don't know what it's like when the lights go out."
Gabriel Kane—the man who had spent twenty years ensuring that nothing could touch him, the man who had buried his enemies and built a fortress out of fear and steel—looked down at the small girl holding his hand.
He knew what the Syndicate would say. He knew what the Commission would do when they found out he’d adopted the daughter of the cop who’d nearly brought them down. He knew there would be battles, investigations, and endless threats coming from the dark corners of the city.
And for the first time in his life, he didn't care.
Gabriel let out a long, slow breath—a breath that carried away the last lingering ashes of the cold man he had been forty-eight hours ago.
He reached over, picked up the thick white envelope from the seat, and tore it in half. He dropped the pieces into the small trash bin built into the door panel.
"Sal," Gabriel said.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Close the door."
Sal’s face cracked into a wide, rare grin. "Yes, sir."
The heavy armored door clicked shut, sealing them back inside the warm, leather-scented interior of the car.
Gabriel adjusted his tie, turned to Ellie, and looked at her with a face that was still tough, still scarred, but no longer cold.
"Rule number one," Gabriel said, leaning back against the leather headrest as the car pulled away from the curb, heading back toward the glowing towers of 57th Street. "We don't eat burned pancakes on weekdays."
Ellie smiled—a real, wide smile that showed a missing tooth on the left side.
"Rule number two?" she asked, leaning her head against his arm.
May you like
Gabriel wrapped his heavy arm around her small shoulders, pulling her close as the neon lights of Manhattan began to streak across the dark glass windows.
"Rule number two," Gabriel whispered into the quiet dark of the car, "is that nobody touches my daughter. Ever again."
