Chapter 5 - The Fortress in the WoodsThe safehouse in Evanston was not a mansion. It was a secluded, single-story stone cottage hidden deep within a thick grove of pine trees near the shore of Lake Michigan.
Equipped with high-grade security glass, independent power generators, and a underground tactical comms center, it was built for one purpose: survival during a syndicate war.
For three weeks, the cottage became their world.
At first, the silence between them was heavy and full of friction. Neta spent her mornings pacing the living room, frantic about her closed bakery and her ruined life, while Gideon spent eighteen hours a day in the study, issuing quiet, lethal orders through encrypted radio lines to the few captains who remained loyal to his name.
But slowly, the walls began to crumble.
It started with Laith.
The six-year-old was entirely unimpressed by Gideon's terrifying reputation. To Laith, Gideon was simply the man with the cool motorized chair that could spin in tight circles.
"Watch this," Laith announced one afternoon, sliding across the hardwood floor in his socks.
Gideon looked up from a stack of financial ledgers detailing Declan's illegal asset transfers. "You're going to put a hole in the plaster, child."
"It's not a hole, it's a landing strip," Laith corrected, popping up and sitting on the armrest of Gideon's wheelchair without asking permission. He looked at the array of computer monitors on the desk. "Are you playing a game?"
Gideon stared at the small boy sitting inches from his shoulder. Normally, anyone entering his personal space without clearance would be removed by security. But Laith just swung his legs, eyeing a half-eaten blueberry muffin on Gideon's desk.
"No," Gideon said, his tone softening despite himself. "I am checking logistics."
"Can I have the muffin?"
Gideon sighed, pushing the plate toward the boy. "Take it."
Neta walked into the study a moment later, holding a basket of folded laundry. She froze when she saw Laith sitting on the wheelchair, happily chewing the muffin while Gideon pointed to a map on the screen, explaining what the red dots meant in simple terms.
Neta leaned against the doorframe, her heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flutter.
Over the past three weeks, she had watched Gideon Croft transform. The bitter, hopeless man who had sat at that empty forty-foot table was gone. In his place was a man of intense focus, quiet grace, and an extraordinary sense of duty. He never raised his voice at her. He made sure she had everything she needed. When she had nightmares about the shooting, he had stayed up outside her bedroom door in his chair, quietly keeping watch until dawn.
"You're corrupting my son with sugar again," Neta said, stepping into the room.
Gideon looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met hers. "He insisted the muffin was calling his name, Miss Campbell."
"It's Neta," she said softly, sitting on the corner of his desk. "We've been trapped in a bunker together for twenty days, Gideon. You can call me Neta."
Gideon looked at her—really looked at her. Her dark hair was down, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. The exhaustion on her face had given way to a healthy glow, and her brown eyes held a warmth that he hadn't seen in a woman's face since his mother died.
"Neta," Gideon repeated, the name sounding rich and heavy on his tongue. "My men have located Declan's main staging area. The war ends tonight."
Neta’s smile vanished. The comfortable warmth in the room evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp coldness in her chest.
"Tonight?" she whispered.
"Declan is holding a meeting at the old grain terminals on the south docks," Gideon said, his voice returning to its cool, tactical tone. "He thinks I'm hiding out of state. My loyal captains—the ones who were waiting for a signal—have surrounded the pier. Thomas and I leave at midnight."
Neta looked down at his useless legs under his dark trousers, then at his powerful hands resting on the armrests.
"You're going yourself?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "Gideon, you can't... you're still recovering. You're in a—"
"A wheelchair?" Gideon finished for her, his eyes locking onto hers. "Declan took my body, Neta. But if I let him take my family's name while I hide in the woods, he takes my soul too. I have to be there when he falls."
Neta didn't think. She reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around his hand. Her skin was warm, soft, and trembling.
"Promise me you'll come back," Neta demanded, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Don't you dare leave me and Laith alone in this cottage."
May you like
Gideon stared at her hand holding his. He felt the heat of her touch radiating up his arm, settling deep inside his chest where the phantom fire used to burn.
"I promise," Gideon said softly. He raised his free hand and gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I have a cake to pay for."
