Chapter 2 - The Fortress
The master suite of the Marlowe penthouse occupied the entire east wing of the fourteenth floor. It was a cavernous space of dark teak wood, charcoal velvet, and floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over the sprawling grey grid of Manhattan.
By three o'clock that afternoon, the quiet minimalism of the room had been thoroughly demolished.
Gabriel stood near his mahogany desk, watching two burly, armed men in black tactical polo shirts carry in a solid oak crib, three massive boxes of diapers, a high-tech baby monitor, and four shopping bags filled with infant clothing from a luxury boutique on Madison Avenue.
Hannah stood near the king-sized bed, holding Maya, looking as though she had been dropped onto an alien planet.
"Set the crib near the eastern window," Gabriel instructed the men, his tone clipped. "And leave the rest of the supplies in the primary dressing room."
"Yes, Boss," the lead guard nodded, bowing his head respectfully before ushering his partner out of the room. The heavy double doors clicked shut, leaving only the sound of the Manhattan traffic far below.
Hannah looked from the brand-new crib—made of reclaimed white pine with non-toxic finish—to Gabriel.
"You spent thousands of dollars on this," she said, her voice small. "I can't repay you for this, Mr. Marlowe."
"I don't recall asking for repayment, Miss Price," Gabriel said, walking over to his desk and pouring himself two fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter. He didn't drink it; he merely held the heavy glass, letting the dark liquid catch the afternoon light.
"My name is Hannah," she said softly, sitting down carefully on the edge of the plush velvet sofa. Maya was sitting in her lap, busily chewing on the ear of a plush cashmere bear that had been included in one of the boutique deliveries. "If I'm going to be trapped in your suite, you might as well call me by my name."
Gabriel paused, turning his dark eyes toward her.
Hannah Price was twenty-four years old, though stress and fatigue made her look both younger and older at the same time. She had large, expressive hazel eyes, pale skin, and soft brown hair that was currently tied back in a messy bun. For three years, she had been a ghost in his house—quiet, efficient, moving silently around his high-stakes life. He had never truly looked at her until today.
"Very well. Hannah," Gabriel said, the name sounding foreign and strangely intimate on his tongue. "And you will call me Gabriel. If Vance or any of the other capos see you calling me 'Mr. Marlowe', the illusion fails."
Hannah swallowed hard. "What illusion, exactly, are we building? You told Vance I was your staff. Now I'm sitting in your bedroom with a baby crib."
"Vance believes you are a liability I am keeping close," Gabriel explained, stepping toward the sofa. "He thinks I am hiding a relationship with you to protect my reputation. As long as he thinks you are my mistress or my secret partner, he will hesitate to move directly against you without challenging me openly. That buys us time."
"Time for what?"
"Time for me to dismantle Victor Vance before he dismantles me," Gabriel said plainly.
There was no drama in his voice, no boasting—just a simple statement of fact that made Hannah's skin prickle with cold sweat. She was staring at a man who discussed removing a powerful syndicate boss as calmly as someone discussing a change in the weather.
Maya suddenly let out a loud, bubbling giggle, dropping her cashmere bear and reaching out her small hands toward Gabriel's scotch glass.
Gabriel immediately raised the glass out of reach. "No. Absolutely not."
Maya squeaked, her little face scrunching up in defiance.
Hannah couldn't help the tiny, nervous breath of laughter that escaped her lips. "She likes shiny things. She thinks your glass is a toy."
Gabriel looked at the infant, then at Hannah. The sight of the tiny woman and the tiny baby sitting on his dark velvet sofa, surrounded by his austere, lethal world, triggered that strange, unfamiliar feeling beneath his ribs again. It wasn't logic. It wasn't strategy. It was something instinctual and ancient—the absolute urge to build a wall around them and burn anyone who tried to climb it.
"Has she eaten?" Gabriel asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"I fed her a jar of applesauce from the delivery an hour ago," Hannah said, her tone softening as she looked at her niece. "She's supposed to have a nap soon, but... she's restless. She isn't used to this place."
"She seemed comfortable enough on my floor this morning," Gabriel noted dryly.
"That's because she didn't know you were the big, bad mafia boss," Hannah said before she could censor herself.
She instantly froze, her eyes widening as she realized what she had said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"It's fine," Gabriel cut her off, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips suggesting the faintest ghost of amusement. "The rest of the city seems to agree with her."
He set his un-drunk scotch down on the side table and stepped closer to the sofa. Standing over them, his massive frame blocked out the light from the tall windows, but for the first time, Hannah didn't feel afraid of him.
"You need to rest, Hannah," Gabriel said, his voice lowering. "You've been running on adrenaline since seven this morning. Put the child in the crib. The doors are locked from the inside, and there are two men stationed outside the corridor who answer only to me."
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice dropping to a vulnerable murmur that she couldn't hide.
"I have a meeting downstairs with the borough leaders," Gabriel said, adjusting his cuffs. "Vance will be there. I need to make sure he understands that his curiosity regarding my private affairs comes with a very high price."
Gabriel turned to leave, but before he took three steps, he felt a faint tug on the bottom hem of his trousers.
He looked down.
Maya had slid off Hannah's lap onto the plush carpet and had crawled the short distance to his feet. She was sitting back on her heels, holding onto his pant leg with one small hand, looking up at him with wide, dark brown eyes.
She lifted her free arm, holding out the cashmere bear toward him.
Gabriel stared at the stuffed animal. "I don't want the bear, Maya."
Maya thrust it forward again, making a insistent "Gah!" sound.
Hannah watched them, her heart hammering against her ribs, a strange ache swelling in her chest. "She's offering it to you. It means she trusts you."
Gabriel looked at the baby for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, the most feared man in Manhattan knelt down on one knee on the Persian rug. He reached out with his large, scarred hand and gently took the soft ear of the cashmere bear between two fingers.
"Thank you," Gabriel said gravely to the eight-month-old child.
Maya smiled, showing her two tiny lower teeth, satisfied with the transaction.
Gabriel stood up, keeping the bear in his hand for a second before carefully placing it on the edge of his mahogany desk. He looked back at Hannah, his dark eyes unreadable.
May you like
"Get some sleep, Hannah," he said softly. "You're safe here."
He turned and walked out of the suite, the heavy oak doors locking behind him with a sharp, definitive click that sounded to Hannah like the closing of a vault.
