Chapter 3 - Shadows on the WaterfrontThe penthouse office suddenly felt like a cage.
Gabriel’s phone buzzed aggressively against the mahogany desk, but he didn't look at it. His gray-green eyes were locked on Claire, who had instantly stepped back toward the sofa where the triplets were stirring in their sleep.
“Who knows?” Gabriel demanded, his voice dropping into the lethal, gravelly register that made his enforcers check their sidearms. “Who besides Dante and my inner detail knows they were at the gala?”
“Does it matter?” Claire’s voice shook, though she fought hard to keep it steady for her children’s sake. “If someone tracked us there, they were looking for us—for them. You brought me into your world, Gabriel. Even after the divorce, your enemies knew who I was. And now they know who they are.”
She pointed a trembling finger at the sleeping boys.
Gabriel didn't argue. He couldn't.
He walked swiftly to the hidden wall safe behind his executive bookcase, spun the dial with practiced precision, and pulled out a heavy, matte-black secure satellite phone. He dialed a three-digit speed dial.
“Dante,” Gabriel barked the moment the line connected. “Lock down the tower. Double the perimeter detail on the ground floor. Move my armored Suburban to the private basement bay. No one enters or leaves without my direct biometric clearance. Understand?”
“Done, Boss,” Dante’s voice came back instantly from the lobby security station downstairs. “But we’ve got a bigger complication. The red ledger left at Pier 44... it’s signed by Viktor Vance.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to crack.
Viktor Vance. The old-guard Russian syndicate boss who had been trying to muscle into New York’s shipping lanes for a decade. A man without honor, without limits, and with a long-standing blood feud against the Cross family.
If Vance knew about Claire and the triplets, they weren't just targets—they were the ultimate leverage.
“He wants a sit-down?” Gabriel asked coldly.
“Worse,” Dante replied. “He wants the entire North River terminal franchise signed over by midnight, or he’s sending a clean-up crew to your penthouse.”
Gabriel slammed the phone down onto its cradle.
He turned around slowly to face Claire. She was kneeling beside the sofa, gently shaking the middle boy, Leo’s twin brother Julian, waking him up with soothing murmurs.
“We’re leaving,” Gabriel said, grabbing his tailored wool overcoat from the mahogany stand.
Claire looked up, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Leaving? To go where? Into another one of your safehouses surrounded by men with guns? I spent five years keeping my boys safe from your life, Gabriel. I am not walking back into the crossfire.”
“You don't have a choice anymore, Claire!” Gabriel shouted, taking two rapid strides across the room until he stood towering over her. “Viktor Vance just put a target on your back and my sons' backs. If you stay here, you die. If you walk out that front door alone, you die. The only way any of us make it through tonight is if you let me protect you.”
Before Claire could fire back a blistering response, the overhead lights in the penthouse flickered once, twice, and then died completely.
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The emergency backup generators kicked in three seconds later, bathing the room in a dull, amber emergency glow.
On the desk, the private security intercom shrieked with static, followed by the sound of heavy gunfire echoing from the lobby far below.
