Inheritance (Broken Empire #2)

Chapter 1 Gabriel

Gabriel

For a long moment, we sat staring at each other, unwilling to speak, unable to mask the contempt simmering between us.

The air in my father’s study felt heavy, thick with the scent of aged whiskey, leather, and stale tobacco. A single lamp glowed dimly in the corner, casting jagged shadows across the room.

Patience and anger warred in his bloodshot eyes—his fatigue a mirror of my own.

“You look great,” I said, breaking the silence with a sarcasm I knew would tip him over the edge.

He snorted, a dry, bitter sound, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, I feel better than ever. And how could I not? One of my sons has returned.”

His gaze sharpened, cutting through the space between us. “It’s just a shame that one of them never will.”

I didn’t react.

My father scoffed as he raised his glass, though his hand trembled slightly. The whiskey rippled. Small, telling waves betrayed the strain he tried to hide—the pain he blamed me for.

He steadied his hand the only way he knew: by downing his whiskey in one long gulp.

“You’ve been busy in your time away. Making my life difficult,” he said.

I grabbed the bottle and poured myself a drink, matching his steady disdain. “Refusing to go along with your delusional plans made things more difficult for you?”

His eyes narrowed. His lip twitched.

“You’ve always butted heads with me, but I never thought my own son would go so far as to start a war simply to spite me.”

“The war was inevitable,” I said calmly. “It wasn’t about spite. Though I’ll admit—it’s funny how things kicked off when I went after that oil company. Something I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t frozen my accounts after I left.”

He didn’t answer. Just refilled his glass.

I laughed once, dull and tired.

“We’re at war, yes. But even war is better than giving your loved ones to a generational enemy.”

A flicker crossed his face. Shame. Or regret. But it vanished in an instant.

“What?” I asked, glass halfway to my lips.

He leaned back. His hand dragged over his chin like he was steeling himself. When he finally spoke, I already knew what he was going to say.

I just didn’t know who.

“After you left… your sister made her vows to Ivan Sinclair.”

I blinked.

“Who?” I snapped. “Did you fucking sell Caroline?”

The thought of either of my sisters in Ivan’s hands was too much to bear. Isabelle—maybe she could survive it. She was sharper, colder. But Caroline…

She was too young. Too trusting. Too innocent.

The glass cracked in my hand. Then shattered.

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Forcing breath in. Forcing distance from what I already knew was coming.

“I didn’t sell her,” he said simply, “She willingly married him.”

My fists slammed into his desk. He jolted, his carefully curated calm cracking.

“You gave the Sinclairs—our enemies—my sister? Your daughter?”

“Peace was on the table before you interfered,” he said, like it explained anything.

“Our blood is on the table,” I snarled, the fire in my chest flaring hotter. “You were a fool to think otherwise. And now—”

“I did what I had to do,” he snapped, pushing to his feet, bracing on the desk, pointing a gnarled finger in my face. “You left, Gabriel. You ran from your duty. She paid the price.”

I leaned in close, voice low. “Where is she? Their estate?”

His shoulders sagged. He dropped back into his chair, eyes flicking away.

“Nikolai is looking.” His voice was soft now. Almost mournful.

“You don’t know where she is?” My voice dropped, low and dangerous. I stepped closer.

“Maybe I can help you find some fucking motivation.”

I locked eyes with him. Unblinking. Unrelenting.

“Night after night, day after day, your sweet little daughter is being used. She’s being broken—mentally, physically, sexually—by Ivan Sinclair. You gave her to a monster.”

Silence. Suffocating.

His hand trembled around the empty glass. His knuckles turned white.

“Enough,” he whispered. Hollow. “You think I don’t know what he’s capable of?”

“You don’t,” I said flatly. “If you did, you would’ve fought. You would’ve burned that whole family to the ground before handing over your daughter.”

His eyes snapped to mine, anger swelling.

“If you hadn’t extorted their operation on your fucking vacation, this war wouldn’t have started.”

He shook his head. “You and your fucking pride.”

I stepped back, disgust tightening in my chest.

“Pride? You think this is about pride? This is about survival. About protecting the people you claim to care about, not using them to save yourself.”

“You don’t understand the weight of leadership,” he said, lifting his chin. “You will never have what it takes to sit where I sit. You’ve always been too brash, too reckless. You think you can save everyone—but you can’t. Sacrifices have to be made.”

I leaned in, jaw clenched. “You think you’re a leader? Leaders protect their people. They don’t trade their own daughter for a few more hours of peace.”

His hand twitched. The urge to lash out flickered across his face, but it passed. He didn’t try. He wouldn’t. Too weak. Too much of a coward.

“And what will you do now, son? Charge in, guns blazing? Get her killed in the process? Or will you let me clean up your mess, as I always do?”

I leaned in, voice low and final. “I’m going to find her. And when I do? You’re done.”