Chapter 9 Gabriel
Gabriel
“So, Ivan Sinclair was at the museum. Completely unguarded,” Damien drawled, leaning casually against the wall in the war room.
Nikolai leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Had we known, you could have taken him out.”
I shook my head. “I’m sure he had guards, Nikolai. They were just among the crowd, blending in.”
Arguing with my father had clouded my judgment. Too late it clicked—of course he’d be there, fresh off an alliance with the Russians who control the place.
Nikolai turned to me, staring over his prominent nose with those calculating, beady eyes. His gaunt frame seemed even more skeletal as he clasped his hands together, turning one over the other.
“Think of it,” he said, voice deliberate. “There’s a good chance Ivan will be there again next week. We can lay a trap for him, and once we have him, we’ll find out where he’s keeping your sister.”
“It could work,” I admitted, “it’s clear the so-called neutral parties we’ve worked with are flocking to the Sinclairs. If we cause a scene, that’ll just make things worse for us.”
Nikolai countered, “If you take out Ivan and get your sister back, the other families will see it as a reason to stay neutral—or better yet, flock back to your family.”
“If we cause a scene on neutral ground, we will be completely isolated. Our respect will be gone.” I had to repeat myself, but his eyes just darted in thought, like he was searching for the right combination of words to change my mind.
Damien pushed off the wall, finally joining the conversation.
“It’s not neutral ground anymore. I say we grab him when he leaves the museum. Bring him here. Spend some quality time together.”
“A fine idea,” Nikolai said with a slight nod.
Damien smirked. “Two against one, Gabriel. It’s decided.”
I looked at my brother with a measured harshness. “I decide.”
For a moment, Nikolai’s face darkened with resentment, but it vanished so quickly I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t imagined it.
“Don’t you want Caroline back?” Damien asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. The same way it had been when he was younger. He caught himself and clenched his jaw.
“Of course I do. But if you want to convince me with a plan, you need a better one. We don’t even know if he’ll be there next week. Odds are it was a one-time thing for him to go personally.”
Nikolai leaned toward me, a sly grin twisting his mouth. “You could—”
“Enough,” I snapped, cutting him off. I turned to leave the room.
“Fucking typical,” Damien muttered under his breath.
“You won’t do what’s needed to save our sister. You’re a fucking coward.”
I stopped. Turned. My jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Damien stepped forward, closing the distance, but I beat him to it. My fist caught him square in the jaw with a loud crack. He toppled back, clutching his face, but stayed on his feet. Then he growled and swung at me.
I deflected. His fist slammed into the wall by my head, and his other hand caught me in the ribs.
We grappled. I twisted his arm behind his back. He groaned as I growled through clenched teeth, “I said, enough.”
He bared his bloodied teeth in a defiant grin.
I threw him into the bookshelf lining the far wall. Wood snapped. Books rained down as he crumpled to the floor. I crouched over him, foot on his chest, glaring into his daring eyes until the will to fight left them.
“That’s what I thought.”
I straightened, the ache in my ribs a sharp reminder Damien was almost as strong as I was.
“Is something amusing you, Nikolai?” I said, catching the faintest smirk.
“No,” he replied curtly. But the smirk lingered.
I stepped back, exhaled slowly to burn off the adrenaline.
“Any more brilliant ideas? Or are we done?”
I offered Damien my hand. He clasped it, hauled himself up.
Nikolai stepped in, smooth as ever. “As much as I enjoy watching brothers bond, we still need a plan. Gabriel, your temper doesn’t negate the fact that Damien has a point. You’re running out of time.”
“I don’t need a lecture, Nikolai,” I snapped. “Why is it that the most useless men are always the ones lecturing?”
Damien spit blood, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. I met his gaze—hard, unyielding, laced with desperation. Damien wasn’t wrong. Neither was Nikolai. But that didn’t make them right, either.
“We’ll kill him in a few weeks,” I said, “But we do it my way. No bloodshed in neutral territory. Clean, fast, and without destroying our reputation with every other family in this city.”
Damien’s smirk came back, bitterness curling around it. “Your way. Fine. Let’s hope your way doesn’t get Caroline killed.”
Nikolai stayed quiet, but the gleam in his eyes told me he was already calculating the odds. And hating every second of conceding control, even if it was never his to begin with.
Damien muttered something as I shut the door behind me. I ignored it. That was just how he licked his wounds.
I meant to go to my room. To see Sophia. But I caught sight of my father clamoring down the hall—and the rage returned, fresh and hot, searching for a place to go.
He was the reason for all of this.
I let out a breath. Unclenched my fist.
I couldn’t treat him like Damien. He’d break in a gust of wind.
But there were other ways to give him a beating.
“Father.” My voice echoed toward him.
He turned, slowly, and just stared at me, his mouth wobbling like he forgot how to speak.
“Gabriel, is that you?”
“What?” I said, holding out my arms like that might somehow confirm it, even though he was looking right at me.
He took it as an invitation—and hugged me. For the first time in my life.
“What are you—”
He leaned back, staring into my eyes. “My, you’ve grown. When did you get taller than me?”
He patted my shoulder, then looked past me.
“Who’s this?”
I turned. Sophia was standing a few steps behind me.
I took a step away from him, and something shifted in his face—recognition, maybe, or something trying to pass for it.
“Ah. A girlfriend of yours, eh? Hah. Wait ’til your mother hears.”
And just like that, he turned again. Cane tapping. Shuffling down the hall toward his room.
“Bianca,” he called out as he opened the door and disappeared into the dark. “Bianca,” again, louder this time. “Where are you off to, woman?” His voice sharpened, rising into a hint of anger.
I stood there. My mouth slightly parted.
Sophia stepped closer, her expression etched with worry.
“He’s worse now, isn’t he?” she asked, softly.
I nodded. The weight of it settled in my chest like a stone.
“Yeah. He used to have bad days. But this…” I gestured after him. “This is new.”
“He didn’t even know who I was for a moment.”
Her brow furrowed. Her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—pity maybe.
“I didn’t know it was this bad. Gabriel, if he’s deteriorating this quickly…”
She stepped closer, her hand landing on my arm. It looked small there. Fragile.
“You don’t have to deal with this alone, Gabriel. I’m here.”
I let out a slow breath, jaw tightening.
I started down the hallway.
She slipped past me, blocking my path.
“Don’t do that. Don’t run away from me. You can’t carry all of this by yourself. No one can.”
“I’m not running away from you.”
A loud crash shattered the air.
From his room.
I moved fast. Sophia close behind me.
I burst through the door.
A lamp lay shattered on the floor, its bulb flickering—off, then on. Off. Then on. The room strobing in and out of shadow.
My father stood in the center, cane discarded, hands trembling around a framed photograph.
“Bianca,” he said, voice raw. Desperate.
A breath escaped me. I stepped deeper into the room. Flipped the light switch. Yanked the lamp’s cord from the wall.
“Father,” I said, softly, Moving closer.
He didn’t respond.
“Hey.”
Still nothing.
“Dad. It’s me. Gabriel. Your son.”
He turned toward me. His face lit up, hopeful—then twisted, confused, and angry.
“Gabriel? Gabriel’s just a boy,” he shouted, looking around the room. “She was just here, she—” His voice cracked. He clutched the frame tighter. The wood creaked under his grip.
Sophia stayed at the door, pale and still, hands clasped in front of her.
I moved closer slowly, voice low and steady.
“Dad. It’s okay. You’re safe. Let me help you.”
For a moment, his eyes found mine. Searching. Recognizing.
Then it slipped away.
“She was,” he muttered. “She was just here.”
I reached out and took the photo from him. “No, she wasn’t.” My mother’s face looked back at me, still smiling, like nothing had changed since the day that picture was taken.
His hands dropped to his sides. Empty.
“She’s not coming back.” I said quietly. “She’s gone.”
His eyes met mine again. And for a moment—just one—he looked like he understood something was wrong.
Then he sank into the chair behind him. Shoulders slumped under the weight of failing memory and age.
Sophia stepped beside me, her hand brushing against mine.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
He sat there, staring into nothing. And I felt it—that last piece of contempt I’d held for him—slip away.
“We’ll figure this out,” Sophia whispered.
I nodded.
But I knew it was over for him.
“I’ll call a doctor tomorrow,” I said under my breath.
“No doctors.” His voice snapped clear and lucid, eyes sharp again. Then he turned to Sophia.
“It’s your turn,” he said, waving her off with a dismissive flick of his hand.
I took Sophia by the arm and led her out.
Closed the door behind us.
His voice followed me into the hall.
“Who broke my fucking lamp?”