Chapter 17 Gabriel
Gabriel
The Don worked his jaw side to side, the amber liquid in his glass catching the light as he swirled it. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp before speaking, his voice low and deliberate. “How do you know for sure that Nikolai is a traitor?”
I nodded at Damien, and he slid the phone across the large table toward him. He grabbed the phone.
“What is this?” he asked pointlessly.
His face lowered solemnly as he read through the group messages between the man I had killed, Ivan, and Nikolai.
The door to my father’s study creaked open, revealing Isabelle with a glass of something green in her hand. The Don barely spared her a glance before shouting, “I don’t want that shit.”
She brought it to him anyway. “You need to drink it. It’s natural. Either this or the meds.”
He glared at the drink, then took the glass and downed it in one long gulp.
I turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“To deal with Nikolai.” I said over my shoulder.
He leaned back into his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as if a wave of relaxation subdued him. “For all I know, you could be fucking off again.” His eyes drifted across the room. “Take your brother with you,” he said, gesturing to the door.
Isabelle hurried after Damien and me as we made our way out of the study. She kept her voice low, a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been grinding up his meds and blending them into a vegetable smoothie. He thinks it’s the plants keeping him sharp.”
“Whatever works,” I muttered, giving it the barest flicker of attention. All I could think about was what Nikolai’s face would look like with my hands crushing his throat.
“So what’s the plan?” Damien asked, his voice carrying an edge of readiness as Isabelle began to fall behind.
I stopped, turning to address her. “Keep up, Isabelle. I’ll be needing you.”
She hesitated but quickened her pace, following us into the war room. I stood at the head of the table.
“Isabelle, call Nikolai. Tell him the Don isn’t doing well—barely coherent, can’t get out of bed.
Say you can’t find me and you’re worried.
Tell him Damien’s drinking again, can’t stop.
Make it sound like we’re falling apart. He’ll come here—unless he suspects we know.
And if he does, there’s a good chance he’ll try to put a knife in your back. ”
She gave me a dark, humorless smile.
“Call him,” I said.
She pulled out her phone, and after a brief moment scrolling through her contacts, pressed call then speaker.
He answered immediately.
“Isabelle,” he said smoothly, “Didn’t expect to hear from you, is everything alright?”
“It’s my Dad,” she said, injecting just the right amount of naive worry into her tone. “He’s not… he’s not well. He hasn’t spoken in days. Keeps staring out the window like he’s waiting for someone who’s not coming. He rarely even gets out of bed. He isn't eating much.”
Everything about her face was steady, calculating, but her voice quivered. “I haven’t seen Gabriel since yesterday, Damien won’t stop drinking. Won’t leave his room either. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice broke just enough. “I’m scared. Everything’s falling apart.”
“Stay put. I’ll come by tonight. We’ll talk it through, get it all figured out.” His tone was warm, affectionate, but I could hear the fucking smile on his face.
The arrogance in his voice was so casual, so entitled, like he was untouchable.
“Thank you,” Isabelle whispered, lowering the phone.
Nikolai thinks he has us cornered, tonight is the last night he’ll be wrong.