Chapter 21 Gabriel
Gabriel
Isat alone on the balcony overlooking the backyard, watching the trees sway in the distance as crickets chirped their endless rhythm.
Clouds drifted past, revealing the moonlight in fleeting bursts.
Each time it appeared, the silver glow bathed everything in soft light—until the next cloud swallowed it again.
It was a serene, peaceful view, and I had come out here looking for a moment of calm before my next move. But all I felt was ravenous hatred for those who stood against me—who had wronged me. I should have made Nikolai suffer more. His death was too merciful.
The Sinclairs would pay in blood. Then I would feel peace.
I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there, the chill of the night air biting at my skin.
This spot—familiar and haunted by memories—was near where I’d stood months ago, looking down at a sea of well-dressed guests.
My family’s gala. A delusional attempt to bind me into an arranged marriage.
The memory was sharp, bitter, like swallowing broken glass.
The balcony door creaked open behind me, followed by the familiar tap of a cane and the dragging of a foot.
“Son, this plan…” My father gripped the railing beside me, exhaling slowly. “It’s dangerous. Brash. So many variables… catastrophic failure could—will—almost certainly occur.”
“I hope old age is more merciful to me,” I replied lazily, leveling my eyes with his. “You’re thinking like a coward, and deep down, I know that’s not you. You wouldn’t have built this empire if you were.”
He said nothing.
“This is the only way. I have to save Sophia. Caroline. All you have to do is wear your suits and drink your nerves away until I bring them back.”
Moonlight glinted off his eyes, sharp and commanding.
“You will not disrespect me, son.” His tone remained neutral, but the weight behind it was unyielding.
“I am the head of the Auditore family. I built this house, this name, from nothing. My recent failings upset you—I understand that—but they don’t give you the right to question me. ”
I held my tongue as he moved slowly to the patio table and sat. He cleared his throat, reaching for his glass of green juice—medication-laced as always, dutifully prepared by Isabelle.
“I’m glad you’re doing better,” I said, softening my voice to ease the tension. He needed time to accept my plan. Eventually, he’d see it as I did—inevitable.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Your sister, she’s a miracle worker,” he said, wagging a finger at the glass. “Tastes like fuckin’ soap and dirt, but… haven’t felt this clear-headed in years.”
The memory of his breakdown flashed through my mind.
“I’m sorry for coming at your throat these past years,” I said carefully. “I just… saw you getting older. Your mind changing from what I’d known my whole life. You couldn’t control it, but still I blamed you for it.”
He watched me silently, and he understood.
“Everyone says time heals wounds,” he paused. “But no one tells you it’s time passing that creates them.”
I let out a breath. “You’re a wise old man.”
He chuckled. “Maybe, Maybe not. I’ve been reliving the past more and more. Always seeing a better path I could have taken, things I should have said. Things I shouldn’t have done. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because I don’t have much time left—but doubt has been plaguing me at every turn.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had never seen him so vulnerable, so weak.
“Regardless of your feelings or regrets, we’re here now, and you have to do whatever it takes to maintain power and influence.
Your frail thinking is what pushed you to marry us off to other families—because you were scared of what would happen after you were gone.
It was an irrational fear, and look where it got us.
You don’t have the fight in you anymore.
I understand. I’m not upset; it’s just a fact. But it’s time you passed the torch.”
His gaze locked onto mine. Something raw passed between us. He wasn’t ready to let go, but he was ready to accept my plan.
“I’ll let you fight this battle, Gabriel,” he said finally. “But understand this—if you lose, if you die too—”
“I’m not going to die,” I said, cutting him off.
Neither of us spoke after that for nearly an hour. We just sat together, smoking, drinking. Before long, we were both drunk.
“Gabriel,” my father began softly, nostalgia creeping in, “you remember the garage? You were ten, trying to fix that damned car. Stripped every screw on the carburetor, swearing you were fixing it.”
I showed him a smile.
“You were a stubborn shit. Still are. I didn’t stop you because… truth be told, I admired it. Fearless even then. No idea what you were doing.” He chuckled. “And that old car? Never going to run. Fixing it was just an excuse to spend time with you.”
I gave him a questioning look as I lit a cigarette.
He tilted his head back. “There’s a lot I didn’t tell you. Things I should have. Like how proud I was, watching you navigate the world. ‘That’s my son,’ I would say to myself. I didn’t know how to say it out loud. Thought maybe you just knew.”
His words pulled at something I didn’t know was in me.
“You three boys were always getting into shit,” he added. “But I was never mad at you. Not really.”
Silence again. He looked down at his drink. I looked away from his eyes—into memory. Logan.
“I miss him too,” my father said quietly, reading me like a fucking book. “Every minute. Every day.”
He shifted, cleared his throat.
“I never should have blamed you,” He said.
His gaze softened, and something deeper passed between us—a bond of blood, loss, and silent understanding.
Words weren’t needed. The truth lived quietly between us, as it always had, even when I couldn’t see it.
But now, finally, I felt clearly what had always existed behind his glare, under his disapproving mask.
The love of a father for his son.
He put a hand on my shoulder. His eyes were wet.
“You get those girls and come back, alright?”
I stood, clapped his shoulder, showed him a crooked smile.
“I’ll come back. Just make sure you’ve got a cigar waiting for me.”
I walked back inside. Made it halfway to my room before I realized the cigarette was still in my hand. I crushed the ember, feeling nothing as it burned between my fingers.