46. AUDRA #2
I open it. And instantly, I forget how to breathe.
Gabe stands there like he's stepped out of a completely different world.
Immaculate suit, dark and perfectly tailored, not a single crease out of place.
Everything about him is controlled, precise…
expensive. He looks like he doesn't belong anywhere near this place.
Like the house itself should apologize for existing in his presence.
It feels like I've forgotten how good-looking he is during the last few days.
Enough to take my breath away. Enough to form a huge lump in my throat at the thought that this man is here.
For me. A man like him, who could have any supermodel in the world, has come to pick me up.
I'm just glad I'm wearing a nice dress. Not as nice as the clothes he bought me, but… decent enough.
"Audra."
My name rolls off his tongue, low and smooth.
It's just a name, but coming from his lips, it sounds like so much more.
As much as I want to find smugness in it, something to hate, there isn't any.
Only the sound of his voice, wrapping around my spine and pulling tight.
His eyes lock on me. Dark. Focused. Blown wide.
All pupil. He takes me in like he's committing every detail to memory.
His face gives nothing away. No judgment.
No approval. Nothing. Just that steady, consuming attention.
My stomach flutters again. Harder this time. I haven't felt like this in… I don't even know how long. Too long.
"Are you ready?" he asks smoothly, stepping back just enough to give me space.
I nod.
"Do you need anything from here?"
"I…" Damn, what happened to my voice? It's all squeaky, and I don't seem to be able to find any words. I clear my throat. "I've packed a few things, mostly for Mom."
I point at a suitcase in the corner. One suitcase. Pathetic? Right? I've been saying that a lot lately about myself and my life.
He takes the suitcase in one hand, not bothering with the rollers, and my hand in the other. Outside, a blacked-out Escalade is idling, back doors and hatch open.
I tug on his hand, suddenly scared, "Gabe. Wait."
He stops and looks at me with his piercing blue eyes that would remind me of a glacier if they weren't so intently directed at me.
"I… what are we doing? What… where…" Again, I seem to be at a loss for words.
He puts the suitcase down and cups my cheek with his hand, caressing it with a featherlike touch.
"We'll do whatever you want to do, Audra.
We'll take this as slow or as fast as you want.
But let me be perfectly clear about one thing.
You're not coming back here, not ever. And you're not going to stay anywhere where I'm not around for more than a few hours. Does that clear your questions?"
I should probably be outraged. He's basically telling me I'm going to be his prisoner. But are you still a prisoner if you have no desire to leave the man who holds the keys?
His hand cups my face a little closer. "I've missed you, Audra. Like hell. I'm not going to spend another night without you. Ever."
"Okay," I nod.
I know that he's not going to force me to do anything I don't want.
He's not going to lie to me, and he's not going to plan my life without my input.
Most of all, he'll accept me the way I am.
Do I see the red flags? Hell, there's plenty of them.
Do I care? Not in the least. This is my life, and if this is a mistake, I'm doing it with my eyes and heart wide open.
"Okay?" He makes sure.
I nod into his hand. "Yeah."
He guides me to the car. Louie, his driver, comes around to take the luggage from him. "Mrs. Hale." He greets me.
And for a split second, I allow myself to imagine him calling me Mrs. D'Amato. Mentally try the name on for… practice? Or just to hear even in my own head what it would sound like? Already feeling like, inevitably, we're headed that way.
"Louie," I reply with a smile.
Then we're driving, leaving the neighborhood I've lived in for the last four years, and I don't feel an ounce of regret.
"I need to confess something," Gabe says after Louie pulls the car into the main road.
My stomach knots, and I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. "You didn't get a vasectomy, did you?"
"What?" He stares at me, flabbergasted. I think this is the first time in his life he's experienced speechlessness.
If I weren't so embarrassed, I'd relish the moment.
"Never mind, what is it?" I try to deflect.
"Ah, no. No, no. I think whatever brought this on is a lot more interesting than I was going to say."
Way to go, Audra. I haven't told Gabe about Maggie's revelation yet. But now seems as good a time as any.
"Pete got a vasectomy six years ago. I didn't know about it. I…" I drift off for a moment. "He knew how important kids are to me… Do you want kids?"
"A dozen," he nods. "And no, I did not go get a vasectomy."
"Oh, thank God."
He looks amused. "So, Saint Pete wasn't so saintly after all?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Good."
I try to gauge what he's thinking, but he says nothing else. It's probably for the best.
"So," I prod, "what's the confession?"
His expression turns more serious. "The doctor called me."
My stomach tightens. "Which doctor?"
"The one from the hospital we took your mom to."
"Oh." My fingers curl in my lap. "What did they find this time?"
He turns his head slightly, looking at me now. "It's called a pheochromocytoma."
I blink. "A what?"
"A tumor," he explains. "On her adrenal gland. It's been pumping adrenaline into her system."
I stare at him. "Adrenaline… like?—"
"Like fight or flight. All the time." His voice is steady. "That's what those episodes were. Not panic attacks. Not anxiety. Her body was basically… hijacked."
My chest tightens. "The stroke…"
"Caused by it."
Silence fills the car.
"And it gets better," he adds, not sounding like he means it. "They think it's part of something called MEN2. A genetic condition you'll need to be tested for, too. It explains the thyroid nodules."
All those doctors. All those tests. All those years and nothing. And then one time in the hospital with a shitload of money thrown at them, and bang. I don't know if I should laugh or cry.
"How did no one catch this?" I whisper.
Gabe's expression turns cold. "Because they didn't look hard enough."
Of course they didn't. And of course he did.
I swallow hard. "I thought she was losing her mind…"
"Well, part of that is still debatable." He chuckles, softer now, "The disease didn't cause all of it."
I press my lips together. "What happens now?"
"She needs surgery." He doesn't hesitate. "They'll stabilize her first. Then they take it out."
I nod, but my head feels fuzzy. "And then she'll be okay?"
He holds my gaze. "They say we found it in time." He takes my hand before he adds, "The next episode could've killed her."
My breath stutters. "Oh my God…"
"She got lucky," he says.
No. I got lucky. Because of him. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to think, but my brain is already racing ahead—to hospitals, specialists, surgery, money.
"Gabe…" My voice wavers. "I can't… we can't?—"
He moves before I can finish, his hand coming up, fingers closing around my chin, turning my face back to him. "Audra."
I freeze.
"Trust me."
My breath catches.
"I'll take care of your mother."
Just like that. No conditions. No hesitation. I search his face, waiting for the catch. The angle. The price. There isn't one. And that hits harder than anything else. Because I realize, he means it.
My fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, grounding myself. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he murmurs. "I have another confession."
The words settle between us, heavier than they should be. A warning. My chest tightens, but I nod anyway, forcing myself not to pull back. Not now.
I close my eyes for a second, draw in a steadying breath, then open them again. "Okay."
"You brought up your mother losing her mind," he reminds me, his voice quieter now.
A small, shaky laugh slips out of me, some of the tension breaking.
"Despite everything," I say, shaking my head, "I've always known my mother is certifiably crazy."
"I've hired a therapist. Her name is Esther. She's at the penthouse right now, and your mother thinks she's my aunt." He fills me in.
This time, I can't stop the chuckle. "You know, years ago, a doctor told me all this was in her head, and she needed to see a therapist."
"Let me guess, Stacy didn't like the idea?"
"Not at all," I confirm.
"Yeah, I thought so. That's why Esther is there as my aunt. She's a great therapist; you can look her up. Massimo used her for Amauri after the kid was taken, and she's done wonders." He hands me a card.
Esther Bonnet, Therapist, the card reads. Simple. I make a mental note to check her credentials, but I trust Gabe. Because this right here shows, again, just how different he is from Pete. Pete made decisions for our lives based on what he wanted. Gabe does so based on what's best for us.
"Thank you," I whisper, suppressing the tears gathering in my eyes, because it seems the world just won't stop spinning around me.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the Dominion.
It's just as polished and gleaming as it was the last time I was here.
People move around us, giving us a wide berth, sensing the predator in Gabe.
The elevator doors slide open, and he gestures us in.
His hand hovers at my back, not quite touching, but close enough that I feel it anyway.
The ride up is smooth. Too smooth. Too quiet.
The city falls away beneath us, lights stretch out endlessly, and my reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls, out of place, uncertain, completely unprepared.
For some God-forsaken reason, a strange sense of belonging creeps in anyway.
Unwanted. Unwelcome. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
The doors to the antechamber open, and warmth spills over my skin. Heat floods my face when I remember the last time I stood here. The memory is vivid and sharp. I keep my head down, trying to be subtle as I scan the guards' faces. None of them look familiar.
Thank God.
Or… a darker thought slips in, cold and unwelcome. Would he have had them killed? My stomach drops. Shit. I haven't even thought about that.
"Come." His voice cuts through the spiral, low and steady, and before I can get stuck in it, he ushers us forward like I never left. Like nothing happened. Like this is just another evening.
We step into the penthouse. It's exactly as I remember. Big. Polished. Him.
My mom and an older woman sit at the massive dining table by the window, the city glowing behind them like a backdrop. Mom rises the moment we enter. "Audra."
I rush over briskly and take her in my arms. "Mom. I missed you."
"Yeah, could've fooled me, leaving me all alone here, for days," she complains.
I smile, because… that's just Mom.
The other woman stands, smoothing her hands over her skirt. Her posture is perfectly calm and composed.
"Audra. " Gabe introduces us smoothly, guiding me forward. "This is my aunt, Esther."
"A pleasure," the woman greets me warmly. "Esther Bonnet."
Her voice is gentle. Grounding. The kind that makes you want to trust her before you even know why. She briefly takes my hand, her touch light but steady. A spicy smell from the table roils my stomach, and I shift uncomfortably.
"Gabe," she gushes, her eyes light up slightly as she glances past him toward the kitchen. "That stove." A small, appreciative smile curves her lips. "It's exceptional. Truly. The finest range I've seen in a private home."
Gabe's mouth twitches. He glances at me. Winks.
"It's self-extinguishing," he explains casually. "We had a small fire not too long ago."
My stomach drops.
"Oh no," Esther responds immediately, concern flickering across her features. "I hope no one was hurt."
"Not critically," Gabe replies, keeping up a seemingly normal conversation, like he's commenting on the weather. "A few fingers were lost."
The words hit. My throat tightens. My pulse spikes.
Oh my God. He wouldn't have, would he? I swallow hard, my gaze snaps to him, wide, searching, horrified.
If what I think happened did, it is my fault.
He doesn't look at me. Not directly. But I see it.
That slight shift in his expression. That awareness.
He knows I understand. Of course, he would.
This is Gabe. This is the man I watched kill with his bare hands.
"Shall we eat?" Gabe asks smoothly, like nothing just happened, reaching for my hand.
I freeze. Completely. Because suddenly, this feels more like stepping off a ledge.
And I'm not sure if I'm flying… or falling straight into something I won't be able to escape.