Chapter 7 The Afterglow #2
But Gabriel is suggesting something different. A life where I could have both—a marriage and a career, partnership and independence, love and ambition.
"That's… actually not a terrible idea," I say slowly, my mind already racing with possibilities.
"But it would be challenging. Most of those top-tier stylists build their reputations in LA or New York first, then they have the credibility and connections to work anywhere.
Starting in New Orleans would mean building from the ground up. "
"I'm asking you about all this because I need you to understand what I'm planning," Gabriel says, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he steps closer to me. "I want to take over and grow the LaRoche family operations in New Orleans."
The implication hits me immediately. He's talking about the crime family, about expanding their influence in the underworld, about reclaiming their position in the city's complex power structure.
"So you definitely want to stay in the business?"
"Yes. It's all I've been trained for my whole life. It's what I know, what I'm good at, what runs in my blood."
"You could be other things, Gabriel. You're smart, educated, charismatic—you could probably succeed in any legitimate business you chose."
"I could," he agrees, and I can see him considering the possibility seriously.
"But this is what I want. My family has been in New Orleans for generations.
We've built something here, contributed to this city's culture and economy in ways that go beyond what outsiders see.
We deserve a seat at the table, respect for what we've accomplished, and I'm going to get it back. "
I study his face, seeing the determination and pride there, the way his jaw sets when he talks about his family's legacy. This isn't just about money or power for Gabriel—it's about honor, about proving himself worthy of the LaRoche name, about honoring the generations that came before him.
"Okay," I say finally. "I understand that. But how do you plan to challenge my father's control when he has your family under his thumb?"
"That's where the first part of my plan comes in." Gabriel's expression grows more intense, more focused. "I need to clear my family's name."
"Gabriel—"
"I meant what I said downstairs, Jo. I didn't kill your brother, and I don't believe my father had anything to do with it either. The first step in reclaiming our position—in building a future where we can both have what we want—is finding out who really killed Leo."
The mention of my brother's name makes my chest tighten with familiar pain.
Leo has been dead for five years, but the wound is still fresh, still raw when I least expect it.
The anger, the grief, the need for justice—it's all still there, just below the surface of my carefully constructed composure.
I've always operated under the assumption that the LaRoche family was responsible, that they killed Leo to send a message or gain an advantage in the ongoing power struggles that define our world.
My father has never wavered from his stance that Gabriel's family killed my brother, and when someone tells you the same thing over and over, especially someone you love and trust, you start to believe it.
But what if that isn't what happened at all?
"How would we even begin to investigate something like that?
" I ask, stepping out of my wedding dress completely and standing before him in nothing but a dampened pair of pearl-colored lace panties.
"The police gave up years ago. Everyone who might have information is either dead, disappeared, or too scared to talk. "
Gabriel's eyes darken as he takes in my nearly naked form, but he stays focused on our conversation, though I can see the effort it takes.
"Your last name opens doors that brute force never could.
If you set up meetings with the right people—casual conversations, coffee dates, social visits—you could learn things that I never could through intimidation or violence. "
"Coffee dates with whom?" I ask, even as I'm distracted by the way Gabriel is slowly undressing, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest and arms that speak to hours spent training, preparing for a life where physical strength could mean the difference between life and death.
"We'd start with Hunter Middleton in California."
My stomach drops like a stone thrown into a deep well. "Wait, what?"
"If you ever want to work with West Coast clients and live your dreams, you're going to have to make peace with him. Which means making peace with his fiancée too."
Megan. My former best friend, who now hates me because of what my father did to her, because of the lies I told her for years about who I really was and where I came from.
"I'll figure something else out," I mutter, turning away from Gabriel as the weight of my guilt threatens to overwhelm me.
"Naomi," he says, his voice carrying that tone of authority I've learned to recognize.
"I told you what my father did to her! I tried to call her after everything happened, but she doesn't want to talk to me ever again, and I don't blame her."
"And what did you do when your father threatened your best friend?" Gabriel asks, his question cutting straight to the heart of my guilt like a surgical knife.
"What?" I sputter, not understanding where he's going with this line of questioning.
"What role did you play in allowing your father to use your best friend as leverage to force you home?"
The question hits me like a physical blow, and I feel my carefully constructed defenses crumble. "I couldn't do anything to help her! I can't even help myself—I was forced to marry you today, wasn't I?"
The words come out harsher than I intended, but Gabriel doesn't even flinch. He just continues watching me with those dark, perceptive eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul.
"Is that what you've been telling yourself these past few months, Naomi? That you couldn't do anything to help her?"
"Why are you doing this to me?" I demand, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than just physical nakedness. "Two minutes ago we were about to make love, and now you're making me feel like shit about how I handled a situation I had no control over."
I look around for something to cover myself with, needing some kind of barrier between us. The conversation has shifted from intimate to confrontational, and I feel vulnerable in every possible way.
"There's a robe in the closet," Gabriel says, reading my discomfort with unsettling accuracy.
I start toward the closet, but he's faster, retrieving the plush white terrycloth robe and helping me into it with gentle hands. The gesture is caring, protective, which makes his pointed questions even more confusing.
"I want you to know that you've just completely ruined any chance of getting some ass from me on your wedding night,” I huff, tying the robe closed with more force than necessary.
Gabriel actually chuckles at that, the sound rich and warm in the quiet room. "I'll survive."
"Well, maybe you won't get any ever again. This can be a marriage of convenience for real, you know."
"We should have had this conversation before our wedding day, and that's my fault," Gabriel admits, his voice serious now as he runs a hand through his dark hair.
"But before you ran from me today, I wasn't sure if I would ever tell you how I really felt.
Having you believe this was just an arrangement would have been easier for both of us, safer emotionally, but that's not what I want. "
"Well, what the hell is it that you want? Because I'm thoroughly confused, LaRoche."
Gabriel is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
"I know you don't love me yet, Naomi. There's no way you could, given everything you've believed about my family all these years.
But I need you to try to trust me, just like I want to be able to trust you completely.
Because if we can do that—if we can really be partners—we can work together to give each other exactly what we want. "
"Which is?"
"You don't want to be trapped in a loveless marriage, pushing out kids and hosting bullshit dinner parties for my father's business associates.
You want a career of your own, something that belongs to you and only you, something that gives your life meaning beyond being someone's wife or daughter.
I respect that, and I would support it completely. "
"And what do you want?"
Gabriel's eyes burn with ambition and something deeper, more primal. "I want to own this city."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication and promise. "That would mean a direct challenge to my father."
He stares at me head-on, unflinching in the face of what that could mean for both of us. "Yes, it would."
That might be the sexiest thing he's said to me all night. The idea of Gabriel taking on my father, of refusing to bow down to the man who's controlled both our lives for so long—it's terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
Fuck it. I'm in.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask him.
Gabriel's expression shifts from serious to predatory, and suddenly the air in the room changes, becomes charged with sexual tension that makes my skin feel too tight.
"Well, first, Mrs. LaRoche, you're going to get on your knees and take my dick in your mouth to apologize for threatening me with no sex on our wedding night."
The crude command sends heat straight to my core, making the walls of my pussy throb with want. There's something about the way he says it—matter-of-fact but filthy, dominant but somehow respectful—that makes me instantly wet.
"Then, after I come all over your pretty face, you're going to lie head down, ass up on that bed over there where I will fuck you thoroughly."
Holy hell. This marriage thing might really work out after all.
"And then?" I'm practically panting at this point, my body responding to his dominant tone despite my better judgment.
"And then, after I make you come a couple more times and put you in a well-fucked coma, you're going to wake up in the morning and call your best friend to apologize properly."
"And then?" I ask as I let the robe fall open, moving toward him with deliberate seduction, reveling in the way his eyes darken as he takes in my naked form.
"And then it'll be my wife's choice what happens next. Whatever you want, wherever you want to go, whatever dreams you want to chase—the world is yours, baby, because I'm going to give it to you or die trying."
I drop to my knees in front of him, looking up at his face as I reach for his belt buckle. "Promise?"
"I promise, Naomi. Everything I have, everything I am, it's all yours."
And as I take him in my mouth, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling him grow harder against my tongue, I realize that somewhere between this morning's terror and tonight's negotiations, I've stopped running from my future and started running toward it.