Chapter 9 #3
“Does she know?” I need to change the subject before I start crying. “About the attack? That my father tried to rescue me?”
Leo’s expression darkens immediately, the brief moment of lightness evaporating. “She knows. She’s worried that someone inside the organization can’t be trusted, that the betrayal goes deeper than just the traitor.”
“Have you found anything else?” I shouldn’t be curious about who betrayed him or why, but I am. Because whoever betrayed him helped my father, and maybe they could help me too.
“Dead ends,” Leo says, frustration evident in his voice. “Every lead with the Corsicans goes nowhere. It’s like whoever set this up knew exactly how to cover their tracks.”
The Corsicans. That’s new information, though I don’t know what to do with it. I file it away in my mental map of things I’ve learned, things that might be useful later.
I need to change the subject again. The conversation is getting too heavy and I don’t want to think about my father or betrayals or the fact that I’m still trapped here with no idea when or if I’ll ever get out.
“Tell me about Gabriel,” I hear myself say and immediately regret it when Leo goes completely still, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Why?” he asks sharply, his walls firmly in place.
“Because,” I say carefully, trying to find words that won’t make him shut down completely, “he’s the reason I’m here.
Your brother is why you kidnapped me, why you’re doing all of this.
” I place my hands on my lap, squeezing them together.
“I figure I should know something about him beyond just…how he died.”
For a long moment, I don’t think Leo’s going to answer. He just sits there, staring at his plate, his knuckles white where he’s gripping his fork. Then, slowly, he sets the fork down and takes a breath.
“Gabriel was three years younger than me,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual. “He was…reckless. Charming. The kind of person who could walk into a room and immediately make everyone smile. He had this infectious energy, this optimism that none of the rest of us could understand.”
I stay quiet, afraid that if I say anything, he’ll stop talking.
“He didn’t want this life.” There’s pain in Leo’s voice now, barely concealed.
“The family business, the violence, all of it. He wanted to be a chef. He’d talk about opening a restaurant and creating dishes that would make people happy.
Our father thought it was a phase, that he’d grow out of it and accept his role in the organization. But Gabriel never did.”
“What happened?” I ask softly, even though I already know the basic facts. My father killed him. But I want to hear Leo’s version and understand what drove him to this point.
“There was a dispute over the Brooklyn ports,” Leo says tightly, his whole body rigid.
“Access rights, territory boundaries, the usual bullshit that men kill each other over. Gabriel was sent to negotiate because he was good with people. He could de-escalate situations that might otherwise turn violent. He went to that warehouse thinking he was going to have a conversation and find a compromise.”
Leo’s hands curl into fists on the table.
“Your father shot him in the head,” he says flatly. “Execution style. Gabriel was unarmed. He was there to talk, and your father put a bullet through his brain and left him to bleed out on the floor. Connor just left. He walked away and let him die alone.”
The horror of it hits me hard. I knew my father had killed Leo’s brother. But hearing the details—hearing the brutality—makes me feel sick.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I mean it. I really, genuinely mean it in a way that has nothing to do with self-preservation or trying to get on Leo’s good side.
“I’m so sorry. That’s…” I grapple for the words, unable to believe my father could be so cruel.
“God, that’s horrible. He was so young, and he just wanted to cook, and—” I stop, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Leo says, but his voice lacks conviction. “Sorry doesn’t bring him back or change what your father did.”
“No,” I agree quietly. “It doesn’t. But I’m still sorry it happened. And I’m sorry you lost your brother that way.”
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of Gabriel’s death hanging between us. Fault and family are too tangled to separate. My father killed Leo’s brother, and now Leo has taken me to make my father suffer. It’s a cycle of violence and revenge that doesn’t have a clear ending or a winner.
There’s only loss. On both sides.
“He sounds like he was a good person,” I finally say, breaking the heavy silence. “Gabriel. Like he deserved better than what happened to him.”
“He was,” Leo agrees, his voice rough. “And he did.”
We don’t talk much after that. The rest of dinner passes in near silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts about brothers and fathers and the terrible things families do to each other.
But something has shifted between us again. Another layer peeled back, another crack in the walls we’ve both built up.