Chapter 21 - Anna
Istir awake, blinking as the sun makes its way through the thin white drapes. I was too preoccupied last night to close the blackout curtains.
My body feels sore, but in a satisfying way. It reminds me of the intense, passionate shower that consumed me last night. Rolling over, I reach for Gabriel, but my hand only finds cold sheets. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look around the room.
I spot his stuff on the chair, and my heart skips a beat.
He's still here.
But the joy doesn’t last. Guilt rushes in.
The man I care for is completely in the dark, and my undercover work feels less like duty and more like betrayal.
It’s starting to eat away at me. Worse, Gabriel isn’t just kind to me—he showed up at the first sign of trouble.
Exactly the kind of man anyone would want. Exactly the kind of man I want.
A smile spreads across my face as I hear noise coming from the kitchen. Throwing off the covers, I put on my robe and walk toward the source of the noise.
Entering the kitchen, I find Gabriel looking in the fridge, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, his muscular back on display. The sight of him sends a warmth through me that only he's been able to spark.
"Morning," I say softly, brushing my hair over my ear. Gabriel turns and smiles. "Good morning. Sleep well?"
It takes me a second to respond as I'm caught taking in his tantalizing, rippled abs.
"Like a baby," I reply, crossing the room to take a seat at the table. Gabriel sets a bowl of yogurt and a fruit cup down in front of me before taking the seat across from me.
"You didn't have much in the way of breakfast."
"Yeah, it's fine. I usually have something like this anyhow. Compliments of the Capstone."
He bites into a strawberry as simply as any man would, but for some reason, the way in which he does it shoots a pulse down between my legs.
Calm down, Anna. It's just a strawberry.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, occasionally stealing glances at each other, before I decide to get to know Gabriel a little better.
"So," I say and bite into a piece of fruit, "tell me a little about Gabriel."
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "What do you want to know?"
"I don't know, maybe where you grew up? Do you have any family? What's the reason for the tattoo?"
"You don't like it?" he asks, looking down at his chest.
"No, it's freaking hot, but what's the story?"
Interestingly, he totally dodges the first set of questions.
He finishes chewing and swallows.
"When I was young, I read Greek mythology about the phoenix being a mythical bird that would build its own funeral pyre, die in the flames, and then be reborn," he says and takes another bite of his strawberry.
"Being reborn after total destruction into a more powerful state.
This idea stuck with me since I wouldn't allow my upbringing to define who I was going to be. "
"Wow," I say out loud, struck by the depth of his response. "So your upbringing wasn't good?"
He shrugs. "I guess it could have always been worse.
My sister and I were raised in foster care after the death of our parents.
It was hard. There were times we were separated, and I wasn't sure I'd make it out, much less make it in life.
However, when I turned 18 and was kicked out of the system, Enzo showed me that my previous 18 years didn't have to define who I'd become.
So I burned that version of myself and became the man before you. "
His momentary vulnerability is sexy in its own right, but I now have a ton more questions.
“Your sister? I ask in a surprised tone.
He smiles. "Yes, I'm putting her through college. Growing up, we both loved books, she stuck with it. She's getting her PhD in literature."
I can see he has a deep fondness for her, and it shows. "She means a lot to you."
His face grows stern. "I'd protect her at all costs," he says before relaxing. "What about you?"
"Oh. Me? Well, much less exciting. I was born and raised here. Parents are still around, though I don’t really see them much.
My mom’s been in and out of rehab most of my life, and my dad, well, he left when I was young and tried to connect with me later in my life, but you know, it had been too long and—" I pause and take a breath.
Damn, I was actually opening up, and it surprised even me.
"After college," I continue, "I fell into some habits that eventually led me to finding myself in places like this."
"Navigating this world without parents is tough. You did what you had to do. Just like me. Maybe we’re a lot more alike than I thought."
I smile and feel warm inside. "Maybe."
I watch as he studies me.
Shit.
I suddenly remember that we're supposed to get coffee today at the shop that should have an FBI contact waiting for me. A new feeling spreads throughout my body, and not in the same way it does for Gabriel. This one is wrapped in fear.
However I feel, I need to put on my game face—or as Gabriel knows it, my Sofia face. I can't jeopardize anything. I've seen what he does to men and where their lifeless bodies end up.
"Thank you for this," I say, gesturing to the finished yogurt and half-eaten fruit cup.
"Next time, Sofia, I'll make you something special," he says.
His gaze is intense as he speaks to me, but there's a hint of softness there that I've never seen before.
"I look forward to it," I say with a slight smile.
Gabriel finishes and stands. He takes his and my bowl and puts them in the sink.
He turns and pulls me to my feet and kisses me.
He then wraps me in his arms, and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his scent and savoring the feeling of his strong embrace.
We stand there for what feels like an eternity, holding onto each other as if we're the only two people in the world.
I don't want this moment to end, but I know I'm stalling. I need to push ahead with my plan.
I have to.
"So, what about that cup of coffee?" I ask, holding him.
"Sure, Bella. Let's get ready."
We walk into the bedroom, and as Gabriel is dressing, his phone vibrates on the nightstand. He looks down at it, and an angry look flashes across his face. He dresses quickly and grabs his jacket. "I need to make a call. I'll wait for you in the kitchen."
"Okay," I say, but I don't think he hears me as he shuts the door behind him.
Wonder who texted him?
I can't let my mind drift for too long. I need to get ready. I pull out the first outfit I can find: a v-neck white shirt, dark jeans, and some gym shoes.
I'm hoping my casual look will help calm my nerves as I walk toward a coffee shop with a hitman to meet an FBI agent—like one does on a Friday morning.
I dress and stand in front of the mirror and tie my hair in a ponytail.
I glance over at the closed bedroom door once more, freeing any doubts from my mind that it's not fully closed.
I kneel down and stick my arm underneath the bed, feeling for it among the wooden planks of the mattress frame.
I frantically move my hand around and start to panic that Gabriel could walk in at any moment.
A sense of relief washes over me as I find what I'm searching for.
I pull out a few sheets of folded-up paper.
There are notes I've been keeping since I last met with Agent Russell and Harris.
I used the small notepad next to the hotel phone, which only rings to the front desk, so I'm thankful the pad was even there.
I open it up quickly to scan the few pages I've written.
Okay, it's all here.
My hands shake as I refold the pages into a little square and slide it into my waistband.
I stand and shake my hands to stop them from trembling.
You got this. He won’t find the notes. Just breathe.
I take one final glance in the mirror and adjust my shirt, pressing on my waist where the notes are, wishing I could just press them into my skin and absorb them until I need them.
You can't tell anything is there. Let's just go.
"For Bill," I say softly.
As I walk out of the bedroom, I see Gabriel leaning against the wall just before the kitchen. He hears me approaching and tucks his phone back into his pocket.
He smiles at me, but I can sense something is off.
"Ready?" he asks, fixing his jacket.
I nod. "Absolutely," I say, trying to appear casual.
The streets outside the hotel are bustling with people in a hurry to get somewhere. I wish I had their conviction, but as we start walking in the direction of the coffee shop, my legs feel sluggish, and the ground feels as if I'm walking in wet cement.
Gabriel gives me a look as he's had to slow his pace two times already.
"Sorry, just taking in the air. I don't get out much these days," I say, and he nods. I can tell he's in his head about something.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, seeing if he'll give me anything.
"Business. Always business," he says, keeping his eyes forward without looking down at me.
"Well, they say some business is better than no business."
"Not this kind of business," he says and finally glances down at me, "at least not today."
We walk for a few moments in silence, and I see the coffee shop sign appear. My palms instantly become clammy, and I wipe them on my jeans.
As we come within about 15 feet of the entrance, I see Gabriel pull out his phone.
"Motherfucker," he says under his breath.
He stops, and so do I.
He turns to me. "I need to take this. Umm, go get your coffee, and I will wait for you out here."
"Oh, I...uhh, okay. Do you want anything?"
He shakes his head. "No, but here," he says, pulling out a wad of cash and handing me a $50 bill. "For your coffee."
I grab it, and he turns to answer the call.
As I walk inside, that distinctive coffee brewing smell fills my nostrils. I scan the faces of the baristas, searching for any sign of recognition or a discreet signal from my FBI contact. I suppose if they did something, however, they wouldn't be a very good undercover agent.