56. Gabriel
I’m in my kitchen when Lars’ name lights up my phone with a text notification.
I’ve had his information saved for weeks since I received this assignment, so it should be a neutral detail in a long list of information I’ve trained myself to collect. Names, routes, habits, gaps in security. But the second I see his name my pulse picks up.
I set the mug down on the counter and pick up my phone with my thumb hovering over the notification, my mind already running two tracks at once.
One track is practical. This call could be the invitation to the second contact that I absolutely need for the mission.
The other track is the memory of Neomi’s mouth on mine, champagne and heat, her eyes when she was on her knees for him and I.
The way I woke with her back against my chest and his hand resting on my hip as if my body had always belonged in the same bed as theirs.
I open the message.
Lars:
Hey, Gabriel, Lars here. Dinner this week?
My throat tightens on an inhale. I’ve secured a second meeting. The two wolves inside me howl. One is crying out to be near them, the other knows I’ve taken the most crucial step toward getting closer to what I need to obtain
I stare at the screen until it dims, then tap it awake again, reading the words a second time.
I set the phone down on the counter and turn toward the river view, watching morning traffic crawl along the bridges.
My apartment is too quiet. Silence is what I used to crave.
Now the silence is a mirror, and I don’t like what it reflects back at me.
I cross the living room and stop beside the piano in the corner.
The black lacquer catches the light from the windows, polished to a shine that I maintain out of habit.
The piano isn’t decoration. It’s the one honest thing in this apartment.
It’s the only object in this place that belongs to me, not the alias on my lease.
It’s not like the polished furnishings I chose because luxury is simple when you can afford it and leave it behind without grief.
I lift the fallboard and press a single key. The sound cuts through the quiet, and it does what it always does, it pulls me out of my head for a heartbeat.
Then my phone buzzes again and I return to the island to check it. The second notification is the one that turns my stomach.
Snake Charmer: Update?
Just one word. She doesn’t waste characters, because she doesn’t waste time. My hand closes around the edge of the counter, fingers tightening against the cold marble. I pick up my phone and type.
Me: Contact made. I’ll have more soon.
I hit send.
I don’t get an immediate response, but that doesn’t mean anything. Snake Charmer rarely replies quickly when she doesn’t need to. She lets silence do her work. She lets me sit inside my own choices and sweat.
I go back to Lars’ message and read it again.
I should set a line and suggest something less intimate, something in the light of day, because I can already feel how easily this can spiral beyond control. I can already feel the part of myself that wants to earn more than access, the part that wants to be chosen.
I pick up my phone and type.
Me:
Thursday works. Anywhere specific?
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, then set the phone face down on the counter as if that will lessen the impact of what I just did.
I want to believe this can stay simple. Just a second meeting. A chance to see if last week was a single bright flare or was something that will keep burning whether I feed it or not.
My phone buzzes again and I flip it over.
Lars:
There’s a place on North State Street. Good food. I’ll text you the reservation details.
Me:
Sounds good. Excited to see you again.
I set my phone down and that’s when Snake Charmer finally responds.
Snake Charmer: Call tomorrow at 4 p.m.
Over the past twenty-four hours I’ve researched the Marchetti estate. Snake Charmer sent me the floor plans, but there’s one wing on the first floor that we can’t find any information on. I’m sitting at the desk in my office when the notification appears.
The room is quiet except for the muted noise of the city filtering through the windows behind me, but my attention stays fixed on the laptop in front of me where the encrypted call request flashes against the dark screen.
I let the notification sit there for a moment before I reach forward and accept the call. The screen flickers as the encrypted connection stabilizes, then resolves into the low-lit image of a woman seated in a generic white room.
Sera Corrigan looks exactly the way she always does on these calls—composed, observant, her dark hair pulled back loosely from her face while she looks into the camera with an intense focus.
“Gabriel,” she says.
“Sera.”
She tilts her head, studying me through the camera as if measuring something behind my eyes. The faint glow of monitors illuminates her face.
“You’re making progress?” she asks.
I nod. “I’ve been busy.”
A small smile touches the corner of her mouth, though there is no humor behind it.
“I imagine you have,” she replies. “The Marchetti family has always been difficult to approach. Even more so now that their internal structure has shifted with two new wives in the past few months.”
“I’ve made contact,” I tell her, bringing our focus back to the task at hand. “Trust is building.”
Her eyes sharpen slightly.
“With Lars?”
“With both of them.”
The silence that follows is brief but heavy. Sera leans back in her chair.
“That was faster than expected,” she says finally.
“The circumstances aligned.”
Another pause stretches between us before she asks the question that matters.
“And access to the estate?”
“Not yet.” I shake my head.
Her gaze doesn’t change, but I know she is cataloguing the answer, placing it somewhere within the larger picture she has been building for months.
“That will come,” she says. “Marchetti men are territorial, but they are also loyal to the people they trust. If you remain close to them, access will follow.”
“This situation is different than you described.”
Her brow lifts. “Explain.”
“There’s a marriage now,” I say. “That changes the dynamic.”
Sera watches me carefully.
“Yes,” she replies. “I am aware.”
“That complicates things,” I continue. “It changes the way they move. The way they protect each other.”
“That was going to happen eventually,” she says. “The Marchetti Syndicate is built on family structure. Marriage strengthens loyalty. Loyalty strengthens power.” Her gaze holds mine steadily. “That’s why I selected you to be there.”
I exhale slowly and rest my forearms on the desk.
“You still haven’t explained why this matters so much,” I say. “You have contacts all over Chicago. There are easier financial targets than the inner circle of the Marchetti estate.”
When she speaks, her tone remains measured, but there is something sharper beneath it now.
“Because the Marchetti family is protecting something that can’t remain in their hands.” She pauses. “The Blackwater Key.”
She watches my reaction carefully, her eyes narrowing.
“You’re closer to it than anyone else we’ve ever placed near them,” she continues. “This opportunity won’t come again.”
I lean back in my chair. “You still haven’t told me what it actually is.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You don’t need the specifics yet.”
Sera shifts in her chair, and for the first time since the call began, I see the flicker of impatience in her posture.
“Gabriel,” she sighs, “the Blackwater Key is powerful enough to alter the balance of several syndicates at once. It was designed for one purpose, and one purpose only.”
“And that purpose is?”
“To ensure that no one man ever gains permanent control over the financial arteries running through the Central US.”
I study her through the screen, waiting to see if she will elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“You believe Enzo Marchetti has it?” I ask.
“I know his family is guarding it.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
She gives a small shrug. “Then you’ll confirm that for me.”
“And if you’re right?”
Sera’s eyes hold mine with steady calm. “Then we retrieve it before someone decides to use it.”
Her gaze darts to the right as she reads something on another screen beside her.
“You said you’ve built trust with them,” she continues. “How close are you?”
The memory of last week flashes across my mind before I can stop it. Closer than you realize. I don’t say that, though.
“They’ve invited me to dinner,” I reply instead.
Sera’s expression remains neutral, though I see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.
“Good.”
“That doesn’t mean access to the estate.”
“It means proximity,” she replies calmly. “And proximity can turn into opportunity.”
The call grows quiet again as we study each other through the screen.
Finally, she speaks. “Gabriel, you understand the stakes of this assignment, right?”
Her tone remains even, but the words that follow send a chill down my spine.
“You’ve always been very good at separating work from emotion,” she continues.
I sit straighter in my chair. “And if the situation becomes complicated?”
Sera’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Then you remember why you accepted the job in the first place. And remember if you don’t succeed, I’ll distribute the emails to people who can make your life hell.”
The silence that follows stretches for several seconds before she reaches toward her keyboard.
“Keep me updated,” she says. “And remember, Mr. Santori, the Blackwater Key is your focus.”
The screen flickers as the connection drops and the office falls quiet again.