Chapter 30
GABE
The bell chimes as I push open the door to Adrian’s chocolate boutique, Amelia’s warm presence right behind me. I spot Adrian talking to a man whose stiff posture screams cop.
“Adrian! Those paintings we discussed arrived,” I announce, keeping my voice casual despite the warning text Adrian had sent earlier. I pretend to notice the visitor for the first time. “Oh, sorry—didn’t realize you had company.”
Adrian gestures between us with practiced ease. “Detective Carter, this is Gabriel Dawson, owner of Blue Room Jazz Club. And Amelia Stone, our resident artist.”
Amelia steps forward with a brightness that never fails to amaze me.
The woman who slit Walsh’s throat a month ago now beams at the detective, immediately launching into details about her upcoming installation at my club.
I watch Carter’s body language shift, his suspicious stance softening as she shows him photos of her work on her phone.
“Your artistic approach is fascinating,” he tells her, completely disarmed by her enthusiasm.
Maya returns with coffee, smoothly positioning herself like a barrier between Carter and Adrian’s office—where I know certain evidence might still be processing.
I casually mention my regular poker nights with Captain Rodriguez and Lieutenant Marshall, dropping their names with just the right mix of familiarity and respect. Carter’s spine straightens almost imperceptibly.
“You know Rodriguez?” he asks.
“Great guy. Terrible poker face.” I laugh like we’re old friends sharing an inside joke.
The detective’s questions become noticeably less pointed, more perfunctory. We work together flawlessly—Maya’s professional credibility, Amelia’s disarming charm, my strategic connections, and Adrian’s careful responses forming an impenetrable defense.
By the time Carter leaves, he’s actually apologizing for taking up our time.
“Smooth,” I mutter once the detective is safely out the door. “But we should lay low for a while.”
Adrian nods, watching Carter’s retreating figure through the window. The tension in the room dissolves as the detective disappears, replaced by the chemistry that connects the four of us—partners in the most intimate art form imaginable.
“Did you see his face when I mentioned Captain Rodriguez?” I say, lounging on Adrian’s leather couch with my arm draped around Amelia. “Man nearly swallowed his tongue.”
Maya perches on Adrian’s lap, sipping her drink. “The coffee was a nice touch. Nothing says, we have nothing to hide like offering refreshments to the cop investigating your murders.”
“Speaking of hiding...” Amelia traces the rim of her glass. “That hedge fund manager’s wife commissioned a piece. Asked me to capture his essence.” She shares a wicked smile with me. “If only she knew I’d watched him become art of a different kind.”
“Your latest paintings do have a certain visceral quality,” Adrian says, savoring his whiskey. “The red you used in Midnight Symphony came from a particularly inspiring session.”
“We should celebrate properly. That upscale bistro on Michigan Avenue,” I swirl my whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
“The owner likes to corner his female staff after closing. Money and connections keep him untouchable, but...” I let my lips curve into a cruel smile.
“I bet he’d add a unique flavor to your spring collection, Adrian. ”
Maya shifts against Adrian, her excitement evident in her quickened breath. “I’ve reviewed his work. He lacks depth. Perhaps we could help him find some.”
“A double date, then?” Amelia’s fingers intertwine with mine, her delicate hands against my calloused grip. “I’ve been wanting to try that new technique we discussed.”
The four of us share knowing looks, bound by our secrets. We are broken in our way, finding a home in our shared madness. Where others might see monsters, we see family.
“To partnerships,” Adrian raises his glass. “In business and pleasure.”
“To art in all its forms,” we echo, and drink.
I top off everyone’s glasses and settle back on the leather couch, Amelia’s warmth against my side feeling as natural as breathing now. It’s fascinating how quickly the four of us have formed this strange family unit.
“I could eat,” Adrian says, fingers absently tracing patterns on Maya’s thigh. “There’s that new place on Halsted that opened last month.”
Maya laughs. “You mean the one where you spent twenty minutes critiquing their chocolate soufflé to the poor server?”
“It was overwhipped.” Adrian shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Criminal, really.”
I catch Amelia’s eye, and we share a private smile at his choice of words.
“Speaking of criminal,” Amelia says, reaching for a chocolate from the box on the coffee table, “these are divine, Adrian. The ganache in the center—is that from...”
“Reynolds,” he confirms. “The councilman had exceptional blood chemistry. O-negative with hints of that expensive scotch he favored.”
Maya nestles deeper into Adrian’s lap. “I told you it would pair well with the Madagascar vanilla.”
I watch them together—the stiffness of Adrian’s movements against Maya’s fluid grace. Like complementary instruments in a perfectly composed piece. Just as Amelia’s artistic chaos balances my meticulous control.
“Amelia’s new series is selling remarkably well,” I mention. “Three pieces went before the opening even started.”
“The critics are calling it viscerally transformative,” she says with a grin that makes my heart beat faster. “If they only knew how literal that description is.”
The laughter that follows feels easy, comfortable—four damaged souls who’ve found sanctuary in sharing the darkest parts of themselves.
“Your pianist canceled for Friday,” Maya tells me, sipping her whiskey. “But I know someone who might work. Former Juilliard student, keeps unusual hours, asks no questions.”
“Let’s just order in,” I suggest, noticing Amelia yawn widely. “Been a long day dodging detectives.”
Adrian nods. “I’ve been meaning to try that new Thai place. The one with the chef who moved from Bangkok last year.”
We end up sprawled across Adrian’s living room with containers of pad thai and green curry, swapping stories that would horrify most dinner parties but only draw appreciative laughter from our peculiar circle. The easy camaraderie we’ve developed still surprises me sometimes.
As the night winds down, Maya yawns dramatically. “I need sleep before tomorrow’s critique.”
“We should head out,” I say
Adrian immediately stands, while Amelia and I gather our things, trading goodnights with promises to finalize plans for our next project soon. The cool night air hits us as we step outside, and I suddenly can’t stand the thought of waiting until we reach my place.
I grab Amelia’s wrist, spinning her against the brick wall beside Adrian’s shop. Her surprised gasp turns into a moan as I press against her, my mouth claiming hers with desperate hunger. My hands slide beneath her coat, finding the warmth of her skin.
“Gabe,” she breathes against my lips, “not here. It’s too cold.”
I nip at her lower lip, savoring the way her body arches toward me despite her protest. “You’re right.
It is too cold,” I concede, my voice a low rumble against her throat.
“But come summer, I’ll be fucking you right out here on the street at night, where anyone could see how beautifully you come apart for me. ”
The sound that escapes her is pure need, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she trembles.
“Cab,” she manages, eyes dark with desire. “Now.”
I flag one down without taking my eyes off her, and we tumble into the backseat together.
The cab lurches through Chicago’s late-night streets, but I barely notice the driver’s erratic turns.
Amelia’s body presses against mine in the darkness, her breath hot against my neck as my fingers trace possessive patterns on her thigh.
The streetlights flash across her face in rhythmic pulses, illuminating the hunger in her eyes.
“You were magnificent today,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear. “The way you handled Carter... I almost wanted to take you right there in the chocolate shop.”
She laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest against mine. “I thought Adrian might faint when I started showing the detective pictures of my latest paintings.”
“If he knew what inspired them...” I slide my hand higher, feeling her muscles tense beneath the thin fabric of her dress. The cab driver glances in the rearview mirror, and I meet his eyes with a stare that makes him quickly look away.
Amelia’s teeth graze my earlobe. “I need you,” she whispers, her voice carrying that edge that drives me wild—the perfect blend of demand and submission.
I tighten my grip on her thigh, bringing my other hand to her throat in a gentle reminder of who’s in control. “Two more blocks.”
Her pulse quickens beneath my fingers. Those artist hands—capable of both creating beauty and delivering death—clutch at my jacket with desperate intensity.
The cab finally stops outside my building. I overtip the driver and practically drag Amelia through the lobby, her laughter echoing off marble floors. In the elevator, I pin her against the wall, my body pressing into hers while the numbers climb too slowly.
I will never get enough of my muse.