16. Gabriel #2
That lands. I see it in the slight shift of her shoulders. In the way her fingers curl into her palms. But there is still no panic. Just… calculation. Fuck. This woman is seriously impressing me… and making it harder than it should be to keep my hands off her.
"You're telling me they're going to come after us again?" she asks.
Not if. When. "Yes."
I don't sugarcoat the words. I don't give her lies.
Not only because I hope this will keep the other questions at bay—why were you there?
What do you want from me?—but because she's not the type who would appreciate it.
Not anymore. Or maybe she never was. Maybe that part of her has been lying dormant for years.
She exhales slowly before she nods. Like she's filing the information away.
Adapting. And there it is again. That shift.
Grief is turning into something sharper.
Something colder. It shouldn't do anything to me.
But it does. It tightens an emotion inside my chest I don't want to examine too closely.
"That still doesn't explain you," she hits right to the center.
Her eyes lock onto mine again. Relentless. Unyielding. "Why are you helping me?"
There it is. The question that matters. The one I can't answer. Not honestly. Not without breaking something I'm not ready to break yet. Silence stretches between us again. I let it. Let her sit in it. Let her feel it.
Stacy huffs. "Because men like him always want something."
"She's not wrong," I say.
Audra's brows pull together slightly. That caught her off guard.
I take another step closer. Close enough now that I can see the faint tremor in her lower lip that she's fighting like hell to control.
Close enough to smell that faint trace of her, something soft under the fear and stress. Dangerous.
"That's not an answer," she fires back.
My phone rings. I answer without looking at it first. Glad for the interruption. "Yes?"
"Explain to me," Massimo's voice cuts through the line, low and controlled, which is always worse than shouting, "why I have a very angry man named Javier Salazar calling me about dead members of Los Hijos del Desierto… with your name attached to them."
That's a fucking good question.
Audra, her mother, and now that damned cat too, are still watching me with suspicion written all over their faces.
"I'll be right back," I excuse myself.
It's not a request. Not an explanation. Just a statement. I step out onto the patio and close the door behind me. The city stretches out below, glittering, alive. Untouchable.
"Start talking," Massimo demands.
"I don't know how he got my name," I state flatly. "I didn't leave anything behind that could trace back to me."
"You left bodies," Massimo states.
"Bodies don't talk," I clarify.
"They do when someone is asking the right questions," he shoots back. I can hear the tension in his voice now. Not anger. Calculation. "Javier Salazar is not asking. He's demanding."
My teeth clench hard enough to ache. "I left no witnesses."
"I believe you." We've been through too much shit together for him not to. He and I are tight like brothers. "Which is why this is a problem."
A sigh. Then. "Walk me through it," he orders.
"They had Audra and her husband at a warehouse," I fill him in.
"Why? Does it have anything to do with the Collector?"
I look out over the Strip. Neon bleeds into the darkening sky. But I don't see it. What I see is her. On her knees. Gun in her hand. Eyes empty of fear.
"No. The husband, Pete, was digging into things he shouldn't have. He had no idea who he was dealing with."
"Salazar knows it was you," Massimo restates. "It's not a guess. Not a suspicion. He knows."
That doesn't sit right. At all.
"How?" I want to know. But my mind is already homing in on suspects. I told Massimo a few days ago that we had a rat in our midst. Looks like I was right.
"If I knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he spits.
Fair enough. I run a hand over my jaw. Think. Fast.
There's only one possibility. "Someone talked."
"Or someone wants it to look like they did," Massimo counters immediately.
Yeah. That tracks with the fucking Collector. But why and how would that asshole be involved in this?
"How the fuck would he know about it?" I curse without explaining who he is. We both know. El Recaudador.
He's been calling every one of our employees, offering rewards for intel, and offering better jobs. He wants us to mistrust each other. My mind goes over the men who were at the warehouse. Alessio. Damiano. Mauro. No. Out of the question.
Brick.
I almost scoff. The man would let you peel him apart layer by layer and laugh at you. That leaves Rivas. The other man tasked with guarding the cartel prisoners.
"One of my men talked," I admit, cursing under my breath. I didn't just pick the guys to watch the prisoners at random. They're trusted. They've been with us for years.
"Who?" He barks.
"Fucking Rivas." I hate saying it out loud. Thinking that he's a rat. But it has to be him. There is no other option other than the Collector being omnipresent, and I won't give him that much power.
"Get on top of it," Massimo orders.
I stare at a cop car racing down the street far below. Blue lights flashing, going after some schmuck. My free hand runs through my hair, while my mind churns.
"The Collector either wants us to eat each other alive, kill Rivas, or?—"
"—force us to make a mistake," Massimo finishes.
"Exactly." I nod, watching the flashing lights disappear into the distance. "He's not just looking for information. He's testing us. Pushing. Waiting to see where we crack."
"And you think we won't?" Massimo asks.
I huff a quiet laugh. "Oh, we will. Just not the way he expects."
A pause. I can feel his attention sharpen through the line.
"Go on," he encourages.
I lean my forearms against the cool stone of the balcony railing, eyes still on the city.
"We give him what he wants," I suggest. "Or at least… what he thinks he wants."
"Rivas," Massimo sounds doubtful.
I shake my head. "No. He's too small. Too obvious. The Collector didn't build whatever this is by trusting loose ends like him."
"Agreed."
"So we use him differently," I continue. "We squeeze him. Feed him just enough to make him useful. See where it leads."
Massimo exhales. "The Collector is too smart for that."
I smirk. "Yeah. He is. Or…" I let it hang for a second. Massimo doesn't bite, so I spell it out. "We make him think we suspect Alessio or Damiano."
We've talked about the possibility before. Massimo hums low. Thinking. Calculating.
"And use one of them as bait," he finishes.
I know Massimo well enough to know he likes the idea as little as I do. His mind is already ten steps ahead, running scenarios. So am I. It's risky.
High-risk.
High-reward.
Exactly the kind of move that gets people killed.
"Not bad, Gabe," he admits finally.
I grin faintly. "Yeah."
The grin fades just as fast. Because I know exactly what this means.
One of my best buddies will enter a deadly game.
We're all in danger, all the time, but this feels different.
Whatever we do, we cannot underestimate the fucking Collector.
He's more dangerous than anything we've faced in years.
Alessio or Damiano. I don't like it. Not one fucking bit.
But I also know those two; they won't just agree. They'll enjoy it.
"They'll hold a contest to see who'll do the honors." Massimo chuckles.
"Yeah." I agree. Shaking my head. Fuckers.
"Either way," Massimo changes the subject back to Salazar. "I now have a cartel boss calling me, demanding retribution for men you killed."
"They took civilians," I say. "They were operating on our ground."
"I'm not arguing the justification," Massimo snaps. "I'm telling you the consequence."
I let that settle. Because he's right. This isn't about right or wrong. It's about power. It always is. And perception.
"So now what?" I ask.
Massimo doesn't hesitate.
"We need a meeting. All of us." Then he groans, "And I suppose we need to have one with Salazar."
My mouth twitches. That'll be interesting. I'll put a bullet right between the fucker's eyes.
"We need to control the narrative before this turns into something bigger," Massimo warns.
Too late for that. I already know it. So does he. "Fine," I agree. "Set it up."
"Gabriel." That gets my attention more than anything else. He doesn't use my full name unless it matters.
"What?" I ask.
"You're not going to kill him at the meeting."
Not a question. An order. I glance back through the glass. Audra is still standing there. Watching the door. Waiting.
I drum my fingers against the railing. "Depends."
It's the wrong answer. We both know it.
"Gabriel." His voice hardens. Steel wrapped in calm. "We are not starting a war with a cartel because you can't control your temper."
A sharp exhale leaves me. "This isn't about my temper."
"Then what is it about?" he fires back immediately.
I don't answer. Because I don't have one he'll accept. Because the truth sounds a hell of a lot like weakness. Silence stretches. Heavy.
"You think I don't get it?" Massimo offers, quieter now. Not softer. Just… more dangerous. "You think I don't know what it's like when something gets under your skin like that?"
My grip tightens on the phone. He does. That's the problem. He's been through it with Jenna and his son.
"I understand," he continues. "What happened—What they did—I understand." A beat. "And we're with you, brother. No matter what."
That lands. Harder than anything else he's said. Because I know. This wouldn't be just my war. They would be right there, too. At my side. No matter what. No questions asked.
"But we can't have another war," he adds. "Not now. Not while the fucking Collector is breathing down our necks."
He's right. I know he's right. Doesn't mean I like it. My gaze flicks back to Audra again. Still there. Still waiting. Still standing after everything. Something twists in my chest.
"She almost died," I reiterate.
"I know."
"And you want me to sit across from the man responsible for that and… what?" I let out a humorless laugh. "Talk?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No apology. "Because if you don't, we lose control. And once that happens, we're not choosing the battlefield anymore. They are."
I close my eyes for a second. Control. Always comes back to that. I hate it. Because it means he's right. Again.
"Fine," I mutter. "I won't kill him at the meeting."
A pause, followed by a chuckle.
"Good." Massimo takes what I offer.
But he's not done. I can hear it. "And Gabriel?"
I open my eyes again. "What?"
"If he makes a move…" His voice drops. Dark. Final. "You end it."
A slow breath fills my lungs. There it is. The line. The compromise. I can live with that.
"Yeah," I concede quietly. "That I can do."
We shift back to business.
"I'll set the meeting," Massimo says. "And get the others together. We move fast."
"Always do."
The call ends. I lower the phone slowly. For a second, I just stand there. Then I look through the glass again. At her. Audra. Massimo wants control. The Collector wants chaos. The cartel wants blood.
And her?
My gaze darkens. She's going to want revenge. I can already see it. And something tells me keeping her safe is about to get a hell of a lot harder.
When I step back inside, both women look at me. Everything in me sharpens again. Focus. Control. Possession.
"They're not done," I state simply.
Her chin lifts. "I didn't think they were."
No fear. Just that same cold resolve. Fuck. This is going to get complicated.