54. Gabriel
I hate leaving her. Every step away from the bedroom feels like tearing off a piece of my own skin. She's curled up in our bed, exhausted, bandaged, carrying my twins, and all I want is to crawl in beside her, wrap my arms around her, and never let go again.
My wife.
The word keeps slamming into me like a bullet I welcome. My wife. She's finally mine. Legally. Irrevocably. In front of a justice of the peace in a cheap Vegas chapel that smelled like cheap flowers and desperation. She said the words. She's wearing my ring. She's carrying my children.
Still, I have to leave her.
Quietly, I walked down the hallway, jaw tight, fists clenched at my sides. New guards are posted, and every trace of the earlier bloodbath has been erased as if it never happened. Good. I didn't want her to see any of it when she came home.
A few minutes ago, Massimo called a meeting, seconds after I texted him to give him a quick debrief. No delays. Not with the Collector still breathing.
Twenty minutes later, I step into the private conference room on the upper floor of the Sovereign.
The others are already there. Massimo sits at the head of the table, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Damiano leans back in his chair, spinning a knife between his fingers, restless energy crackling off him.
Enzo stands silently in the corner, scars catching the low light. Alessio's seat is empty. I frown.
"I'm not the only late?" I check.
"We can't reach Alessio," Massimo declares darkly.
Nobody has seen or heard a word from him since he left me at the club house with Audra. I know it's useless, but I try his phone.
"Let me guess," Damiano says darkly, "goes straight to voicemail."
I nod with my jaw clenched. Alessio might be reckless and dangerous in his own way, but he'd never ignore calls from us. Especially not from Massimo. Not now. Not in the situation we're in.
"I'm sure all our thoughts are going in the same direction. El Recaudador. So far, the Collector always seems to be a step ahead of us. Time to put a stop to it." I plant both hands on the table and lean forward, giving words to the concern I see mirrored on all my friends' faces.
"The Collector is playing a long game." We all know that, but it needs to be reiterated. "He's been watching us. Hitting our supply, sending messages, turning people we trust. He almost took my wife tonight. He has reach we didn't account for. We need to?—"
Just like it did at the MC's clubhouse, the speaker system in the room crackles to life without warning. A calm, cultured voice fills the space. "The game is up, gentlemen. Time to pay up."
Every single one of us goes rigid at the sound of our archenemy's voice.
The Collector continues, almost conversationally, like he's discussing business over dinner.
"You've been very entertaining, I'll give you that.
Scrambling. Reacting. Always just one step behind.
" A soft chuckle follows, low and satisfied.
"Did you really think tonight was a victory? "
My grip tightens on the table.
"I let you have that one," he goes on smoothly.
"A small mercy. Consider it… motivation.
After all, hope makes the fall so much sweeter.
" He takes a deep breath that sounds too loud over the speaker.
"I already have Alessio. The rest of you will follow.
I'll start with your families first… one by one.
Slow enough for you to feel it. Fast enough that you can't stop it. "
A muffled sound shifts in the background, movement, a struggle, followed by a woman's cry cutting through the line, raw, terrified.
"Nicci!" Damiano shoots to his feet so fast his chair slams backward. "If he has Nicci, he has my son?—"
The Collector hums softly, almost pleased. "Ah, there it is. Recognition. Such a powerful thing, isn't it? The moment you realize you've already lost."
"Touch them, and I will—" Damiano snarls ferally.
"You will what?" the Collector interrupts gently. "Come find me? I do hope you try. I've prepared something special for each of you." Another pause, deliberate, cruel. "Tell me… who do you think screams first? Nicci… or Heathcliff?"
"Say their names again, and I'll?—"
"Tick-tock, gentlemen."
The line goes dead.
For one frozen second, silence reigns. Then all hell breaks loose.
Damiano roars, pure, unrestrained fury, flipping the table's edge with a violent shove before he catches himself and slams both hands into it like he's trying to break the world apart.
Massimo is already on his feet, cold and controlled, barking rapid-fire orders into his phone; his voice is lethal in its precision.
Enzo moves like a shadow toward the door, already pulling weapons, his expression carved from stone.
He, too, has his phone pressed to his ear, giving orders.
Chairs scrape. Glass shatters somewhere behind me. The room fractures into motion.
I don't move for half a second. Because he knew. He knew exactly where we were. What we were saying. How we'd react. He's not just watching. He's inside.
Rage hits next. Cold. Focused. I grab my phone, dialing Kale with one hand while the other reaches for the gun I left on the side table. "Tell me you've got eyes on Alessio," I snap the second the line connects.
Because if the Collector already has him, then this isn't a threat.
It's a countdown.
My mind is a storm. The Collector has Alessio. He has Damiano's woman and child. He is coming for all of us. But the only thing that matters to me in this moment is the woman I just married and the two lives growing inside her. I turn to the room, my voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
"Lock it down. Every safe house. Every family member. Nobody moves alone. We find Alessio. We find the kid. We find Nicci. And when we have them…" My eyes meet Damiano's, then Massimo's. "We end the Collector. Permanently."
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from an unknown number. A single line of text:
Unknown Number:
Tick tock, Gabe. Your wife looks peaceful when she sleeps.
Rage explodes behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I am going to rip El Recaudador apart with my bare hands. But first, I have to get back to my wife. Because if the Collector thinks he can threaten what is mine… he's about to learn exactly why they call me the devil of Vegas.
It only takes a few minutes to get back to my casino, but I'm not wasting time. I call the guards, who report they haven't seen or heard anything suspicious, but to be sure, I send three of them inside. To check on Audra. She's fine, they assure me.
I don't believe them until I push open the bedroom door as quietly as I can.
Audra is still asleep, curled on her side, one bandaged hand resting protectively over her stomach.
The sight of her hits me like it always does, love so fierce it borders on violence, possessiveness so deep it feels like religion.
I kick off my shoes, strip down, and slide into bed behind her, pulling her gently against my chest. She makes a small, contented sound in her sleep and nestles closer.
My hand settles over hers on her belly, covering the place where our twins are growing.
I press my lips to the back of her neck and whisper against her skin, too low for her to hear, "You're mine now, wife. All three of you. No one is ever taking you from me again."
Sleep pulls at me, but my phone vibrates once on the nightstand, a single message from an unknown number. I open it. A photo fills the screen. Alessio, beaten and bound to a chair, blood on his face, eyes defiant even now.
Below it, one line of text:
Unknown Number:
Tick tock, Gabe. Your brother is next.
Rage and ice flood my veins at the same time. The Collector just declared war. And I will end it. But tonight… tonight I hold my wife and our unborn children while I still can. Because tomorrow, the devil of Vegas is going hunting.
The phone rings in the middle of the night. Mauro.
"What?" I groan.
"Ezara is here. Racking up a bill?—"
Ezara! My blood boils. That bastard has some nerve. Now that I know Catarina broke it off with him months before she disappeared, I don't feel any kind of responsibility for him any longer and cut Mauro off. "Get him out of the casino and take care of him."
This is one headache I don't need any longer.
Mauro's silence on the other end for a breath is telling. Everybody knows that I held a soft spot for Ezara for years.
When he finally acknowledges my order, there is amusement in his voice. "It'll be my pleasure, boss."
I hang up. But I don't close the phone right away, instead I go to my image gallery and scroll until I find the photo I'm looking for. A picture of Catarina and me. Taken at some grand party at the Manetti mansion outside Vegas. The one we burned down with its occupants.
Catarina smiles beautifully at me in the image, with that mischievous look that always made her eyes glisten like crystals. I remember her bumping her shoulder into mine just before the shot.
"You know," she murmured, "one day, I'm going to find someone who scares you."
I snorted. That sounded impossible. "Not happening."
"Mm," she hummed. "We'll see."
I looked at her with amusement, and the camera captured the exact moment my mouth curved.
It still hurts looking at her. I think of Heathcliff, her son. Heathcliff. What a stupid name. But I guess she had to so that Damiano would recognize him.
"She looks happy." Audra leans over my shoulder, looking at the picture.
"She was." Saying those words is like a burden slowly lifting, not vanishing, but lifting a little.
Catarina's life may have been short, but she was happy. I know that now. Damiano and I had a few talks before Audra decided to come home and all hell broke loose.
"I would have loved to have met her." Audra's hand dangles down my chest while she leans against me, studying the photo on my phone.
"She would have loved you, and you would have loved her. You two are very similar. She was stubborn as hell, too. And adventurous."
"Oh yeah?" Her fingers slide to the image, and she presses and slides them to enlarge my face. "Oh, look, how handsome you were."
"Were?" I laugh, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Audra. My wife. God, I love saying that. Wife. Mine.
"Hm," she murmurs, shifting the picture. "Oh—look, there's Massimo and Enzo… and—" She goes still. Not subtle. Not curious. Frozen.
"What?"
"How the hell do you know him?"
I frown. "Know who?"
She turns the phone toward me, finger already pointing. "That's him, Gabe. The cartel man who wanted to buy me from Razor. In the desert."
My stomach drops. In the picture? Impossible. But if it is, I'm going to find the bastard and string him up. She taps the screen, zooming in on the group behind us. I know every single one of those men. Every. Single. One.
My entire body locks when I realize who she's pointing at.
"Him?" I take the phone, enlarging the image myself now. The red birthmark stands out, twisted, unmistakable.
"That's him," she confirms. No hesitation. No doubt. "I'm positive. That mark? You don't forget something like that."
I stare at it. At him. Alive. Breathing. Smiling.
"That was six years ago?" I ask, my voice going flat.
She nods. "Yeah, about that."
I shake my head slowly. "No."
Her brows pull together. "Gabe, I swear?—"
"I killed him ten years ago."
Her head turns to look from the phone to me.
"I put a blade between his ribs," I continue, unable to stop. "Drove it in until I felt bone… then it gave."
The memory slams into me. Hot. Violent. Real. His breath hit my wrist. Wet. Shallow. Then nothing. His body went slack under my hand. Dead weight.
"I felt his heart stutter," I add. "Felt it stop."
My phone dings. The sound cuts through the silence like a gunshot. A message pops up from an unknown number. I open it. And everything inside me goes cold when I stare at a picture of Audra and me, taken today. Outside the chapel.
The caption beneath it:
Unknown Number:
Your wife looks a little beat… but stunning.
My vision tunnels. As impossible as it is, but there's no doubt anymore. No question. No coincidence.
I lift my gaze slowly. "I know exactly who the Collector is."