Chapter 32 #2
He enters me slowly. So slowly it feels like an act of worship as warmth spreads through my body like honey. His eyes stay locked on mine the whole time, as if he fears he’ll look away, and I’ll freak out.
“Okay?” he asks, barely breathing.
“More than okay.” I roll my hips, drawing him deeper, and watch his eyes flutter closed on a groan. “Gabriel. Look at me.”
He does. And in his gaze I see everything—the love he thought was dead, the tenderness he thought was burned away, the man he’s been fighting so hard to bury.
He’s still there. Scarred and changed, but still there.
We find a rhythm that’s nothing like the desperate coupling in the gallery or the intensity of last night. This is something else entirely. Something new and softer. Something that feels terrifyingly like hope.
The pleasure builds gradually. I feel it in my belly, in my thighs, in the curl of my toes. And I watch Gabriel’s face as he fights to stay present, to keep the beast at bay.
To give me exactly what I asked for. Gentle. Tender. Himself.
“I love you,” I whisper as the wave crests. “I love you, Gabriel. All of you.”
He shudders, and I feel him let go—not to the beast, but to the feeling. To the overwhelming vulnerability of being truly loved.
We come together, his face buried in my neck, my arms wrapped tight around him. And when the aftershocks finally fade, and he lifts his head to look at me, I see something in his eyes I haven’t seen since before Aspen.
Peace.
“I told you so,” I say, and he actually laughs, then rolls to his side, pulling me with him. We lie tangled together, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my back, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, everything feels quiet. Still.
“I have a meeting this afternoon,” I murmur eventually. “Supplier negotiations. I should probably...”
“No.” Gabriel’s arms tighten around me. “Stay.”
“Gabriel.”
“Five more minutes. Then you can go save the casino.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “Let me have this. Just a little longer.”
I shouldn’t. There are things I need to do, a business to run. But when I look at his face—relaxed, almost peaceful, so different from the haunted mask he’s worn for days—I can’t bring myself to move.
“Five minutes,” I agree.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still in bed, and we’ve somehow ended up having sex again—even slower this time, lazier, both of us half-asleep and moving on instinct. It’s the kind of morning I used to dream about during the five years he was dead. The kind of morning I’d given up on ever having again.
By the time I finally drag myself to the shower, there’s no way I’ll get to the meeting on time. Thankfully, that’s what subordinates are for, and I call my Assistant Manager from the bathroom, apologize profusely, and pass off the task to him.
I end the call and realize with a start how good I feel. Not about passing off a meeting, but about my life with Gabriel. I’ve been carrying a weight in my gut for what feels like an eternity. But I feel lighter now. Like the world is settling back on its axis and turning the right way again.
I get dressed again in my dark slacks and silk shirt—the kind of outfit that says boss without trying too hard—and find Gabriel in the kitchen, making an afternoon pot of coffee. He’s wearing sweatpants and nothing else, and the sight of him barefoot and domestic makes me smile.
“Meeting handled?” he asks.
“I dumped it all on Greg.” I accept the cup he hands me. “What about you? Any fires to put out in your criminal empire?”
His mouth twitches. “Nothing that can’t wait. I’ve got some emails to deal with, but I can do that from here.”
“So you’ll be here when I get back?”
“I’ll be here.” He pulls me close, coffee cups pressed between us. “Always.”
The word settles into my bones, warm and certain. Always. We might actually get there. We might actually build something real out of all this wreckage.
I’m halfway to the Monarch when my phone rings.
It’s one of the food and beverage managers panicking about a liquor delivery that got sent to the wrong loading dock.
I handle it, then get pulled into an impromptu meeting about a staffing issue in housekeeping, then spend an hour reviewing the quarterly numbers with the CFO.
So much for pawning off my first meeting and having a less stressful day.
It’s afternoon by the time I finally make my way back to Gabe’s apartment. My feet ache from walking the casino floor, and I’m starving. But mostly I just want to see him. To confirm again that we’ve really turned some kind of corner.
When I step inside, his back is to me, staring at his phone. Every line of his body is rigid, tension radiating off him in waves.
“Gabriel? What’s wrong?”
He turns, and my heart stops.
The peace from this morning is gone. In its place is something cold. Something dangerous. The mask he wore when he first came back—the one I thought we’d finally shattered—is firmly in place.
“You’re scaring me. What happened?”
He holds out his phone. “Listen.”
I take it with trembling hands and press play on the voicemail.
The voice is AI-generated, but it’s the words that make my stomach turn.
“Death comes for everyone eventually. Some deaths are quick. Merciful. Others...well.” A pause.
“I’m told some victims would consider three days of torment in a cabin a mercy compared to what’s possible.
And it seems to me that you’d hurt more knowing someone you love is waiting for that slow death.
And believe me, wanting you to hurt more is very much on my agenda.
The message ends.
I lower the phone slowly, ice spreading through my veins. Three days. A cabin. And a clear message—I did that. I can do worse. I can hurt someone you love.
“When did you get this?” My voice sounds strange. Distant.
“An hour ago. Maybe two.” Gabriel’s jaw is tight enough to shatter. “Anonymous email, AI voice, routed through a dozen different servers. Untraceable.”
“My father sent this.” The words make me shiver, but I know they’re true. He paid Dekker and Webb, after all. He tried to murder the man I love.
“Sterling Hart, that fucker.” The words are harsh, but his hands are shaking. I’ve never seen his hands shake.
“He’s not even hiding anymore,” Gabe says.
I meet his eyes, and all I see is rage. Pure, burning fury, the kind that could level cities.
“He’s trying to scare you,” I say. “To make you back off.”
“Then he’s a fucking idiot.” Gabriel takes the phone from my hand and sets it aside with deliberate care. The control in his movements is more terrifying than any explosion would be. “All he’s done is remind me exactly why I spent five years building an empire designed to destroy him.”
“Don’t you dare do anything stupid,” I say, fresh terror rising inside me. “The evidence is coming together. Leo found the money trail. We have Dekker’s confession. And surely we’ll have Webb in custody soon, too. The FBI—”
“The FBI.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Your father has cops in his pocket, judges on his payroll, politicians who owe him favors. You think the FBI scares him? You think justice scares him?”
“It should. The walls are closing in. That’s why he sent this—he’s desperate. Please, Gabriel. Please don’t be rash. I can’t lose you. Not again. Not when I’ve just gotten you back.” I taste salt and realize I’m crying.
“Do you really think I’ll sit around and wait? I got away from him, and that pisses him off. He wants to hurt me, and he knows how—by hurting you. And since he’s up and disappeared, we don’t even know where to look for him.”
“Then we get the police involved.”
But he’s not thinking about cops or the FBI or even justice. He’s thinking about blood.
“Gabriel, please.” You go out chasing vengeance, and I’ll lose you again. Even if they don’t arrest you, I’ll lose you. The man inside. The man I love. Please, please. We have to do this the right way.”
“The right way.” He says it like the words taste bitter. “The right way is watching your father walk free because he can afford better lawyers than God. The right way is waiting for a system that’s been rigged in his favor since before either of us was born.”
“Bullshit. The right way is not becoming what he made you.”
The words land like a slap. Gabriel goes still, something flickering behind his eyes—pain, maybe, or recognition.
“I’m already what he made me,” he says quietly.
“Dammit, Gabriel, no.”
“He had me tortured, Bella. For three days. Left me to burn alive in that cabin. And now he’s promising to do worse—to you.”
“He’s threatening. But he won’t hurt me. I’m his daughter.”
Gabriel turns, and the look on his face makes my blood run cold.
“You think that matters to him? You think blood means anything to a man like Sterling Hart?” He crosses back to me, grips my shoulders.
“He’s already proven what he’s willing to do to protect himself.
You’re not a daughter to him—you’re a liability.
An asset that’s outlived its usefulness. ”
I want to argue. Want to tell him he’s wrong, that whatever my father is, he wouldn’t actually hurt me. But the words stick in my throat because they’re a lie. I’ve watched my father operate for years, and I know exactly what he’s capable of.
“Then let the FBI handle it,” I say instead. “Let them build their case. Let justice—”
“Justice.” He spits the word like it’s poison. “There is no justice for what he did to me. There’s only ending him before he ends us.”
“And if ending him ends you too?” My voice cracks. “If you go down this path—if you become the weapon he forged—you won’t survive it, Gabriel. Even if you win, you lose. The beast will take over completely, and I lose you anyway.”
He goes very still.
“Is that what you think?” His voice is low. Dark.
Dangerous.
“You really think I’m one bad decision away from losing myself completely?”
I force myself to hold his gaze. “I think you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t come back from.
And I think my father knows exactly how to push you over.
” I step closer, then take his face in my hands so he has no choice but to look at me.
“This is what he wants, Gabriel. He wants you to come after him. He wants you to give him an excuse to put you down for good. Don’t give him that. Don’t let him win.”
For a long moment, Gabriel just stares at me, the beast prowling behind his eyes, hungry and restless.
Then something shifts. Not surrender—nothing that simple. But a crack in the armor. A moment of doubt.
“Day by day,” I whisper. “That’s what we said. Day by day.”
His jaw tightens. “Day by day doesn’t feel like enough right now.”
“I know. But it’s what we’ve got.” I press my forehead to his. “Stay with me. Please. Whatever we do next, we do it together. Not from rage. Not from fear. Together.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything he’s not saying.
“Together,” he finally agrees.
But the beast is still there, watching and waiting. And I don’t know how long together will be enough to keep it at bay.