Chapter 18 — You Confused Protection with Possession #2
“If you walk out that door without me,” I said, my voice cold, playing my last card—the dirtiest one—“I'll have a security team tail you. Visible. Two armed men, right behind you on the street, in the café, in the waiting room. You'll look like a mob boss's daughter. No one will hire you.”
She stopped. Her shoulders dropped.
She turned slowly. The look she gave me wasn't hatred. It was pure disappointment.
“You would do that?” she whispered. “You would sabotage my chance to have something of my own just to prove you're in charge?”
“I would do anything to make sure you come home at night.”
“Then you haven't understood anything,” she said. “You think you're protecting me from the world, Gabriel. But you're only protecting me from freedom.”
She went into the bedroom and closed the door. She didn't lock it. She knew locks didn't stop me.
I stood alone in the living room, surrounded by glass and gray sky.
I had won the argument. She knew I was serious about the security detail. She'd probably cancel the interview.
I had won.
So why did I feel like I'd just lost everything?
I spent the morning at the Moretti & Hale office, but my mind was back at the penthouse.
The camera feed was open on my second monitor.
Elena didn't leave.
She stayed in the bedroom most of the morning. At eleven, she appeared in the living room, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She sat on the couch and read a book for two hours. She didn't turn on the TV. She didn't look out the window.
She looked like a prisoner in solitary.
Marcus walked into my office at noon.
“Security report, sir.” He placed a folder on my desk. “Electronic sweep of the penthouse came back negative. No signs of listening devices or unauthorized remote access. Perimeter is clean.”
“And the surveillance on Hale's associates?”
“Quiet. Most of them are looking for jobs at other firms. No one wants to be associated with his name.”
“Good.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Sir... we detected an anomaly in the residential building's network traffic.”
I looked up.
“What kind of anomaly?”
“A repetitive ping on the doorman's intercom server. Someone tried to remotely access the penthouse's delivery log.”
“Origin?”
“Masked. VPN bouncing through three continents. But the coding pattern... it's sophisticated. Not some teenage hacker. Someone with resources.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“Did they get in?”
“No. The firewall held. But they know Miss Walsh is there. The search pattern was specific to her last name.”
I slammed the laptop shut.
Richard. Or someone he'd paid.
He hadn't given up. He was just regrouping. And now he was probing the castle walls.
“Double the security in the lobby,” I ordered, standing up. “No one goes up without biometric verification. Not food delivery, not mail, not the Pope.”
“Yes, sir.”
I grabbed my jacket. I needed to get home. I needed to move her. Maybe take her to another property. A safe house in the country.
I had to get her out of Ashford.
My phone rang.
It was the doorman from Obsidian Tower.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Speak.”
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but a package arrived for Miss Walsh.”
“I said no deliveries go up,” I growled.
“I know, sir. We stopped the delivery guy. But… he said it was legal documents. Something about her brother's settlement. He left it at the front desk and took off.”
I stopped.
Her brother's settlement. That made sense. Thomas was signing papers. Could be a copy for her.
“Run it through the X-ray,” I ordered. “Check for explosives, chemicals, electronics.”
“Already did, sir. It's just paper. A large manila envelope.”
“Hold it there. I'm on my way.”
“Sir… Miss Walsh just called down. She said she was expecting these documents. She asked for them to be sent up.”
Panic exploded in my chest.
“Don't send it up!” I shouted. “I forbid you to—”
“The assistant manager already cleared the service elevator, sir. The package is already on its way up.”
I hung up and ran.
I tore through the hallway of my own firm like a madman, ignoring the stares from employees. I got into the private elevator and punched the panel, cursing the fact that teleportation didn't exist.
If it was Richard… if it was a threat…
The drive over was a blur of traffic violations.
I arrived at Obsidian Tower in record time. I threw the keys to the valet and ran inside.
The doorman was pale.
“Did she get it?” I demanded.
“Yes, sir. Five minutes ago.”
I got into the elevator. The ride up took a lifetime.
When the doors opened at the penthouse, I expected to find chaos. Blood. Smoke.
But the apartment was silent.
Elena was in the living room.
She stood near the window, holding an open manila envelope. Photos were scattered across the glass coffee table.
She didn't look at me when I came in. She was staring at one of the photos in her hand.
I walked toward her, my heart pounding in my throat.
“Elena?”
She turned.
Her face was white as a sheet. But it wasn't fear. It was horror. Cold and absolute.
She let the photo slip from her hand. It floated to the floor, landing at my feet.
I looked down.
It was a grainy photo, taken from a distance with a telephoto lens.
It showed the balcony of this penthouse.
It showed me and Elena, last night. I was shirtless. She was wearing my robe, open. I was kissing her neck. My hand was inside the robe.
It was an intimate photo. A grotesque violation of privacy.
But that wasn't what froze me.
It was what was written on the back of the photo, now facing up.
Elegant cursive handwriting I would recognize anywhere. Richard Hale's.
“Protection is an illusion, Gabriel. I see everything. And what I see is a compromised federal witness sleeping with her lawyer. Agent Miller will love receiving a copy of this. Unless, of course, we can renegotiate the price of my shares.”
Elena looked at me. Her eyes were dead.
“You said he was gone,” she whispered. “You said we were safe.”
“Elena…”
“He was watching us.” She pointed to the window, to the neighboring buildings. “While you were telling me you'd protect me… he was taking pictures. While we were…”
She covered her mouth, visibly nauseated.
“He didn't leave,” I said, my voice coming out as a growl. “He stayed.”
“You lied to me. Again.”
“I didn't lie! I thought he was gone!”
“You thought wrong!” she screamed, and the sound shattered the glass dome of our false security. “You failed, Gabriel. Your 'protection' failed. Your 'possession' failed. The only thing you managed to do was hand me to him on a silver platter.”
She grabbed another photo from the table. A photo of her alone in the kitchen, drinking coffee. A red crosshair had been drawn in pen over her forehead.
“He's going to kill me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Or he's going to put me in prison. Either way, my life is over.”
“It's not over.” I tried to approach, but she backed away, stumbling on the rug.
“Don't come near me!” She clutched the envelope to her chest like a shield. “You said I confused protection with possession. You were right. But I confused something else too.”
“What?”
“I confused love with survival.” She looked at me with contempt that cut deeper than Richard's threat. “I thought I needed you to survive. But you're the reason I'm going to die.”
The intercom rang.
This time, it wasn't a messenger.
It was my personal cell phone. Unknown number.
I answered, putting it on speaker.
Richard Hale's voice filled the room—smooth, cultured, and dripping with venom. “Gabriel. Did you get my calling card? Photography's a new hobby. I think I captured your chemistry quite well.”
I looked at Elena. She stood frozen.
“Where are you, Richard?” I asked, a deadly calm settling over me.
“Close enough to see the color of her panties. Far enough that your gorillas won't reach me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want everything back, Gabriel. The firm. The money. The reputation. And I want a public apology.”
“You'll never get that.”
“Then I'll send the complete album to the Department of Justice tomorrow morning. And to the New York Times. 'Star lawyer bribes witness with sex and destroys homicide evidence.' That's quite a headline.”
He laughed.
“You have twelve hours.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Elena. I looked at the photos scattered on the floor. The sanctuary had been violated. The golden cage had glass walls, and the wolf was outside, looking in.
But while fear tried to paralyze me, something else took control. That ancient, familiar darkness.
Richard made a mistake.
He threatened to expose us both. He threatened to take everything.
But in doing so, he gave me the only thing I needed to bring Elena back to me.
He gave us a common enemy.
“Pack your things,” I said, hanging up the phone.
“Where are we going?” Elena asked, her voice weak.
“We're going hunting.”
I walked over to her and took the envelope from her hand. I tore the photo with the red crosshair in half.
“You said I'm your disease, Elena.” I looked into her eyes. “Well then. Now Richard is going to find out just how contagious we are.”