By eight the next morning, Gabriel’s house had become a command center.
Nobody said Vincent Rourke was a traitor.
Not yet.
Men like Gabriel did not accuse family without proof.
They gathered facts first.
Then they decided whether family still existed.
I stood at the kitchen counter wearing borrowed black trousers and one of Gabriel’s white shirts because nobody had thought to retrieve clothes from my apartment.
The shirt was too large.
Mick noticed.
Then noticed Gabriel noticing.
Mick suddenly discovered something fascinating on his phone.
“Say it,” Gabriel told him.
Mick looked innocent.
“Say what?”
“Whatever expression you’re hiding.”
“I enjoy employment.”
“Smart.”
I put down my coffee.
“We need to audit Vincent’s access history.”
Gabriel’s gaze shifted to me.
“You need to eat.”
“I need to find out who stole files from my servers.”
“They are my servers.”
“I built them.”
“You designed the system.”
“And apparently someone compromised it.”
Gabriel placed a plate in front of me.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
I stared.
“Did you cook this?”
His expression was offended.
“No.”
“Good.”
He leaned closer.
“I can cook.”
“You once asked me whether pasta had to go into boiling water.”
“That was one time.”
“That was last month.”
Mick left the kitchen.
I suspected he was laughing.
For several seconds, the strange domesticity almost erased the danger.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel Hart.
Gabriel looked at the screen.
His expression immediately worsened.
“You are not answering that.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Daniel’s voice sounded worried.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your very intimidating coworker removed you from a ballroom surrounded by men who looked like they had diplomatic immunity.”
“They don’t.”
Gabriel mouthed, Who is it?
I gave him a look.
He knew perfectly well.
Daniel continued.
“I heard something happened after you left.”
“What?”
“The gala’s security office was broken into. Someone deleted footage.”
My spine stiffened.
Gabriel saw my expression.
He took the phone from me.
“Hey!”
“Dr. Hart,” Gabriel said.
Silence.
Daniel apparently recognized the voice.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“What footage?”
I folded my arms.
Gabriel ignored me.
Daniel explained.
The security room had been entered around midnight.
Camera files from the ballroom, service corridors, and garage had disappeared.
Gabriel asked three questions, thanked him, and ended the call.
Then he handed my phone back.
“You’re rude.”
“He talks too much.”
“He told us something useful.”
“I was going to find out.”
“Were you?”
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
“Jealousy makes you inefficient.”
“I am not jealous.”
Mick’s voice came from the hallway.
“Absolutely.”
Gabriel turned.
Mick disappeared.
I laughed.
It was the first time I had laughed inside Gabriel’s house.
He stared at me.
Not at the dress.
Not at my body.
At my face.
Something softened.
That frightened me more than his jealousy.
By noon, we had accessed Vincent’s logs.
No obvious breaches.
He was too intelligent for that.
Vincent Rourke had spent twelve years beside Gabriel because he understood systems.
He understood loyalty.
He understood how to hide betrayal inside routine.
We needed a mistake.
I found one at 1:17 p.m.
A transfer of $480,000 from a construction subsidiary to a consulting company registered in Delaware.
Perfectly normal.
Except the company did not exist six months earlier.
I searched further.
Three transfers.
Then five.
Then eleven.
Total: $8.4 million.
All authorized using credentials from Gabriel’s internal finance office.
“Who approved these?” Mick asked.
“Technically Gabriel.”
Gabriel leaned over my shoulder.
“I did not.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“The authorization stamp.”
“What about it?”
“You always approve large transfers at the end of the day.”
Mick blinked.
“That’s your proof?”
I shook my head.
“Gabriel signs with a security token. The timestamp includes when the token was physically activated.”
I pointed.
“These were all done between 6:45 and 7:15 a.m.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“So?”
“You haven’t willingly seen seven in the morning since 2019.”
Mick laughed.
Gabriel stared at him.
Mick stopped.
We traced the company.
Eventually we found a name.
Not Vincent.
Senator Matthew Kellerman.
A longtime political ally of Mercer Holdings.
That was worse.
Kellerman controlled zoning committees, labor appointments, city contracts, and enough influence in Albany to make investigations disappear.
He had also announced plans to run for governor.
Gabriel walked to the window.
“Vincent wouldn’t move money to Kellerman.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“They hate each other.”
“Maybe publicly.”
Gabriel turned.
“Vincent thinks politicians are rented employees.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Kellerman thinks Vincent is a thug.”
“That also sounds like him.”
Mick leaned against the desk.
“So why are they doing business?”
The answer arrived through Luca.
He entered carrying a folder.
“We found the guy from the gala.”
Gabriel became still.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word carried enough meaning that I intervened.
“Nobody is doing anything stupid.”
Three men looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
I pointed at him.
“Especially you.”
“This is my house.”
“And I still know where your financial records are.”
Mick quietly said, “She has you there.”
Gabriel ignored him.
The man from the gala was named Thomas Avery.
Former private investigator.
Currently employed by a security firm owned indirectly by Senator Kellerman’s campaign manager.
The picture sharpened.
Kellerman was gathering information about Gabriel.
Vincent had access to the information.
Someone had decided I was the weak link.
Gabriel looked furious.
I felt something else.
Betrayed.
Vincent had hired me.
Three years earlier, I was a forensic accountant working for a firm in Midtown.
I discovered irregularities in a Mercer Holdings real-estate transaction.
Instead of firing the accounting company, Gabriel had appeared in our office with Vincent.
I expected threats.
Vincent offered me a job.
“You’re either brave or reckless,” he had said.
“Which one pays more?”
He laughed.
Gabriel did not.
Gabriel had barely spoken during the interview.
Now I wondered whether that had been the beginning of him watching me.
“Why would Vincent target me?” I asked.
Gabriel answered immediately.
“He wouldn’t.”
Mick looked uncomfortable.
“Boss.”
“He wouldn’t.”
I turned.
“You trust him.”
“I trust twelve years.”
“You trust history.”
“Yes.”
“History is not evidence.”
His eyes flashed.
I regretted the sharpness.
But I would not apologize.
“Vincent pulled me into your world,” I continued. “He knows exactly how much information I have.”
Gabriel stared at the city.
“He also saved my life twice.”
“And maybe he believes you owe him more than you’ve given.”
That landed.
Gabriel’s father, Marcus Mercer, built the foundation of the organization.
After Marcus died, Gabriel inherited enemies, debts, and loyalists with expectations.
Vincent had been one of those loyalists.
He had helped Gabriel survive.
Maybe he believed survival entitled him to ownership.
At four, Vincent arrived.
Nobody had invited him.
That made the room feel colder.
He walked into Gabriel’s study wearing a navy suit and a smile.
Then he saw me.
The smile remained.
Barely.
“Chastity. I heard about last night.”
“From whom?”
“People talk.”
Gabriel stood behind the desk.
“What did you hear?”
“That someone threatened her.”
Vincent looked genuinely concerned.
“That’s unacceptable.”
Gabriel watched him.
For the first time in three years, I understood how frightening Gabriel could be without raising his voice.
“Is it?”
Vincent’s eyes shifted.
“Of course.”
Gabriel poured whiskey.
“Have a drink.”
“No.”
Gabriel stopped pouring.
Vincent never refused whiskey.
Tiny mistake.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
“I’m heading to Jersey,” Vincent said. “We have problems with the Piermont contract.”
“I handled Piermont yesterday,” I said.
Vincent looked at me.
“New problems.”
“What problems?”
His smile disappeared.
“You’re very curious today.”
“I’m curious every day.”
“That’s why you’re useful.”
Gabriel’s hand tightened around the bottle.
Vincent noticed.
Then something passed between the two men.
Twelve years.
Wars I had not witnessed.
Bodies buried in memories.
Debt.
Trust.
Maybe love, in the complicated way dangerous men sometimes loved brothers.
Vincent turned toward Gabriel.
“You need to move her.”
“I already did.”
“Out of New York.”
“No.”
“She knows too much.”
The room became silent.
Vincent realized what he had said.
My heartbeat accelerated.
Gabriel put down the bottle.
“Interesting.”
Vincent’s expression remained controlled.
“What?”
“I didn’t tell you what the message said.”
For the first time, Vincent Rourke had no answer.
Then the windows exploded.
Glass crashed inward.
Gabriel moved before I understood what was happening.
He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me behind the desk.
A second impact struck the wall.
Mick drew his weapon.
Luca shouted into his radio.
Vincent dropped behind a sofa.
Gabriel covered me with his body.
“Stay down.”
The world became noise.
Security alarms.
Shouting.
Running footsteps.
I pressed one hand against Gabriel’s chest.
His heartbeat was violent.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Gabriel—”
“I’m fine.”
Then I saw blood on his sleeve.
Not much.
Glass had cut his arm.
He did not seem to notice.
When security confirmed the shooter was gone, Gabriel stood.
His eyes found Vincent.
Vincent was pale.
“This is Kellerman,” Vincent said immediately.
Gabriel said nothing.
I looked toward the shattered window.
On the floor beside the broken glass lay a small metal object.
A bullet had struck it loose from the wall.
A listening device.
Hidden inside Gabriel’s private study.
I picked it up with a handkerchief.
Mick swore.
Someone had been listening to everything.
Which meant Vincent’s suspicious sentence might have been coincidence.
Or an act.
Or a warning.
And the person who had fired into Gabriel’s house had not necessarily been trying to kill us.
Maybe they wanted us afraid.
Maybe they wanted Gabriel to distrust Vincent.
Or maybe they wanted Vincent to realize Gabriel had started investigating him.
Gabriel looked at the device.
Then at me.
“Pack a bag.”
“No.”
“We are leaving.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere nobody knows.”
Vincent stood.
“I can arrange—”
Gabriel raised a hand.
“No.”
One word.
Twelve years of trust cracked down the middle.
Vincent stared at him.
“You think I did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“That woman has been in your life three years.”
His eyes moved toward me.
“I have been there twelve.”
Gabriel’s voice became cold.
“Then you should understand why I need proof.”
Vincent walked out.
When the door closed, Gabriel looked at me.
His face showed no emotion.
But I had spent three years studying the man everyone else feared.
I knew better.
Losing Vincent was hurting him.
I touched the cut on his arm.
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked down.
“So I am.”
“You need stitches.”
“You volunteering?”
“Apparently you’re incapable of staying intact without me.”
His eyes met mine.
Something almost tender passed between us.
Then he whispered:
“That is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
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