Chapter 6 - A THREAT ON ASHLAND
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The matte-black armored sedan glided smoothly through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago.
The city lights reflected off the wet asphalt like streaks of liquid neon against the dark glass.
I sat in the back passenger corner, my injured arm resting on a plush leather pillow Gabriel had placed there himself.
Gabriel sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, his eyes fixed on the tablet resting on his knees.
Up front, Marco drove with the steady, aggressive precision of an ex-military operative.
Two identical black SUVs followed fifty yards behind us, forming an impenetrable mobile shield.
The throb in my fractured hand was beginning to dull into a heavy, persistent ache.
I looked out the window at the familiar brick walk-ups of Ashland Avenue flashing past in the gloom.
This was my neighborhood.
This was where I had grown up, scraping knees on cracked sidewalks while my father built his business brick by honest brick.
“How is Thomas?” Gabriel asked suddenly, breaking the long silence without looking up from his screen.
I turned to him, surprised by the gentle concern in his voice.
“He was fine when I called him earlier,” I replied softly.
“He was complaining about the price of rebar and watching a baseball game.”
“Did you tell him about the threat on your phone?”
I hesitated, my fingers curling slightly within the splint.
“No.”
“Why?”
“He has high blood pressure, Gabriel,” I said, looking down at my lap.
“He spent forty years worrying about keeping payroll open for his men.”
“I didn't want him to spend the night terrified in his own living room.”
Gabriel tapped the tablet screen, bringing up a live video feed from four different security cameras.
The cameras showed the modest two-story brick house where my father lived alone on Ashland.
Parked across the street was a nondescript gray van.
Stationed near the back alley were two men in dark trench coats, smoking cigarettes beneath an umbrella.
“Those aren't my men,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy calm.
My heart leaped into my throat like a trapped sparrow.
“What?” I gasped, leaning forward despite the pain in my knuckles.
“Who are they?”
“Vittorio’s freelancers,” Gabriel answered, tapping the screen to zoom in on the van’s license plate.
“My uncle didn't just help Arthur smuggle the silver out of the estate.”
“He positioned a crew outside your father’s home at six o'clock this evening as insurance.”
Tears of pure, burning rage blurred my vision.
“He was going to kill him anyway,” I whispered, my voice trembling with helpless fury.
“Even if I had let Arthur drive away with the bags, Vittorio was going to murder my father.”
Gabriel reached across the leather seat and took my uninjured left hand into his.
His grip was warm, solid, and immovable.
“Nobody is going to touch your father, Catherine,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.
“Look at the feed.”
On the screen, two large black pickup trucks suddenly pulled onto Ashland Avenue from opposite directions.
They boxed the gray van against the curb with surgical precision.
Six heavily armed men in tactical gear poured out of the trucks, their weapons leveled through the van’s rain-streaked windows.
The two lookouts in the alley were tackled to the wet pavement before they could even drop their cigarettes.
Within forty-five seconds, the gray van was secured, its occupants dragged into the back of the pickup trucks in plastic zip-ties.
My father’s front porch light clicked on.
Through the front window, I could see my dad, Thomas Hayes, wearing his favorite flannel shirt, peering through the blinds with a mug of coffee in his hand.
One of Gabriel’s guards walked up the porch steps, tipped his flat cap politely to my father, and handed him a sealed envelope.
My dad read the note, nodded with a puzzled smile, waved to the guard, and went back inside to watch his game.
The porch light clicked off.
The street returned to empty, peaceful darkness.
I let out a long, ragged breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
A tear slipped down my cheek, landing on Gabriel’s sleeve.
“What was in the note?” I asked, wiping my face with my sleeve.
“A message from me,” Gabriel replied softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.
“Telling him that you were spending the night at the lake house with me.”
“And that four of my best men would be renovating his garage roof tomorrow morning for free.”
A small, wet laugh escaped my lips despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones.
“My father will criticize their hammering technique within ten minutes.”
Gabriel smiled, a genuine, breathtaking smile that transformed his severe, dangerous face into something strikingly human.
“Then they will learn how to hammer correctly from an expert,” he said.
He looked down at our joined hands, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic circle over my skin.
“I made you a promise when we married, Catherine.”
“I promised your father’s company would survive.”
“I didn't realize until tonight that I had failed to make you feel safe in my own house.”
I looked up into his dark eyes, seeing the quiet regret burning beneath his cold exterior.
“You didn't fail me, Gabriel,” I said honestly.
“I just didn't know where I stood.”
“Then let me be very clear,” Gabriel whispered, leaning closer until his forehead almost touched mine.
May you like
“You stand beside me.”
“And anyone who tries to push you into the kitchen will find themselves beneath the floorboards.”
