Chapter 3 - THE PROTECTED WING
At 1:15 a.m., a sleek black Cadillac Escalade with blacked-out windows pulled into the underground garage of the Ashford residence.
The rear door opened, and Vance—Gabriel’s towering, scar-faced chief of security—stepped out, holding a small, sleepy eight-year-old boy wrapped in a dark blue fleece blanket. Behind them, two tactical guards carried three duffel bags filled with Noah's clothes, schoolbooks, and toys.
"Harper!" the little boy cried out, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he saw his sister running across the polished concrete garage floor.
"Noah!" Harper wept, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs as she dropped to her knees and pulled her little brother into a fiercely tight embrace.
She buried her face in his soft hair, smelling the familiar scent of cheap berry shampoo, feeling his warm, tiny arms wrap tightly around her neck.
"Are we in trouble, Harpy?" Noah whispered nervously, looking at the massive armored vehicles, the security cameras, and the tall men in black suits standing around them. "The scary man in the suit told me we were moving to a new house."
"No, sweetie," Harper wiped her eyes, smiling through her tears as she kissed his cheek. "We're safe. We're staying with... a friend."
Gabriel walked down the concrete ramp, his hands resting casually in his trousers pockets.
Noah’s eyes widened as he looked at the tall, dark-haired man approaching them. The boy instinctively moved closer to Harper, picking up on the immense authority Gabriel carried.
Gabriel stopped three feet away. He looked down at the child, his cold blue eyes softening just a fraction.
"Noah," Gabriel spoke, his voice unusually gentle. "I am Gabriel."
"Are you a superhero?" Noah asked innocently, staring at the pristine suit and the dark cars. "You look like the guy in the movies."
Vance choked back a quiet chuckle in the background.
A faint, rare smirk tugged at Gabriel's lips. "Something like that. Come upstairs. Your room is ready."
The west wing of the estate had been completely opened for them.
It was a private, three-bedroom suite featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the illuminated gardens, plush cream carpets, an oversized television, and a private kitchenette stocked with fresh fruits, juices, and pastries.
For a little boy who had spent the last four days sleeping on a thin mattress in a roach-infested Dorchester tenement, it was a paradise.
Within twenty minutes, Noah was fast asleep in a plush queen-sized bed beneath a heavy down duvet, his favorite worn stuffed bear tucked securely under his arm.
Harper stood by the nursery door, watching her brother’s chest rise and fall in steady, peaceful rhythm.
Gabriel stood in the hallway behind her, a silver glass of bourbon in his hand.
Harper stepped out into the quiet corridor, pulling her cashmere robe tight around her waist. She looked up at the mob boss, her hazel eyes filled with a terrifying mix of gratitude and vulnerability.
"Why are you doing this, Mr. Ashford?" she asked softly. "You don't know me. I'm nobody to you. Helping me puts you in conflict with the police department."
Gabriel took a slow sip of his bourbon, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of her cheekbone, where a faint yellow bruise was slowly fading.
"Three years ago, my sister was murdered by a man who claimed to love her," Gabriel said, his voice flat, stripped of all emotion. "She was twenty-two. She was too terrified to ask for help because the man was a senator’s son. By the time I found out what was happening behind closed doors... it was too late."
Harper’s breath hitched in her throat.
Gabriel turned his eyes toward her, his gaze intense, heavy, and absolute.
"I built an empire so no one in this city could ever make me feel helpless again," Gabriel continued quietly. "I will not stand in my own house and watch another woman be broken by a coward with a title."
Harper felt a sudden, powerful warmth flood her chest. For three long, agonizing years, she had been told she was worthless, that she deserved every blow, that no one would ever care if she lived or died.
And now, the most dangerous man in Boston was standing guard outside her door.
"Thank you, Gabriel," she whispered, using his first name for the very first time.
May you like
Gabriel looked down at her lips as she spoke his name. His blue eyes darkened slightly, a sudden, heavy tension settling between them in the quiet hallway.
"Go to sleep, Harper," he murmured softly. "Tomorrow, the war begins."
