Chapter 3 - The Blood Oath
The private elevator chime cut through the heavy silence of the penthouse.
The doors slid open, and Dominic stepped out, holding a silver tray with a fresh bottle of scotch and a thick leather folder. He stopped dead in his tracks, his scarred face twisting in absolute bewilderment as he took in the scene before him.
The shattered glass covered the mahogany desk. The thousand-dollar bourbon soaked the carpet. And his ruthless boss—a man who had never shown mercy to a debtor in his entire life—was sitting on the plush leather couch, wrapping a soft cashmere throw blanket around the shoulders of a drenched, pale waitress.
“Boss?” Dominic asked cautiously, his hand instinctively resting on the grip of the firearm beneath his jacket. “Is everything alright? The guards downstairs said they heard glass breaking.”
“Stand down, Dominic,” Gabriel commanded without turning his head. His voice was cold and commanding once again, but his eyes never left Madeline’s pale face. “Clear the desk. And call Dr. Mercer to bring a medical kit up here.”
Madeline blinked, looking down at her right wrist. A small, thin scratch from a glass shard was bleeding slightly against her skin. She hadn't even felt it.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s just a scratch.”
“You are not fine,” Gabriel insisted, taking a clean white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wrapping it around her wrist. “You were dragged into an alley by my men, brought here under threat of servitude, and bleeding because I frightened you. Nothing about this is fine.”
Dominic stood frozen near the bar, looking between the two of them as if they had both grown second heads. “Gabriel... who is she? What about the Harper debt?”
Gabriel stood up slowly, turning to face his chief enforcer. The posture he assumed was terrifying in its absolute authority.
“The debt is erased,” Gabriel declared flatly. “Effective immediately. And if anyone in this city so much as looks at Miss Harper without her explicit consent, I will personally skin them alive.”
Dominic swallowed hard, bowing his head instantly. “Understood, Boss.”
“More than that,” Gabriel added, his voice dropping into a lethal register. “Madeline Harper is Eleanor Vance’s daughter. She is my blood cousin. Which means she carries the Costello name, whether she uses it or not.”
Dominic gasped softly, his eyes snapping to the emerald ring on Madeline’s left hand. He immediately dropped to one knee on the black marble floor, bowing his head in deep respect.
“Forgive me, Signorina,” Dominic said, his voice rough with genuine remorse. “If I had known your blood, I would have protected you with my life instead of putting hands on you.”
Madeline felt completely overwhelmed. Less than an hour ago, she had been a twelve-dollar-an-hour waitress terrified of being murdered or forced into human trafficking. Now, Chicago’s most ruthless enforcer was kneeling at her feet as if she were royalty.
“Please... get up,” Madeline pleaded softly. “I don't... I don't understand any of this.”
Gabriel walked back to her side, offering her a glass of warm mineral water. “You don't have to understand everything tonight, Madeline. All you need to know is that you are safe. No one will ever threaten you, intimidate you, or demand a single cent from you again.”
“What about Nathan?” she asked, grabbing Gabriel’s sleeve. “If he thinks you're trying to kill us, he’s still running! He’s out there somewhere in the rain, terrified!”
Gabriel placed his hand over hers on his sleeve. “I will find him, Madeline. I give you my word as a Costello. I have resources that span every airport, harbor, and back alley in North America. But we have a more immediate problem.”
He turned his gaze toward the massive windows overlooking the rain-slicked towers of Chicago.
“If Nathan was lied to about my intentions,” Gabriel said darkly, “it means someone inside my organization manipulated him into stealing that money. Someone wanted Nathan to run, and someone wanted me to hunt you down.”
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Madeline looked up at him, a cold dread settling in her stomach. “Why?”
“Because if I had killed Eleanor’s children without knowing who you were,” Gabriel explained smoothly, his jaw clenching tightly, “the secret would have eventually been leaked to our older traditional factions in Palermo. I would have been branded a murderer of my own kin—a sin that carries an automatic death sentence under our law. Whoever set this trap was trying to destroy both you and me with a single move.”
