Chapter 3 - The Summons Downstairs
Viktor gave a single, respectful nod and turned on his heel, vanishing seamlessly into the crowded, smoky atmosphere of the Velvet Room.
Harper sat frozen in the booth, her chest heaving as silent tears spilled over her lashes. The contrast between Gabriel’s gentle touch against her right jaw and the cold, deadly promise in his words was overwhelming. She had spent three years learning to manage Trent’s explosive temper—learning when to duck, when to appease, when to stay silent, and how to minimize the damage. It was a miserable, terrifying existence, but it was a system she understood.
Now, Gabriel Costa had shattered that system in less than five minutes.
"Drink this," Gabriel commanded softly, pushing his own untouched glass of Macallan across the table toward her.
"I... I can't drink on the clock," Harper whispered, her voice trembling violently.
"You are no longer on the clock," Gabriel said. "Drink."
Harper reached out with trembling hands, picked up the crystal glass, and took a small sip. The amber liquid burned down her throat, spreading a sudden, artificial heat through her freezing chest. She closed her eyes, trying to stop the shaking that had taken over her limbs.
"How long?" Gabriel asked, his voice cutting through her panic.
"What?"
"How long has he been hitting you?"
Harper looked down at the amber glass in her hands. "Three years. Since... since my mother passed away. He moved into my apartment to 'help with the rent.' At first it was just shouting. Then throwing things. Then... the first time he hit me was after I lost my job at the bakery." She swallowed hard, the shame tasting like ash in her mouth. "I thought it was my fault. I thought if I worked harder, if I kept the apartment cleaner, if I made more money..."
"A weak man hits a woman because he knows he is nothing," Gabriel said quietly, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "It is never about what you did. It is about his own insignificance."
Before Harper could respond, Paul, the floor manager, hurried over to the booth. He looked flustered and anxious, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip.
"Mr. Costa," Paul said nervously, completely ignoring Harper. "Is everything satisfactory? I noticed your security guard leaving, and I wanted to ensure—"
"Paul," Gabriel interrupted, not even looking at the manager. "Harper is leaving early tonight."
Paul blinked, his face darkening slightly. "Mr. Costa, with all due respect, we are short-staffed tonight, and Harper has three more tables—"
Gabriel slowly raised his head. He didn't raise his voice, but the look in his dark eyes made Paul freeze mid-sentence.
"Harper is done for the night," Gabriel repeated softly. "In fact, Harper no longer works here. Pay her for the full week, including her tips. Send the check to my office tomorrow morning."
Paul’s jaw dropped slightly, but he immediately recognized the lethal authority in Gabriel’s tone. "Of course, Mr. Costa. Right away. Harper, you... you can pack your things."
Paul turned and hurried away as if escaping a blast zone.
Harper stared at Gabriel, her mind spinning out of control. "You just fired me?"
"I gave you your freedom from this dive," Gabriel corrected her, sliding out of the leather booth and standing up to his full, imposing height. "Walk with me."
"Where?"
"Downstairs."
A fresh wave of terror struck Harper’s chest. The basement of the Velvet Room was off-limits to regular staff. It was where the venue stored its high-end wine collections, and where Gabriel maintained a private office for his citywide operations.
"Gabriel, please," Harper begged, standing up on shaky legs. Her left thigh throbbed painfully as she put weight on it, reminding her of the deep tissue bruise Trent had given her on Sunday. "Don't do anything crazy. Let me just go home—"
"You are not going back to that apartment," Gabriel said, offering her his arm. "Not tonight. Not ever."
When Harper didn't take his arm, Gabriel didn't force her. He simply stepped beside her, placing his broad frame between her and the curious stares of the remaining patrons. He guided her through a heavy oak door behind the main bar, down a flights of dimly lit concrete stairs, and into the cool, silent depths of the basement.
The air downstairs smelled of aged oak, concrete, and expensive leather. At the end of a long corridor lined with wine racks sat a heavy metal door guarded by two built men in dark suits. They bowed their heads respectfully as Gabriel approached.
"Is he inside?" Gabriel asked.
"Yes, Boss," one of the guards replied, unlocking the heavy door and pulling it open. "Viktor brought him in through the back alley. He put up a fight, so Viktor had to moderate his enthusiasm."
Gabriel stepped into the room, and Harper, driven by a terrifying, magnetic dread, followed him inside.
The room was spacious, furnished with a single leather chair beneath a hanging lightbulb, surrounded by walls of exposed brick.
Bound to the heavy wooden chair with thick zip-ties was Trent.
His jacket was torn, his hair disheveled, and his lip was cut and bleeding. His eyes were wide with a mixture of rage and sheer panic. When the door opened and he saw Harper walk in behind Gabriel Costa, his face contorted into a violent snarl.
"Harper?!" Trent roared, straining against the zip-ties. "What the hell is this?! Who the fuck are these guys?! You brought me here?! You little bitch, when I get out of this chair, I am going to fucking kill you!"
Harper instinctively took a step back, her body recoiling from the familiar, terrifying thunder of his voice.
Before Trent could utter another word, Gabriel moved with a speed that defied his large frame. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, reached out, and grabbed Trent by the throat, his massive fingers digging deep into the man's neck.
May you like
Trent’s words turned into a choked, gurgling gasp. His eyes bulged as Gabriel effortlessly lifted him slightly, tilting his head back until Trent was forced to stare directly into Gabriel’s eyes.
"You are speaking to a lady," Gabriel said softly, his voice chillingly calm. "And more importantly, you are speaking in my house. You will keep your mouth shut until I give you permission to breathe."
