Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
Twenty-four hours after the assault on the Moretti estate, the tri-state underground was in an uproar.
Gabriel Moretti had declared absolute war.
In the private medical wing of the estate, a doctor was finishing stitching up the graze on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel sat shirtless on the examination table, his broad chest covered in old scars from a lifetime of violence.
Standing across the room was Marcus, his leg wrapped in heavy bandages, leaning on a cane.
"Orlov has gone into hiding," Marcus reported, his voice grim. "He withdrew to his fortified compound in Queens. He brought in fifty mercenaries from South America. He knows you're coming for him, Gabriel."
"Good," Gabriel said, wincing slightly as the doctor pulled a suture tight. "He should be afraid."
The door opened, and Hannah stepped in, carrying a tray with clean bandages and antiseptics. She wore a simple dark sweater and jeans now, having shed her maid uniform entirely.
The doctor bowed his head to Gabriel and quietly exited the room, leaving the three of them alone.
"You're not going to Queens," Hannah said, setting the tray down.
Gabriel looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Orlov’s compound in Queens is a kill box," Hannah said, walking over to the table and taking the bandage from Marcus's hand. She began wrapping Gabriel's shoulder with expert efficiency. "He built that facility three years ago specifically to withstand a siege. If you hit him there with force, half your men will die, and Orlov will escape through the subway tunnels beneath the basement."
Gabriel watched her hands as she gently bound his wound. Her touch was remarkably soft for someone who had killed three men yesterday.
"And how do you know about his subway tunnel?" Gabriel asked low.
"Because the federal task force I worked with spent six months mapping his escape routes," Hannah replied, looking into his eyes. "Orlov doesn't stay in Queens when he's under threat. He uses the compound as a decoy. He's actually staying at a private yacht anchored two miles off the coast of Long Island."
Gabriel turned his head toward Marcus. "Verify that."
"I don't need to verify it," Hannah said, stepping closer to Gabriel, her eyes burning with fierce determination. "I can take you directly to him. But I want a promise, Gabriel."
"I don't make promises to people who hold weapons in my house," Gabriel stated cold.
"You will make this one," Hannah insisted, her voice unyielding. "When we catch Orlov, he doesn't die in a dark alley. He gets handed to the federal prosecutor whose daughter I saved. I want him in a federal prison for the rest of his life. I want my life back, Gabriel. I want to stop running."
Gabriel stared at her. He reached out, his long fingers cupping her jaw, forcing her to look directly into his dark, storm-gray eyes.
"You think a federal prison will keep you safe from men like us?" Gabriel whispered, his thumb lightly stroking her cheekbone. "If Orlov goes to prison, his lieutenants will still hunt you."
"Then what do you suggest?" Hannah asked, her breath catching as his thumb traced her lower lip.
"I suggest," Gabriel murmured, leaning in until his breath warm against her skin, "that you realize you don't need to run anymore. Because as long as you are with me, no one in this world will ever touch you again."
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Hannah’s heart pounded against her ribs. She looked into Gabriel's eyes and saw not a ruthless mob boss, but a man who had built a wall of steel around his heart to protect the people he loved. And for the first time in six months, she felt completely, utterly safe.
"We leave at midnight," Gabriel declared, releasing her jaw and standing up, pulling a black shirt over his scarred chest. "Marcus, ready the boat."
