Chapter 5 - Ghosts of the Past
The black-label town car tore through the rainy night, heading north up the Henry Hudson Parkway toward the Westchester estate.
Inside the leather-lined cabin, the silence was thick, charged with the residual adrenaline of the Plaza siege. Gabriel sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, his fingers drumming a slow, rhythmic tattoo against his knee. He hadn't spoken since we left Manhattan, his mind clearly racing through the chess pieces of his shattered empire and his suddenly upended personal life.
“My father and my brother are at the gate,” I said, breaking the silence as the city lights blurred into the dark outline of the forest.
Gabriel didn't look at me immediately. He turned his head slowly, his gray-green eyes dark and unreadable.
“Your father hasn't set foot on my property in six years,” Gabriel said quietly. “Not since the day he tried to shake me down for a quarter-million-dollar development loan for his failing construction firm, and I had Dante throw him off the grounds.”
I winced, a cold knot forming in my stomach. “I know. He… he’s not a good man, Gabriel. When our mother died, he gambled away what little she left us, and he spent years treating Mateo and me like collateral for his bad debts.”
“Then why is he standing at my gate at ten o'clock at night?” Gabriel asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Because of the boys,” I said, my voice dropping to a bitter whisper. “Mateo found out about the triplets last month when he came to visit me in Beacon. He’s been bugging me ever since to ‘leverage’ our connection to the Cross family. I told him no. I threatened to cut him off completely if he ever went near your name.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. A dangerous, cold light flickered in his eyes. “If he thinks he can use my sons to extort a payday, he picked the wrong family.”
“I know,” I sighed, rubbing my temples as a pounding migraine flared behind my eyes. “I just wanted to keep my children safe. I didn't want them anywhere near the violence, the money, the threats, or the ghosts of our past.”
Gabriel reached out, his warm, heavy hand resting gently over mine. I looked down. His fingers were laced with mine—a simple, grounding touch that felt entirely foreign yet terrifyingly natural.
“They’re my sons too, Claire,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a low, steady rumble. “Which means their past, their present, and their future belong behind the walls of my estate. Nobody touches them. Not your father, not the feds, and not anyone else.”
The town car slowed down, turning through the grand wrought-iron gates of the North Salem estate.
The security lights cut through the heavy Westchester mist, illuminating the sprawling colonial mansion, the manicured lawns, and the gravel drive where Dante’s SUV was parked.
Standing near the gatehouse, shivering beneath a cheap plastic poncho, was my father, Thomas Vance—older, heavier, and looking thoroughly miserable—with Mateo standing beside him, holding the battered leather wedding album like a shield against the rain.
The car glided to a stop.
Gabriel pushed the door open first, stepping out into the cold downpour with the casual disregard for weather that only billionaires possessed. He didn't use an umbrella. He just stood there, towering over my father and brother like an impending storm.
I followed him out, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders.
“Gabriel! Thank God!” my father wheezed, taking a step forward before Dante stepped into his path with a silent, menacing glare. “Look, I know things were left on bad terms between us, but family is family! We heard about the grandbabies! Mateo saw them at the charity gala on the news!”
Gabriel didn't say a word. He just stared at my father with those dead, flat eyes that had made hardened criminals beg for mercy in dark basements.
“Dad, shut up,” Mateo muttered, tugging on my father’s sleeve. He looked over at me, his eyes wide and pleading. “Claire, come on. We’re family. You can’t just shut us out while you live in a castle with a billionaire!”
I walked past Gabriel, stopping a few feet away from my father and brother. The mud sucked at the heels of my boots, but I didn't care.
“You haven't called me in three years, Dad,” I said, my voice cutting through the sound of the rain. “You didn't send a card when the boys were born. You didn't care if we had food on the table or heat in the winter when the landlord threatened to evict us from the Beacon cottage.”
“We didn't know!” my father protested, his voice cracking dramatically. “If we had known you were struggling—”
“You would have sold the information to the highest bidder,” I finished coldly. “Just like you’re trying to do right now.”
Mateo flinched, looking away.
Gabriel stepped up beside me, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back. The heat of his body radiated through my coat, a solid wall of protection against the cold night air.
“You have exactly three minutes to get off my property,” Gabriel told my father, his voice carrying the weight of an avalanche. “If you ever come within five miles of my estate, my wife, or my sons again, I won't have Dante throw you off the grounds. I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your natural life reflecting on your mistakes in a federal penitentiary where the sun doesn't shine.”
My father’s face turned from red to ash. He looked at Gabriel, then at me, realizing with sudden, crushing clarity that the little girl he used to bully and ignore was now standing behind the most powerful man in New York.
Without another word, my father turned around and started stumbling back down the dark, rainy country road, with Mateo hurrying nervously behind him.
We watched them disappear into the mist.
Gabriel let out a slow breath, turning his head to look down at me. “Your wife?” he asked quietly.
I looked up at him, my heart doing a strange, terrifying flip in my chest.
“You haven't asked me to marry you again, Gabriel,” I pointed out, trying to keep a straight face despite the warmth spreading through my veins.
May you like
Gabriel’s lips curved into the first genuine, unforced smile I had seen on his face in six years.
“Consider it a standing offer,” he murmured, pulling me closer against his side. “Come inside, Claire. The boys are waiting for us.”
