Chapter 7 – THE FIRE IN THE BLOOD
The air in the study turned to ice.
Marcus stepped further into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Two of his men followed, hauling Anthony by the collar.
Anthony’s face was bruised, a trickle of blood running from his hairline. He looked at Gabriel with profound apology. “I’m sorry, Boss. They had a man planted in the basement guard detail.”
“Shut up,” Marcus snapped, striking Anthony across the jaw with the back of his hand.
Gabriel didn’t move. He stood slowly from the leather chair, the letter from Eleanor still clutched in his hand.
“You let me read it,” Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You waited outside the door until I found out.”
Marcus grinned, a twisted, ugly expression. “I wanted you to know the truth before I put you in the ground. I wanted you to know that your beloved mother died because she found out I was stealing, and that you are nothing but a mistake I should have drowned forty-two years ago.”
I shrank back against the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs.
There were three armed men in the room, plus Marcus. Gabriel didn’t have his weapon; he had left it downstairs.
We were completely trapped.
“You think this changes anything?” Gabriel asked, taking a slow step toward Marcus. “You think blood makes you my father? Vincent is my father. You’re just a parasite.”
Marcus’s grin vanished. His face twisted with rage.
“Kill him,” Marcus ordered the man holding Anthony. “Make the maid watch. Then kill her too.”
The man raised his gun toward Gabriel.
But he never pulled the trigger.
Because suddenly, the large glass window overlooking the estate gardens shattered inward in an explosion of sound and glass.
A heavy, brass patio chair came crashing through, rolling across the Persian rug.
Everyone spun toward the window.
Climbing through the shattered frame, dripping wet from climbing the trellis in the rain, was my mother.
Sarah Bennett.
And she was holding Gabriel’s discarded handgun.
“Get away from my daughter,” my mother snarled.
She didn’t hesitate. She fired twice.
The man holding Anthony dropped to the floor, grasping his leg.
In the confusion, Anthony threw a vicious elbow backward, striking the second guard in the throat. The guard collapsed, gasping for air.
Gabriel lunged.
He didn’t go for the guards. He went straight for Marcus.
He tackled his uncle to the floor, his massive hands wrapping around Marcus’s throat.
“Gabriel, stop!” I screamed, terrified he would cross a line he couldn’t come back from.
Gabriel didn’t hear me. Decades of lies, the murder of his mother, the torture of his brother—it all boiled over. He was going to choke the life out of his own biological father.
Marcus thrashed, his face turning purple, trying to scratch at Gabriel’s face with his zip-tied hands.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out inside the room.
Gabriel froze.
He looked down at his own chest, checking for blood.
Then he looked up.
Standing in the doorway, holding a small silver derringer pistol, was Isabella.
Her arm was trembling. Smoke drifted from the barrel.
She hadn’t shot Gabriel.
She had shot the third guard, who had been raising his weapon to shoot Gabriel in the back.
The guard collapsed.
Isabella dropped the small gun and fell against the doorframe, sobbing hysterically.
Reversal.
Isabella had just saved Gabriel’s life.
Gabriel slowly stood up, releasing his grip on Marcus’s throat.
Marcus gasped for air, coughing violently on the floor.
Anthony quickly secured Marcus, dragging him to his feet.
“Call the police, Anthony,” Gabriel said, his voice exhausted but resolute. “The corrupt cops are off his payroll. We have enough evidence to put him away for the rest of his life.”
“Yes, Boss,” Anthony said, shoving Marcus out the door.
The study fell quiet, save for the wind howling through the broken window.
My mother lowered her gun, leaning against the wall, breathing hard.
I ran to her, wrapping my arms around her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetie,” she panted, hugging me back. “Told you. Queens.”
Gabriel walked over to Isabella.
She shrank back, terrified. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.”
Gabriel didn’t yell. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You saved my life, Isabella.”
“I owed you,” she cried. “After everything I did… I just wanted to make it right.”
“It’s over,” Gabriel said softly. “The engagement is done. But you are free to go. We’re even.”
Isabella nodded, crying freely now, a massive weight lifting from her shoulders.
Gabriel turned back to the room.
He looked at my mother. He looked at me.
Then, he picked up the letter from Eleanor off the desk and carefully folded it.
“Come on,” Gabriel said, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking across his face. “Let’s go see our family.”
We walked downstairs together.
The grand living room had been transformed.
A fire was roaring in the fireplace. Mr. Vincent was sitting in his armchair, a blanket draped over his lap, holding little Elijah. The boy was asleep, his head resting on his grandfather’s chest.
Leo was sitting nearby, drinking a cup of hot tea. He looked battered, but the tension had completely left his face. He looked at peace.
As we walked into the room, Vincent looked up.
He saw the folded letter in Gabriel’s hand.
Vincent’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to stand, but Gabriel rushed over, gently pushing him back down into the chair.
“I know, Dad,” Gabriel whispered, kneeling beside the armchair. “I know.”
Vincent placed a trembling hand on Gabriel’s cheek. “You are my son.”
“I know.” Gabriel leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.
I stood in the doorway watching them, wiping a tear from my eye, when I felt a hard lump in my apron pocket. I reached in and pulled out a small, faded photograph I didn’t recognize.
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