Chapter 5 - The Line in the SandGabriel didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a weapon.
He simply pinned Victor Moretti against the stone pillar with one hand on his throat, his broad shoulders blocking the light, his dark gray eyes turning into two pieces of razor-sharp, lethal ice.
Victor’s two guards reached frantically toward their coat pockets, but before their hands could find their holsters, six of Gabriel’s security team stepped through the side doors, their suppressed weapons aimed cleanly at the guards' chests.
The two men froze instantly, raising their hands high into the air.
"You brought raised voices into my archives, Victor," Gabriel spoke softly, every word dropping like a heavy block of frozen iron into the quiet room. "You put your hands toward Clara."
Victor clawed frantically at Gabriel’s fingers around his neck, his face turning an ugly, mottled purple. "Gabriel... wait... it was... it was about the dock lease..."
"I don't care about the dock lease, Victor," Gabriel whispered, leaning in so close that his lips touched Victor’s ear. "If you ever step foot inside this building again, or if your eyes so much as glance toward Clara Mercer... I will liquidate your entire logistics operation before sunrise. Am I clear?"
Victor nodded frantically, gasping for air.
Gabriel released his grip. Victor collapsed onto his knees on the parquet floor, coughing violently, clutching his bruised throat, before his two guards scrambled to pull him to his feet and drag him out toward the elevator bank.
The heavy doors clicked shut.
The archive returned to its quiet, serene silence.
Gabriel stood near the pillar, adjusting his cuffs, taking two slow, deep breaths to regain his composure.
He turned to face me.
The terrifying, apocalyptic aura that had filled the room vanished instantly. His face softened, filled with a deep, frantic concern as he crossed the floor to my desk.
"Did he touch you, Clara?" Gabriel asked urgently, reaching out his broad hands to gently, carefully frame my face, his warm thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "Are you alright?"
My heart was hammering against my ribs, but it wasn't from fear of Victor. It was from the fierce, absolute protection radiating from the man holding my face.
I covered his hands with mine, looking deep into his gray eyes.
"I'm fine, Gabriel," I whispered softly. "You stopped him before he reached the desk."
Gabriel let out a long, shuddering exhale, leaning his forehead gently against mine, his thumbs wiping away a single tear of adrenaline that had spilled over my lashes.
"I won't let anyone hurt you, Clara," Gabriel promised, his deep voice vibrating against my lips. "Not in this city. Not ever."
May you like
I tilted my head up and kissed him.
It was not a gentle, hesitant touch. It was a fierce, deep, consuming promise under the soft archive lights—sealing a bond that had been written the night he saved a paper bag of food in a hotel kitchen.
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