Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
The SUVs passed through massive iron gates and pulled up to a sprawling stone mansion on the edge of Lake Michigan.
Leah was practically dragged out of the car by a silent guard in a tailored suit.
The interior of the home looked like a museum, filled with imported marble and Renaissance artwork.
Gabriel barked orders in rapid Italian, sending his men scattering through the massive hallways.
He carried Cecilia up a sweeping staircase and ordered Leah to follow him.
They entered a lavish bedroom where a private medical team was already waiting.
“Fix her,” Gabriel ordered the head doctor, his voice leaving absolutely no room for debate.
Leah stood awkwardly near the doorway, dripping canal water onto a Persian rug that probably cost more than her apartment.
Gabriel turned to her, his dark eyes sweeping over her shivering frame.
“Follow me,” he demanded, turning on his heel and walking down the hall.
Leah had no choice but to follow the mafia boss into a sprawling mahogany office.
He closed the heavy oak doors behind them and immediately stripped off his ruined suit jacket.
That was when Leah saw the source of the blood on his cuff.
A dark, jagged bullet wound was carved into the flesh of his upper left arm.
He didn’t wince, but the blood was steadily dripping onto the pristine hardwood floor.
“You are a nurse,” Gabriel said, gesturing to a massive first aid kit resting on his desk.
“Patch me up.”
Leah swallowed her fear, her professional instincts temporarily overriding her panic.
She walked over to the desk, snapped on a pair of black latex gloves, and examined the wound.
“It’s a through-and-through, but it needs stitches,” Leah said, keeping her voice incredibly steady.
Gabriel poured himself a glass of amber whiskey with his good hand.
“Then stitch it, Leah,” he said, surprising her by knowing her name.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, threading a curved medical needle.
“My men ran the license plates of the car you left parked by the canal,” he answered casually.
Leah began to suture the torn flesh, marveling at how Gabriel didn’t even flinch.
“Who shot you?” she asked, instantly regretting the invasive question.
Gabriel took a slow sip of his whiskey.
“A man who thought he could use my grandmother to take my territory.”
Leah finished the last stitch and wrapped his arm tightly in white gauze.
“She had a brass key around her neck,” Leah blurted out, unable to keep the secret any longer.
Gabriel’s head snapped toward her, his eyes flashing with sudden, violent intensity.
“What did you just say?” he demanded, stepping aggressively into her personal space.
“She said it opens what matters, and it has the numbers seven, one, four stamped on it,” Leah whispered.
Gabriel turned completely pale, placing his whiskey glass on the desk with a trembling hand.
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“That key was buried in my grandfather’s coffin twenty years ago,” Gabriel said, his voice laced with dread.
“Which means someone inside my own family dug up his grave just to send me a message.”
