I lifted my eyes at the altar expecting to see the man I loved standing in front of me. Instead, I saw his older brother waiting beneath the flowers

The gala ended just past midnight.

As our private motorcade pulled out of the Drake Hotel’s driveway onto Lake Shore Drive, a torrential thunderstorm descended upon Chicago. Sheets of rain battered the armored windows of the Maybach, the wind howling off Lake Michigan.

I sat in the back with Gabriel, the silence between us no longer tense, but filled with an unspoken, charged understanding.

“You held your own tonight,” Gabriel said, breaking the quiet. He had loosened his bowtie, the top button of his dress shirt undone, revealing the strong column of his throat.

“I had a good shield,” I replied, looking at him.

He gave a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “I apologize for Dante’s behavior. He should never have been allowed into the room.”

“You protected me, Gabriel. Luke would have handed me to him with a smile if it meant saving his own skin.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “Luke is weak. Weak men are more dangerous than evil men, because a weak man will burn down the world just to keep his hands warm.”

Suddenly, the Maybach’s driver, Marcus, slammed his foot on the brake.

Tires screeched violently against the wet asphalt. The heavy sedan skidded slightly before coming to a dead stop in the middle of an underpass beneath Lower Wacker Drive.

“Sir! We have a block!” Marcus yelled, drawing a firearm from beneath his jacket.

Ahead of us, two black SUVs had swerved across the lanes, completely blocking the tunnel.

Before Marcus could shift into reverse, another SUV slammed into the rear of our Maybach with a deafening CRUNCH, pinning us in place.

An ambush.

My heart leaped into my throat. “Gabriel!”

Gabriel moved with terrifying speed. Despite his injured leg, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down onto the floorboard between the seats, shielding my body with his own massive frame.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Automatic gunfire erupted, shattering the darkness of the tunnel. Bullets slammed into the reinforced ballistic glass of the Maybach with loud, metallic thuds, spiderwebbing the windows but failing to penetrate the armor.

“Stay down, Claire! Do not move!” Gabriel commanded, his voice raw with adrenaline.

He reached into the hidden compartment beneath the rear armrest and pulled out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.

Through the cracked windshield, I saw masked men in tactical gear advancing on the vehicle, firing continuously. Marcus was returning fire through the driver’s side firing port, but the sheer volume of enemy rounds was overwhelming.

“Marcone?” I gasped, clutching Gabriel’s shirt.

“No,” Gabriel growled, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the rain-streaked, bullet-pitted glass. “Marcone uses hitmen from Detroit. These men are private corporate contractors. This is internal.”

Luke.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. Luke had allied with outside mercenaries to eliminate Gabriel before the board could finalize the trust shares tomorrow morning.

A tear-gas canister struck the side of the car, hissing white smoke.

Marcus took a bullet through the shoulder and collapsed against the steering wheel, groaning in agony.

“Marcus!” Gabriel shouted.

Gabriel didn't hesitate. He kicked open the rear door on the sheltered side of the underpass, using the heavy armored door as a shield. Leaning around the frame, he fired three precise, controlled shots.

Two of the advancing gunmen dropped instantly into the pooling rainwater.

“Claire, crawl to the concrete barrier behind the pillar! Now!” Gabriel ordered, firing two more rounds to suppress the remaining shooters.

I scrambled out of the car onto the wet asphalt, the freezing rain soaking through my silk gown. Gunfire echoed deafeningly in the enclosed concrete tunnel.

I reached the massive concrete pillar, pressing my back against it, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

Gabriel moved toward me, firing behind him to cover his retreat. But as he stepped over the curb, his weakened right leg gave out on the slick, oil-stained concrete.

He slipped, falling heavily onto his knee.

A third gunman stepped out from behind the rear SUV, raising an assault rifle directly at Gabriel’s back.

“Gabriel! Look out!” I screamed.

Without thinking, without calculating the odds, I grabbed a heavy iron construction rebar lying in the debris near the pillar, lunged forward, and swung it with all my strength at the gunman’s head.

The metal struck the side of his tactical helmet with a loud CLANG, throwing off his aim just as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet sparked off the concrete inches from Gabriel’s shoulder.

Gabriel spun on the ground, raised his pistol, and put a single round through the attacker’s chest.

The man collapsed.

Sirens wailed in the distance—the sound of Moretti private security reinforcements arriving in force. The remaining mercenaries abandoned their vehicles and fled into the pedestrian tunnels.

The tunnel fell into a ringing, rain-soaked silence.

Gabriel sat on the wet ground, breathing heavily, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. He looked at the fallen gunman, then slowly raised his eyes to me.

I stood there in the pouring rain, drenched in freezing water, holding a bloody piece of rebar, my chest heaving with wild, primal adrenaline.

Gabriel dropped his gun, reached out with his trembling hand, and gently took the iron bar from my fingers, letting it clatter to the ground.