Chapter 3 - THE BREADCRUMBS IN THE ICE
The phone screen reflected in Gabriel’s eyes like cold amber fire.
He did not curse.
He did not slam the desk.
The silence that settled over the study was more terrifying than gunfire.
Clare watched his throat move as he swallowed.
She knew that silence.
It was the silence that preceded executions on the South Side docks.
Gabriel set the phone face down on the leather blotter.
“Elias,” he said softly.
“He is alive,” Clare whispered.
Her teeth clicked against each other.
“I pushed him into the snowbank.”
“You pushed a two-hundred-pound groundskeeper with a broken arm.”
“I used my right shoulder.”
Gabriel looked down at her bruised hip where the black silk was torn.
A deep, purple contusion was already blooming across her skin.
He closed his eyes for two seconds.
When he opened them, the coldness was absolute.
“Why didn’t you tell me three nights ago?”
Clare looked at the dancing flames in the hearth.
The warmth was returning to her fingers, bringing agony with it.
“Tell you what, Gabriel?”
“That your most trusted captain left you to burn?”
“That the man your captains revere is a coward and a traitor?”
“You would have called me a liar.”
Gabriel stepped closer, towering over the sofa.
“I have never called you a liar, Clare.”
“You have never looked at me long enough to care,” she countered.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Two years of swallowed pride.
Two years of sleeping in a bedroom at the far end of the hall.
Two years of watching him treat her like an expensive piece of porcelain he had inherited from a business merger.
Gabriel’s expression tightened.
Something flickered behind his gaze—not anger, but a sudden, deep fissure of regret.
He knelt in front of her again.
He took her right hand, the uninjured one, and held it between his large palms.
His skin was fever-hot compared to hers.
“Two years ago, your father owed forty million dollars to the Moretti family,” Gabriel said.
His voice was gravelly, raw.
“They were going to put you in a shipping container, Clare.”
“I took his debt.”
“I married you to put the Russo name on your back so nobody in this city would dare look at you.”
“You never told me that,” she whispered, her vision blurring with tears.
“You told me it was a business arrangement.”
“I thought distance would keep you safe,” Gabriel said.
His thumb traced the scrape on her knuckles.
“I thought if I didn't touch you, my enemies wouldn't notice you.”
He looked at her broken arm wrapped in dirty fiberglass.
“I was an arrogant fool.”
A sharp knock rattled the study door.
“Boss?” Leo’s voice came from the hallway.
Smooth.
Polite.
Inquisitive.
“Dr. Chen is on the line. He wants to know if he needs to bring an orthopedic surgeon.”
Gabriel did not release Clare’s hand.
His thumb gently wiped a tear from her cheekbone.
“Stay on this sofa,” Gabriel murmured to her.
“Do not move.”
He stood up, pulling his shoulders back into their broad, lethal posture.
He walked to the heavy door and opened it three inches.
Leo stood in the corridor, holding a silver phone.
Behind him, two armed guards stood near the grand staircase.
“Tell Chen to bring the best bone specialist in Illinois,” Gabriel said.
Leo glanced past Gabriel’s shoulder, trying to peer into the dimly lit study.
“Is she badly hurt, Gabriel?”
“She had an accident on the ice,” Gabriel lied smoothly.
“A hit-and-run near the pavilion.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter.
“A hit-and-run? In this weather?”
“Terrible driving,” Gabriel said.
His tone was casual, conversing as if discussing the morning stock reports.
“The driver hit a streetlight and fled.”
“We should pull the city traffic cameras,” Leo suggested quickly.
“Find out who was reckless enough to endanger your wife.”
“Already done,” Gabriel said.
Leo froze.
The silver phone in Leo’s hand trembled almost imperceptibly.
“You pulled the footage already?”
“Marcus has the feed,” Gabriel said.
“The vehicle was a dark gray Audi sedan.”
“Custom matte finish.”
“Tinted plates.”
Gabriel stepped out of the study, closing the door firmly behind him.
He stood six inches from Leo’s chest.
Gabriel was three inches taller, his physical presence suffocating the narrow hallway.
“Do you know anyone who drives an Audi with those specifications, Leo?”
Leo swallowed hard.
His polished smile slipped, just for a heartbeat, revealing the rat beneath the silk vest.
“Half the younger capos in the North Side drive Audis, Gabriel.”
“I can have the garages searched by sunrise.”
“Do that,” Gabriel said softly.
He placed his hand on Leo’s shoulder.
The same shoulder Leo had touched in front of the photographer two hours earlier.
Gabriel’s fingers tightened.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Clare heard the faint creak of Leo’s tailored vest under the crushing pressure.
Leo’s breath caught in his throat, his face draining of color.
“Find the car, Leo,” Gabriel whispered into his ear.
“Because whoever was behind that wheel tried to murder my wife.”
“And when I find him,”
“I am going to peel his skin from his ribs while he is still breathing.”
Gabriel released the shoulder and patted Leo’s cheek twice.
“Get to work.”
Leo took a stumbling step backward, nodding frantically.
“Right away, boss.”
Leo turned and hurried down the corridor toward the security offices.
Gabriel watched him go until the corner swallowed his shadow.
Then Gabriel pulled his radio from his belt.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Lock down the estate armory.”
“Cut Leo’s biometric access to the server rooms.”
“And position three snipers on the west roof.”
Gabriel looked back toward the closed study door.
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“Leo isn't going to search the garages, Marcus.”
“He is going to try to finish what he started three nights ago.”
