Chapter 4 - Thirty Days Under His Roof—Rules of the Underworld King
The morning sun broke over the Hudson Valley, casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the manor's private library.
I sat at a massive mahogany desk, reviewing the leather-bound journals of my father that Gabriel’s men had recovered from my apartment before Vane’s thugs could ransack it. Seeing my father’s familiar, precise handwriting brought tears to my eyes, but also a burning determination.
The door clicked open, and Gabriel walked in, holding two cups of black coffee. He wore dark trousers and a charcoal sweater, looking effortlessly commanding.
“You’ve been awake since dawn,” he noted, placing a cup in front of me.
“If my father died because of this secret, I’m not going to sit here and cower,” I said, looking up at him. “I need to know what the rules are, Gabriel. If I am staying here, I need to understand my boundaries.”
Gabriel leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. “Rule number one: You do not leave the manor grounds without me or Mateo. The perimeter is monitored by armed patrols, but beyond the tree line, you are an open target.”
“Understood. Rule number two?”
“Rule number two: You do not contact anyone from your past life. No friends, no clients, and especially not Spencer. His phone is tapped by both Vane and federal authorities.”
“He tried to sell me,” I said coldly. “I have nothing left to say to him.”
“Good,” Gabriel said, his eyes softening slightly. “And rule number three: You tell me everything. If you remember something about your father’s work, a safe-deposit box, a hidden studio—you come to me first. We work together.”
“And what do you get out of this, Gabriel?” I asked, searching his dark eyes. “The eighty million dollars in the canvas?”
Gabriel stepped closer, placing his hands on the armrests of my chair, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. The heat radiating from his body made my breath hitch.
“I have more money than I could spend in three lifetimes, Shantel,” he whispered. “I don't care about the trust fund. I care about ending the man who killed your father, and making sure that the woman sitting in this chair is safe forever.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “You barely know me.”
“I’ve watched you for six months,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. “I know you take your coffee black. I know you bite your lower lip when you’re studying an oil glaze. I know you spent your savings to keep your father’s apprentice employed after he passed away. I know who you are, Shantel Vance. And I’ve wanted you in my life since the second you looked up at me in that studio and told me to sit down and be quiet.”
A sudden warmth flushed across my cheeks. Before I could formulate a reply, the heavy wooden doors of the library burst open.
May you like
Mateo stood in the doorway, his expression grim and his hand resting on his sidearm.
“Boss,” Mateo said urgently. “We have an issue at the southern perimeter. A delivery truck just bypassed the first gate. It isn't scheduled.”
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