Chapter 2 - HER ABUSIVE BOYFRIEND WASN’T JUST WATCHING HER—HE WAS SPYING ON THE MAFIA BOSS, AND THE PHOTOS HIDDEN IN HARPER’S APARTMENT EXPOSED A BETRAYAL GABRIEL THOUGHT HAD DIED WITH HIS FATHERGabriel had one brother.
Matteo Costa.
Older by six years.
Dead by thirty-nine.
At least officially.
“Car accident,” Gabriel told Harper.
They sat in a police interview room at 6:40 in the morning.
Harper wore a borrowed sweatshirt.
Her face was clean.
No makeup.
For the first time in years, strangers could see everything.
Purple around the eye.
Yellow along the jaw.
A thin cut near her temple.
She felt naked.
But she didn't cover it.
Gabriel sat across from her.
“How long ago?”
“Four years.”
“You saw the body?”
“No.”
Harper stared.
“Seriously?”
“The car burned.”
“Dental records?”
“Yes.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I wasn't.”
“Until now.”
Gabriel looked at the handwriting.
THE SON WILL FINISH WHAT THE FATHER STARTED.
“Matteo wrote like this.”
“That doesn't prove he's alive.”
“No.”
“What was between him and your father?”
Gabriel leaned back.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Harper waited.
“I don't need your criminal biography.”
“You may.”
“Why?”
“Because Trent was living with you.”
She hated hearing it.
Gabriel saw.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing every time reality is ugly.”
“I'm learning.”
“Slowly.”
Almost a smile.
Then Gabriel explained.
His father, Antonio Costa, had controlled a criminal network for decades.
Gabriel had entered it at nineteen.
Matteo earlier.
But the brothers were different.
Matteo loved power.
Gabriel loved order.
Neither was innocent.
Gabriel didn't pretend otherwise.
“Four years ago, my father discovered Matteo was stealing.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight million.”
Harper blinked.
“I get nervous when my electric bill is over two hundred.”
Gabriel continued.
“Matteo was also selling information.”
“To police?”
“Competitors.”
“Your father confronted him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Matteo disappeared. Two days later, his car went off a bridge.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
“You thought your father killed him.”
Gabriel's expression hardened.
“I knew my father was capable of it.”
Harper studied him.
“Were you?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No romantic lie.
Just yes.
Harper appreciated that more than she wanted to.
“What changed?”
“My father spent his last years trying to dismantle parts of the organization.”
“Why?”
“Regret, perhaps.”
“That's vague.”
“It was complicated.”
“People use complicated when they don't want to say ugly.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“You do that often?”
“What?”
“Say things everyone else is afraid to.”
“I work for tips. Fear is inefficient.”
He almost smiled.
Then Dante entered.
“We found the laptop.”
Harper sat straighter.
“Where?”
“Locker at Union Station.”
Trent had rented it under a false name.
The computer contained encrypted folders.
One was labeled H.
Harper.
Photographs.
Voice recordings.
Copies of her driver's license.
Bank statements.
Her employment application.
Her mother's address in Indiana.
Harper stopped reading.
“I need air.”
She stood.
Gabriel started too.
She looked at him.
“Don't.”
He sat.
Harper walked outside alone.
That mattered.
Ten minutes later, she returned because she chose to.
Dante continued.
Trent had been paid monthly by a shell company.
CROWN MERIDIAN CONSULTING.
Gabriel knew it.
Matteo had created it eight years earlier.
Harper whispered:
“So he's alive.”
“Possibly.”
“Why me?”
Dante answered:
“You were access.”
The words hurt.
Gabriel glared at him.
Harper shook her head.
“No. He's right.”
She looked at the photographs.
“Trent met me three years ago. Six months after I started at Velvet Room.”
She remembered the beginning.
Flowers.
Attention.
Patience.
He had seemed safe.
Then questions.
Who came in tonight?
Was Costa there?
Who sat with him?
Harper had assumed jealousy.
Maybe it had been intelligence gathering.
Her stomach twisted.
“I told him things.”
Gabriel said:
“You didn't know.”
“I told him when you came in.”
“You didn't know.”
“Who you met.”
“You didn't know.”
“When Dante was there.”
“Harper.”
She looked at him.
“You were manipulated.”
“I still did it.”
“And responsibility requires knowledge and choice.”
His voice was steady.
“You had neither.”
Harper stared.
It was an unexpectedly sophisticated thing for a criminal to say.
“Therapy?”
Gabriel blinked.
“What?”
“You've been to therapy.”
Dante looked away.
Gabriel said:
“This conversation is over.”
Harper almost laughed.
“Yes, you have.”
Trent made bail.
Harper learned at 4:15 that afternoon.
Her stomach dropped.
The prosecutor explained.
No serious prior convictions.
The domestic violence evidence was substantial, but the espionage-related material was still being investigated.
Protective order.
GPS monitor.
No contact.
Harper laughed without humor.
“A piece of paper.”
Gabriel stood beside her.
She looked at him.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is private.”
“Not really.”
Gabriel exhaled.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised her.
“What?”
“Not what I think should happen.”
He folded his arms.
“What do you want?”
Harper considered.
“I want my apartment back.”
“Okay.”
“I want my things.”
“Okay.”
“I want him unable to reach me.”
“Police can arrange an escort.”
“I want a new lock.”
“Reasonable.”
“I want to work.”
Gabriel hesitated.
She saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You hate that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Trent knows where you work.”
“Then help me make work safer.”
Gabriel studied her.
Not remove work.
Make it safer.
“Okay.”
Harper returned to the Velvet Room two days later.
People stared.
The bruise was visible.
No concealer.
No foundation.
Nothing.
Paul approached.
“You sure?”
“No.”
Honest.
“But I'm here.”
He nodded.
Her first hour was terrible.
Every door opening made her jump.
Every vibration of her phone tightened her chest.
But she stayed.
At nine, Gabriel arrived.
Harper frowned.
He approached the bar.
“You don't normally come Thursdays.”
“No.”
“You're checking on me.”
“Yes.”
“Don't.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Understood.”
He turned to leave.
Harper watched.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“One drink.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“As a customer.”
“Macallan?”
“Yes.”
“Two drops?”
“Yes.”
“No ice.”
“You remember.”
“It's literally my job.”
He sat in his usual booth.
Harper served him.
Nothing else.
No surveillance.
No hovering.
No orders.
At midnight, Gabriel paid.
A normal tip.
Harper checked.
Twenty percent.
She smiled.
He had learned.
Trent violated the order three days later.
Not physically.
A package arrived.
Inside was Harper's makeup bag.
The one she had left at the apartment.
On top sat the peach concealer.
A note:
YOU'LL NEED THIS AGAIN.
Harper stared.
Then called police.
Not Gabriel.
Police first.
Then her advocate.
Then Gabriel.
In that order.
He arrived thirty minutes later.
“What did police say?”
“They're looking for him.”
“GPS?”
“Cut off.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
“What do you want me to do?”
Harper appreciated the question.
“Nothing illegal.”
“Restrictive.”
“Gabriel.”
“Fine.”
She handed him the note.
He studied it.
Then the box.
Something caught his attention.
“What?”
“This packaging.”
“So?”
“Velvet Room wine cellar.”
Harper stared.
“What?”
Gabriel pointed to the black tissue paper.
Embossed V.
The bar used it for expensive bottles.
Someone inside had helped Trent.
They checked inventory footage.
Paul.
The floor manager.
Harper's stomach dropped.
Paul had given Trent access to the employee schedule.
Back entrance.
Security codes.
Harper's address from payroll paperwork.
Gabriel wanted him brought downstairs.
Harper called police instead.
Paul was arrested.
He cooperated immediately.
Trent had paid him.
But Paul wasn't the real connection.
He gave investigators a name.
Adrian Costa.
Gabriel's uncle.
Antonio's younger brother.
Harper watched Gabriel receive the news.
His face emptied.
“Adrian?”
Dante cursed.
Gabriel asked:
“Why?”
Paul answered:
“He said Matteo was coming home.”
Silence.
Harper felt goosebumps.
“Coming home?”
Paul nodded.
“He said Gabriel had six weeks before the city belonged to his brother again.”
That night Gabriel disappeared.
Harper knew where.
She found him at the Velvet Room after closing.
Sitting alone.
No drink.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She sat opposite.
“You don't have to tell me.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“My brother tried to kill me when I was twenty-eight.”
Harper said nothing.
“He put a bomb beneath my car.”
“You survived.”
“I took another vehicle.”
“Your driver?”
Gabriel's face changed.
Harper understood.
“He died.”
“Yes.”
“Your father covered it up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Family reputation.”
Harper shook her head.
“That's not family.”
“No.”
Gabriel looked around the empty room.
“I spent years becoming harder because I thought hardness was the only thing that kept people alive.”
Harper looked at her own hands.
“I spent years becoming smaller.”
Their eyes met.
“Same reason.”
Fear.
Different costumes.
Gabriel whispered:
“I don't want to be that man anymore.”
“Then don't.”
“Simple?”
“No.”
Harper smiled sadly.
“But clear.”
The next morning, federal agents raided three properties linked to Adrian.
They found money.
Weapons.
Surveillance equipment.
And evidence Matteo Costa was alive.
He had been living in Montreal under another name.
His death had been staged.
Dental records falsified.
Adrian helped.
Matteo had spent four years rebuilding connections.
Now he wanted Chicago.
Trent had been one small piece.
Harper had been an access point.
But then investigators found something else.
A recording.
Trent speaking to Matteo.
Matteo asked:
“Does she know anything?”
Trent answered:
“No. She's stupid.”
Harper flinched.
The recording continued.
“Keep her close. Costa notices her.”
A pause.
“Maybe we can use that.”
Harper froze.
Gabriel turned toward the agent.
“When was this?”
“Eight months ago.”
Eight months.
Gabriel had barely spoken to Harper then.
But Matteo had noticed him noticing her.
Harper felt nauseated.
Trent had escalated his violence afterward.
Not randomly.
He had been trying to provoke something.
Maybe get Harper injured.
Maybe force Gabriel to act.
Maybe create leverage.
She stood.
“I need to leave.”
Gabriel didn't follow.
Good.
Outside, Harper vomited.
Then cried.
Not delicately.
Not beautifully.
She cried until her body hurt.
When she returned, Gabriel was still where she'd left him.
“You didn't follow.”
“You told me before that space matters.”
Harper sat.
“Thank you.”
Gabriel nodded.
Then she said:
“I want Trent prosecuted for what he did to me.”
“He will be.”
“Not as part of your war.”
Gabriel understood.
“As his own crime.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to me doesn't become a footnote in a mafia case.”
“It won't.”
“And I want to testify.”
Gabriel's face tightened.
“Harper—”
“My decision.”
He stopped.
Then nodded.
“Your decision.”
She looked at him.
“And after that?”
“After what?”
“We stop letting these men decide what our lives look like.”
Gabriel studied her.
“What does that mean?”
Harper's expression hardened.
“It means we finish this legally.”
She pointed at him.
“And you don't kill your brother.”
Gabriel was silent.
“Promise.”
“I don't make promises I may not keep.”
“Then make this one.”
Long silence.
Finally:
“I promise I will not kill Matteo.”
May you like
Harper exhaled.
Neither knew then how difficult that promise would become.
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