Chapter 4 - The Night He Chose the Maid Over His EmpireVictor Hale disappeared for six weeks.
Then he attacked everything at once.
Moretti warehouses were raided.
Accounts frozen.
Anonymous evidence reached federal investigators.
Business partners abandoned us.
Newspapers published stories about my father.
Some true.
Some fabricated.
Victor wanted me isolated.
He succeeded.
Almost.
Camille testified.
Margaret provided documents.
Rebecca identified Victor's men.
Elena gave federal investigators her father's ledger.
And I gave them access to Moretti records.
Marco thought I had lost my mind.
“You realize what this could cost?”
“Yes.”
“Millions.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe half the company.”
“Then we lose half.”
He stared at me.
“You sound different.”
“I am.”
Victor had spent his life believing men like us would protect money before people.
My father had once believed the same thing.
Maybe I had too.
Not anymore.
Then Victor kidnapped Elena.
He took her from outside the federal building.
Her security vehicle was hit at an intersection.
Two guards hospitalized.
Elena gone.
I received the video twenty minutes later.
She sat inside an abandoned shipyard office.
Victor stood behind her.
“Bring me the original ledger.”
The screen went black.
Marco said, “It's a trap.”
“I know.”
“If you go—”
“I know.”
“The FBI can handle it.”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
I looked at him.
“He took her because of me.”
“He took her because of the ledger.”
“No.”
I finally admitted the truth.
“He took her because he knows I love her.”
Marco became silent.
There.
Said.
Too late perhaps.
But true.
I loved Elena Brooks.
Not because she needed rescuing.
She didn't.
Not because she was innocent.
She had seen too much to remain innocent.
I loved her because she had every reason to hate the world and somehow remained kind without being weak.
Because she looked at me without seeing a Moretti first.
Because she challenged me.
Because the night Camille burned her arm, Elena had been the least powerful person in the room—and somehow became the strongest.
I went to the shipyard.
Alone, according to Victor.
Not actually alone.
Marco and federal agents surrounded the property.
I carried the ledger.
Victor waited.
Elena was tied to a chair.
Her lip was bleeding.
She looked furious rather than frightened.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“I told them you'd do something stupid.”
Victor laughed.
“You two can flirt after I have my ledger.”
I held it up.
“Let her walk.”
“No.”
“Then you don't get it.”
Victor aimed his gun.
“You're negotiating with the wrong man.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You've spent your entire life thinking fear makes you powerful.”
I dropped the ledger into an oil drum.
Then lit a match.
Victor screamed.
“No!”
I dropped it.
Flames consumed the pages.
He ran toward the barrel.
Elena kicked the chair backward into him.
I moved.
Gunfire exploded.
Victor fired.
Pain tore through my side.
I hit the floor.
Elena screamed my name.
Federal agents stormed the building.
Marco reached Victor.
Victor raised his gun.
Agents fired.
Victor collapsed.
Elena somehow freed one hand.
She crawled toward me.
“Gabriel.”
Blood covered my shirt.
Her hands pressed against the wound.
“Stay awake.”
“Trying.”
“You burned the ledger.”
“Copy exists.”
She stared at me.
I smiled weakly.
“I'm dramatic, not stupid.”
She laughed while crying.
“Idiot.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
“If I survive…”
“You're surviving.”
“Dinner.”
She stared.
“What?”
“Dinner with me.”
“You've been shot.”
“Apparently I have bad timing.”
“You have terrible timing.”
“Is that a yes?”
She leaned down and kissed me.
For a few seconds, the shipyard disappeared.
Then she whispered against my forehead.
“Survive first.”
I did.
Victor did too.
Barely.
Which was better.
Dead men avoided trials.
Living men answered questions.
And Victor Hale had many questions waiting for him.
Three weeks later, I returned home.
Elena stood at the entrance.
Not in uniform.
She had resigned.
I approved immediately.
She wore jeans, boots, and a dark green sweater.
“You're staring.”
“I've never seen you without the uniform.”
“You'll survive.”
“I've survived worse recently.”
She smiled.
I stepped closer.
“Dinner?”
“Tonight?”
“Seven.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
She frowned.
“You own restaurants.”
“I don't want an audience.”
“That sounds suspiciously romantic.”
“It is.”
She smiled.
“Seven.”
As she walked away, Camille appeared beside me.
She had come to collect the last of her belongings.
“You love her.”
“Yes.”
It was easy to say now.
Camille smiled sadly.
“Good.”
“You're okay with that?”
“No.”
Her honesty surprised me.
“But I will be.”
She looked toward Elena.
“She deserves someone who sees her.”
Then Camille looked at me.
“And you deserve someone who makes you better instead of making you feel powerful.”
She picked up her suitcase.
“Goodbye, Gabriel.”
“Goodbye, Camille.”
At the door, she stopped.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Don't propose after three months this time.”
I almost laughed.
“Noted.”
She left.
May you like
And for the first time, the engagement ending didn't feel like failure.
It felt like the moment my real life had finally started.
