Chapter 4 - The Recovery of the Tiger
Two weeks later.
The high-stakes drama of the Moretti family transition had settled like dust after a storm. Vincent and Dr. Vale were currently residing in a maximum-security federal facility, courtesy of an anonymous package of medical ledgers and financial documents delivered directly to the United States Attorney’s office—courtesy of Nora Bennett's meticulous accounting skills.
In the penthouse, the morning sunlight was warm, pouring through the glass walls and illuminating the black walnut floors.
Gabriel stood near the edge of the living room, wearing a simple pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that stretched tight across his broad chest. He held onto a long parallel wooden bar that Luca had installed in the center of the room.
His legs shook slightly, muscle memory slowly returning to his thighs as his spinal nerves healed from the bacterial trauma.
Three feet away stood Nora, wearing her comfortable blue scrubs, holding a stopwatch in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
"Ten more seconds, Gabriel," she instructed calmly. "Keep your weight centered."
Gabriel gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the polished wood. "My legs feel like lead, Nora."
"Lead is strong," she replied without looking up from her watch. "Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Rest."
Gabriel let go of the bar and collapsed back into the soft leather armchair positioned behind him, letting out a long, heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his damp black hair, his lungs expanding as he caught his breath.
Nora stepped forward, handing him a cold bottle of water and a clean towel.
"You walked sixteen feet today," she said, marking the clipboard. "That's four feet farther than yesterday. At this rate, you won't need the wheelchair by next month."
Gabriel took the water, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. The simple contact sent a warm, electric current straight up Nora’s arm, but she expertly kept her face completely neutral.
"I don't care about the walking, Nora," Gabriel said, his voice deep and quiet.
"Oh? What do you care about?"
"You," he said simply.
Nora paused, her pen hovering over the paper. She looked down at him, trying to find the joke in his eyes. But there was no joke. Gabriel was looking at her with a raw, intense sincerity that made her pulse flutter in her throat.
"Gabriel," Nora said gently, stepping back slightly. "I'm your private duty nurse. My contract with your estate ends in two weeks."
"To hell with the contract," Gabriel growled softly. He stood up—not with the parallel bars, but on his own two feet, gripping the arms of the chair for balance. He took one slow, deliberate step toward her, then another, until he was standing directly in front of her, his massive frame towering over her five-foot-six height.
"Do you know what men like me see when they look at women, Nora?" Gabriel asked, his dark eyes searching her face. "They see ornaments. They see trophies to put in expensive dresses and show off at charity dinners. They see thin, quiet things that don't talk back and don't make trouble."
Nora held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"When I look at you," Gabriel continued, reaching out slowly, his large, calloused fingers gently tucking a stray curl of dark hair behind her ear, "I see a fortress. I see a woman who saved my life when my own blood was trying to dig my grave. I see someone who hit a cartel boss with a gas tank because he interrupted her workflow."
A faint, involuntary laugh escaped Nora’s lips. "It was an oxygen tank."
"I don't care if it was a kitchen sink," Gabriel murmured, his hand sliding down to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jawline. "You're built for storms, Nora. And I have spent my entire life living in one."
Nora looked down at her own reflection in his dark eyes. For the first time in thirty-six years, she didn't see her heavy hips, her soft waist, or the broad shoulders she had spent decades trying to hide under oversized clothes.
She saw a woman who was strong. A woman who was wanted. A woman who belonged right where she was standing.
"Gabriel..." she whispered.
"Stay," he said, his voice dropping into a raspy, pleading command. "Not as my nurse. As my partner. As the woman who runs this house, runs these docks, and runs me."
Before she could answer, the penthouse elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
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Luca Ferraro stepped out, holding a thick red folder, his face pale and serious.
"Boss," Luca said, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw Gabriel standing on his own feet. He blinked in shock, then shook his head. "Sorry to interrupt, but... we have a problem at the river docks."
