Chapter 5 - The Shadow of Cross Freight
The tension in the green room was thick enough to cut with a diamond-tipped glass cutter.
Gabriel turned his full attention back to Claire, ignoring the boys for a brief moment as he closed the remaining distance between them. His height gave him an imposing advantage, but Claire stood her ground, her gaze locking onto his without a flicker of fear.
“You think this is just about pride, Claire?” Gabriel asked, his voice deadly serious. “You think keeping them in a quiet suburb protected them from me? You don't understand the boardrooms I sit in. You don't know the men who want my head on a spike. If my rivals find out I have three biological heirs—three little boys carrying the Cross bloodline—they won't send flowers. They will use them to get to me.”
Claire’s breath hitched, though she forced her expression to remain mask-like. “Is that supposed to scare me? That’s your world, Gabriel. That’s the world you chose when you built Cross Freight on the backs of smugglers and syndicate bosses. I made damn sure my sons never set foot in that filth!”
“And yet, here they are,” Gabriel replied grimly. “Standing in the middle of a Manhattan charity gala hosted by the very people trying to muscle me out of the North American shipping corridors. Do you honestly think my enemies won't connect the dots by tomorrow morning? The paparazzi already took photos of us by the dessert table. By dawn, every syndicate boss from Boston to Miami will know I have three sons.”
Claire felt a cold shiver run down her spine. For five years, she had lived in a peaceful bubble of routine, preschool drop-offs, and grocery store runs. She had pushed the darker realities of Gabriel’s past into the deepest recesses of her mind, convincing herself that because they were divorced, because she had disappeared cleanly, she was immune to the fallout of his empire.
Looking at the grim, calculating set of Gabriel’s jaw, she realized how dangerously naive she had been.
“Then we’ll leave,” Claire said, her voice dropping into a desperate, hard edge. She turned toward the table, grabbing Leo by the hand. “We’re walking out of this hotel right now. We’re going back to our brownstone, packing our bags, and disappearing so completely you’ll never find us again.”
Before she could take a step toward the door, Gabriel’s hand shot out, catching her wrist in a grip that was firm but entirely devoid of cruelty.
“You aren't going anywhere, Claire,” he said, his voice absolute.
“Let go of me!” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free.
“Look around you!” Gabriel stepped closer, his voice rising in fierce, restrained urgency. “If you walk out those doors tonight without my protection, my rivals won't wait for a formal invitation to find out who you are. The moment you step onto a public street with three boys who look exactly like me, you become a target. The only place safe for my sons right now is inside my fortress.”
“Your fortress?” Claire laughed bitterly, tears of frustration finally pricking the corners of her eyes. “Your fortress is a prison, Gabriel! I won't let you turn my boys into soldiers in your little underworld war!”
“They are my sons, too!” Gabriel roared, the sudden explosion of sound causing Toby to jump and let out a small gasp of fright.
The room went instantly dead silent. Gabriel closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling deeply to rein in the explosive temper that had kept him at the top of the criminal food chain for over a decade. When he opened them, the raw fury had receded, replaced by an agonizing, unyielding determination.
He knelt down in front of Toby, gently setting his large, calloused hand on the little boy’s shoulder. Toby looked up with those familiar gray-green eyes, blinking slowly.
“Hey, buddy,” Gabriel said, his voice softening into a gentle rumble that stunned Claire. “You want to see something really cool?”
Toby nodded cautiously. “What?”
Gabriel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a sleek, titanium-encased security keycard, pressing a small button on the side. A tiny holographic projector sprang to life, casting a three-dimensional, rotating blueprint of a futuristic cargo ship onto the coffee table right between the pastries.
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All three boys gasped in unison, leaning over the table as the holographic ship spun gracefully in the air.
“That’s one of my ships,” Gabriel explained quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet Claire’s stunned gaze over the heads of their children. “And nobody—do you hear me? Nobody—is ever going to hurt you boys as long as I’m breathing.”
