Chapter 4 - The Pillow and the Blade
The master suite was pitched in deep shadow, lit only by the pale blue moonlight streaming through the terrace doors.
Gabriel lay still in the center of the bed, his head turned to the side, his breathing shallow and rattling.
Dante stood beside the bed. He looked down at his brother with an expression of cold, detached pity.
"You lived too long, Gabriel," Dante murmured, his voice a soft, hypnotic whisper in the dark. "You were soft. You let the Valenti crew take three blocks on 14th Street because you didn't want a war. I'm going to build an empire out of what you left behind."
He raised the goose-feather pillow with both hands, holding it high above Gabriel’s face.
"Don't move," I said.
My voice didn't shake. It came out flat, hard, and louder than I expected in the quiet room.
Dante froze. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his arms and turned his head toward the doorway.
I stood five feet away from him, holding the black 9mm pistol with both hands, pointing it straight at the center of his chest.
Dante didn't panic. He didn't drop the pillow. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his handsome face as he looked at my trembling hands and my stained apron.
"Elena," Dante murmured softly, taking a half-step toward me. "The brave little maid. You really don't know when to leave a house, do you?"
"Take another step and I'll pull the trigger," I warned, thumbing the safety off with a loud click.
"You won't shoot me," Dante reasoned smoothly, taking another slow step forward, his voice dripping with false warmth. "You're a girl who scrubs toilets for a living. You don't have the stomach to kill a man. Put the gun down, Elena. I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars. A brand new life in Florida. Just hand me the gun."
"She won't shoot you, Dante," a voice rasped from the bed.
Dante stopped.
Gabriel sat up smoothly. The hollow, delirious weakness in his face was gone, replaced by a dark, predatory grin. In his right hand, he held the heavy black revolver he had hidden under the covers.
"Because I will," Gabriel said flatly.
BOOM.
The gunshot sounded like a cannon exploding inside the enclosed bedroom.
Dante dropped the pillow, a look of absolute shock crossing his face as a dark red hole erupted in the center of his right shoulder. He stumbled backward, crashing into the glass side table, shattering champagne flutes and water decanters onto the rug.
He screamed, clutching his bloody shoulder, staring at his brother with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You bastard!" Dante howled, hitting the floor hard. "You knew!"
"I knew the moment you brought that tea yourself," Gabriel growled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, steadying himself on the bedpost, his tall, imposing frame blocking out the moonlight. "Gabriel Costa doesn't die in his bed, brother. You should have remembered that."
The heavy oak doors burst open.
Three guards rushed into the room with weapons drawn, looking frantically between the bleeding Dante on the floor, Gabriel standing by the bed, and me standing in the center of the room with a loaded gun.
"Drop your weapons," Gabriel commanded his guards, his voice booming through the suite. "Dante tried to murder me. Take him to the cellar."
The guards didn't hesitate for a single second. They didn't ask questions. They grabbed Dante by his shirt collar and dragged him out of the room, his blood leaving a long, smear across the white silk rug.
Gabriel turned his dark eyes toward me. He looked at the gun still locked in my hands, then down at my pale, terrified face.
"You stayed," Gabriel murmured softly, taking a step toward me.
"I... I had the gun," I rasped, my hands finally giving out as the adrenaline drained from my blood.
The gun slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the carpet. My knees buckled.
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Before I hit the floor, Gabriel reached out, catching me around the waist with his left arm, pulling my trembling body against his warm, broad chest.
"I've got you, Elena," Gabriel whispered into my hair, his grip tightening around me with possessive, absolute warmth. "I've got you."
