Chapter 5 - The Ledger Speaks
“What’s happening?” I stepped forward, my heart skipping a beat as the casual atmosphere of the house evaporated into pure, jagged tension.
“Get inside the pantry,” Gabriel ordered, his hand gripping my arm with a force that left no room for argument. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only absolute urgency. “Do not open the door for anyone unless you hear my voice saying your name twice.”
“Gabriel, wait—what is going on?”
“Someone just breached the northern gate,” he said, his jaw tight as he drew a sleek, matte-black firearm from a concealed holster beneath his arm. The sight of the weapon sent a shockwave through my chest, instantly shattering any lingering illusion that I was just playing house with an eccentric old man. “They aren't looking for money, and they aren't here for my father.”
Before I could process the words, a dull, heavy thud echoed from the front of the estate—the unmistakable sound of the heavy oak doors being forced open.
Gabriel shoved me gently but firmly toward the back of the kitchen, sliding the heavy oak pantry door shut. Through the narrow slatted louvers of the wood, I watched him turn away, disappearing into the dim hallway toward the foyer just as the sound of shattering glass pierced the quiet evening.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely breathe. I pressed my back against sacks of flour and shelves of imported olive oil, listening to the muffled chaos unfolding outside. Shouting in Italian. Heavy footsteps pounding across the marble floor. A sharp, cracking sound that made my ears ring, followed by dead silence.
Minutes ticked by like hours. Every breath felt too loud, every movement too exposed.
Then, footsteps approached the kitchen door. Slow, heavy, dragging steps.
My fingers curled around the edge of a heavy ceramic jar on the shelf, my muscles tightening into a defensive coil. The kitchen door creaked open.
“Tessa.”
Gabriel’s voice came through the quiet, low and strained.
“Tessa, open the door.”
I let out a shaky breath, my hand dropping the jar. I pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped out into the kitchen.
Gabriel was standing by the center island, leaning slightly against it with one hand pressed to his side. A dark, wet stain was spreading rapidly across the fabric of his white shirt, soaking through his sleeve. The gun was back in its holster, but his breathing was shallow and ragged.
“Are you okay?” I gasped, rushing forward without thinking, forgetting every rule I had made for myself.
I reached out, pressing my palm against his arm to steady him, and felt the warm, slick reality of his blood against my fingers.
Gabriel looked down at my hand, then slowly raised his eyes to meet mine. The cold, impenetrable armor was entirely gone, replaced by a raw, exhausted vulnerability.
“They weren't looking for my father,” Gabriel whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he looked toward the dark hallway. “They were looking for the safe. And the only person who knew the combination was the man who audited my family’s accounts yesterday morning.”
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My blood ran completely cold. “Who?”
“The man,” Gabriel said, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying clarity, “who told you where to find me.”
