Chapter 7 - The Garden Confrontation
The late-afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows across the stone terrace when Gabriel, Dante, and Chloe stepped back outside. The atmosphere of the garden party had shifted dramatically.
Near the stone fountain, surrounded by a cluster of cameras and flashing lights, stood Senator Thomas Vance. He was a tall, silver-haired politician with a polished smile that didn't quite reach his calculating eyes. Flanking him were two reporters holding professional cameras fitted with massive telephoto lenses.
Beatrice Costello was standing a few feet away, her arms crossed over her ivory jacket, her expression resembling that of a general surveying an invading army before annihilation.
“Gabriel, my boy!” Senator Vance boomed, stepping forward with his hand outstretched as Gabriel approached. “I hope we aren't intruding. We were passing by and heard you were hosting such a... vibrant community gathering.”
Gabriel ignored the outstretched hand. He kept his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet radiating an unmistakable, predatory danger.
“Senator Vance. You’re a long way from Albany,” Gabriel said softly. “And my gates are usually closed to uninvited guests. Especially those carrying cameras.”
“Oh, just a minor detour,” Vance laughed, though a bead of sweat appeared on his temple as he felt the heavy, suffocating silence of the men in suits surrounding the perimeter. “We heard rumors about a high-level assembly here today. Given your recent dealings with the port expansion committee, people are asking questions about transparency.”
One of the reporters raised a camera, snapping a quick burst of photos.
Beatrice’s hands began to move in a furious, rhythmic blur. She didn't look at Vance; she looked directly at Chloe, who was standing a few steps behind Gabriel.
Chloe watched the old woman’s fingers fly, suppressing a gasp.
Tell this pompous windbag that the only thing expanding around here is his waistline, and if he doesn't get off my lawn in thirty seconds, I’ll feed him to my Dobermans.
Gabriel glanced back at Chloe, sensing the movement. “What is she saying?”
Chloe cleared her throat, her face flushing slightly as she translated under her breath. “She says... she hopes you brought your swimming trunks, because if you don't leave her lawn in thirty seconds, she’s going to release the hounds.”
Senator Vance blinked, his smile faltering. “Excuse me?”
Beatrice didn't stop. Her hands moved again, sharper this time.
And tell his two little lapdog photographers that if they take another picture of my garden, I’ll smash their lenses with my walking stick.
“And,” Chloe added, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet terrace, “she wants the photographers to know that if they take another picture of her garden, she will smash their lenses with her walking stick.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered guests. Several deaf council members hid smiles behind their hands.
Senator Vance’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “Mr. Costello, I must protest. I am an elected official, and I have a right to ask questions about—"
“You have a right to leave,” Gabriel interrupted, his voice dropping into a chilling, lethal whisper. He stepped closer to the senator, towering over him by several inches. “You walked uninvited onto private property, you harassed my mother’s guests, and you brought tabloids to a private charity event. You have thirty seconds before Dante escorts you out through the hedge maze. Without your shoes.”
Vance swallowed hard, his political bravado evaporating instantly under the cold, unblinking glare of the city’s most feared man. He took a hasty step backward, grabbed the arm of the nearest photographer, and stammered, “This... this isn't over, Costello.”
“It’s over,” Gabriel said flatly.
As the senator and his flustered reporters scurried toward the front gates like frightened mice, a roar of approval and laughter erupted from the deaf council members on the terrace. Beatrice broke into a triumphant grin, raising her hands in a celebratory gesture.
Gabriel watched his mother laugh, a strange, soft expression crossing his face. Then, he turned his gaze back to Chloe.
“You translated that accurately, I assume?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Word for word,” Chloe said, crossing her arms defensively. “Though I toned down the profanity about his waistline to keep things diplomatic.”
May you like
Gabriel let out a low chuckle, stepping closer to her. “Next time, don't tone it down. My mother’s linguistic artistry deserves full representation.”
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