Chapter 14 - The Blood Oath of Manhattan
An hour later,
the battle for the distillery was over.
Vincent and the remaining Moretti enforcers had wiped out the rest of the Romanov assault squad,
trapping them in the lower loading docks until the local police sirens forced the survivors to scatter into the night.
Inside the private master suite of Gabriel’s armored townhouse in Manhattan,
the lights were dimmed low.
Gabriel sat on the edge of a massive king-sized bed,
wearing dark silk trousers,
his bare back covered in fresh surgical bandages that I had meticulously stitched and dressed.
He was exhausted,
his physical recovery still raw and painful,
but every time he shifted his weight,
his toes curled against the thick Persian rug,
testing the newly restored nerve connections with a look of silent triumph.
I sat on a velvet footstool between his knees,
gently rubbing a soothing muscular ointment into his calves to ease the intense post-op spasms.
"You shouldn't be sitting up,"
I grumbled softly,
smoothing the ointment over his skin.
"Your back muscles were cut open ninety minutes ago."
"You should be resting,
you suicidal idiot."
Gabriel didn't answer with words.
Instead,
he reached down,
took both of my wrists,
and pulled me up until I was sitting comfortably on his lap,
my legs draped over his thighs.
I gasped slightly as his arms wrapped around my waist,
pulling me flush against his hard chest.
"I spent six months trapped in a chair,
Maya,"
he whispered,
his lips resting against the hollow of my throat,
sending waves of heat straight down my spine.
"I am done lying down."
"Especially when the woman who gave me my life back is sitting right in front of me."
I leaned my head against his broad shoulder,
feeling the steady,
powerful beat of his heart through his skin.
"Carmine is still out there,"
I reminded him gently,
my fingers playing with the dark hair at the nape of his neck.
"He’s hiding with Nikolai Romanov at their private penthouse on Park Avenue."
"They think you're either dead or bleeding out in that distillery."
"Let them think it,"
Gabriel growled softly,
his hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a heavy,
antique gold signet ring carved with the intricate crest of the Moretti family—a blood-red rose wrapped around a silver dagger.
He took my right hand,
holding it gently,
and slid the thick gold ring onto my middle finger.
It was far too large for me,
heavy and gleaming under the dim lamplight.
"What is this?"
I asked,
blinking down at the priceless piece of jewelry.
"That is the Capo’s mark,"
Gabriel said,
his dark eyes holding mine with an absolute,
unwavering intensity.
"In our world,"
"that ring means you carry my authority."
"It means if anyone looks at you sideways,"
"they answer to every gun in New York."
"It means you are mine,
Maya."
"Not my nurse."
"My equal."
My breath hitched in my throat,
my chest swelling with a feeling so intense it made my eyes sting with tears.
"Gabriel..."
"I don't care about your empire,"
I whispered,
cupping his cheek with my free hand.
"I just care about you."
"I know,"
he murmured,
his mouth finding mine in a deep,
passionate kiss that wiped away every lingering fear from the night's battle.
His tongue stroked mine,
slow and possessive,
while his hands held me tight against his body.
When he finally pulled back,
his eyes were blazing with a cold,
lethal determination.
"Tomorrow night,"
he whispered against my lips,
"Nikolai Romanov is throwing his annual charity masquerade ball at the Plaza Hotel."
"Every corrupt politician,"
"every crime boss,"
May you like
"and every traitor in the city will be in that ballroom."
"And we are going to crash it."
