88The Poor Maid’s Baby Crawled Into the Mafia Boss’s Office, and His Next Decision Put a Target on All Three of Them

Thirty seconds later, the heavy oak doors of the office swung open without a knock.

Lucian Cross stepped into the room. At forty-five, Lucian was Gabriel’s chief of security and his most trusted lieutenant—a man who had spent two decades eliminating threats before Gabriel even had to ask. He wore a crisp dark suit, carried a silenced weapon beneath his left arm, and possessed the cold, calculating eyes of a sniper.

Lucian stopped dead in his tracks two feet inside the room.

His eyes drifted from Gabriel’s face down to the baby currently chewing on the golden nib of a Montblanc pen.

Lucian slowly looked back at Gabriel. "Tell me that’s a very detailed tax deduction."

"It’s Chloe," Gabriel said, his voice completely devoid of humor. "She lives here, apparently."

Hannah stood near the door, her knuckles white as she squeezed the strap of her navy apron. She looked between the two dangerous men, convinced her life was over.

Lucian glanced at Hannah, then back at his boss. "You called me up here for a child care emergency?"

"I called you up here because my house security is incompetent," Gabriel said coldly, though he kept his left arm completely still so as not to disturb the baby. "A mother hid an infant on the fourteenth floor for three months, and your cameras never picked it up once."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't look angry; he looked genuinely impressed. He turned his gaze toward Hannah. "Utility closet near the service elevator?"

Hannah swallowed hard and nodded once.

"Smart," Lucian muttered. "Blind spot between camera three and five. The motion sensors were recalibrated in July, but they don't trigger below eighteen inches off the floor." He looked back at Gabriel. "She found the gap."

"I don't care about the gap," Gabriel growled. "I care about the fact that she was desperate enough to do it." He turned his dark eyes onto Hannah. "Why didn't you ask for an advance?"

Hannah wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, her voice small but fierce. "Men like you don't give advances to housekeepers, Mr. Marlowe. They give termination notices. You don't know my name. You don't know where I live. I’m just the person who cleans your glassware."

Gabriel felt a cold prickle of reality hit his chest. She was right. For three years, he had treated her like part of the furniture—a silent, reliable mechanism that kept his luxury running smoothly while he moved millions across the city’s underground chess board.

Before Gabriel could answer, Lucian’s encrypted phone buzzed in his pocket.

Lucian pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his relaxed posture went rigid instantly. The easy banter vanished, replaced by the lethal focus that made him feared across Manhattan.

"Speak," Lucian commanded into the phone. He listened for five seconds, his jaw tightening until the bone showed against his skin. "Where?" Another pause. "Lock down the perimeter. We’re on our way."

Lucian ended the call and looked at Gabriel. "The Moretti crew just crossed the river."

Gabriel’s eyes darkened. "Which sector?"

"The docks on 14th Street. Dominic Moretti personally led six men into Warehouse B. They disarmed our night shift and seized the shipment from Marseille." Lucian’s voice dropped an octave. "Moretti left a message with the dock foreman. He said you’ve gotten soft behind your high-rise glass. He said Manhattan belongs to men who still bleed."

Hannah gasped, picking up on the sudden, terrifying shift in the room’s air.

Gabriel sat motionless in his leather chair. The Moretti family had been pushing against his borders for six months, testing his patience, biting at his heels like wild dogs. But taking a shipment from Marseille was an act of open war.

Chloe let out a soft gurgle, reaching up with her tiny hand to pat Gabriel’s jaw.

Gabriel looked down at the child. In his world, a weakness was anything you couldn't throw away in thirty seconds if the police or a rival crew came through the door. An hour ago, he had nothing in his life he couldn't burn to the ground and walk away from.

Now, he had a maid who looked at him with terrified defiance, and a baby who thought his chest was a mattress.

"Lucian," Gabriel said smoothly, his voice dropping into the terrifying, icy register that signaled death in the Manhattan underworld. "Assemble the team."

"And the girl?" Lucian asked, nodding toward Hannah.

"They stay here," Gabriel commanded, standing up slowly while supporting Chloe’s head with his large hand. He walked around the desk and handed the baby gently back to Hannah.

The moment Chloe left his arms, Gabriel felt a sudden, strange coldness settle over his chest.

He looked into Hannah’s eyes. "You don't lose your job. You don't leave this penthouse. The third-floor suite is yours starting today. Lucian will put two guards outside your door."

Hannah stared at him in complete shock. "Mr. Marlowe... I don't understand. You aren't firing me?"

"You broke my rules to protect your child," Gabriel said, buttoning his dark suit jacket and pulling a customized heavy firearm from a concealed drawer beneath his desk. "In my world, loyalty to family is the only rule that actually matters."

He stepped past her toward the door, Lucian trailing a step behind.

"Where are you going?" Hannah whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.