Chapter 5 - Unraveling the Web
The morning sun filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm, golden slats across the polished hardwood of the estate’s private library.
Norah sat in a plush leather armchair, a cup of steaming black coffee cooling untouched on the mahogany table beside her. Across the room, spread out over an expansive conference desk, was a sprawling collection of intelligence files, bank statements, encrypted hard drives, and high-resolution photographs.
Gabriel stood over the desk, his sleeves rolled up once again, leaning heavily on his hands as he studied a blown-up satellite map of northern Wisconsin.
“He didn’t take the interstate,” Gabriel said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Too many cameras. Too many tolls. If he was smart—and I use that term loosely—he took Route 41 north toward the border.”
“Tommy isn’t smart,” Norah said flatly from the armchair. She took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes fixed on a photograph of her husband flashing a drunken grin at a dive bar six months ago. “He’s arrogant. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else, which is entirely different. He always talked about buying a charter boat in the Florida Keys. Said he wanted to run deep-sea fishing tours for tourists.”
Gabriel straightened up slowly. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Florida?”
“He kept brochures in his toolbox,” Norah said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Key West. Islamorada. He used to spend hours looking at pictures of sailboats online while I was up with the baby.”
Dante, who had been standing quietly near the double doors, pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a pen. “Shall I have the scouts check the Florida Keys maritime registries, Boss? Charter licenses under fictitious names?”
“Check everything,” Gabriel ordered, never breaking eye contact with Norah. “Start with properties purchased or leased in cash within the last three weeks. Look for shell corporations registered in the Bahamas or the Caymans.”
“On it,” Dante murmured, turning briskly and exiting the room, closing the heavy doors with a soft click.
Silence descended upon the library once more, broken only by the distant, muffled sound of Martha singing a quiet lullaby to Leo from the nursery down the hall.
Norah looked down at her hands, tracing the faint scar on her left knuckle where she had burned herself on the oven two winters ago.
“You hate him, don't you?” Gabriel asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Norah didn't look up immediately. She let out a dry, humorless breath. “Hate is a waste of energy, Gabriel. Hating Tommy implies that I still care enough to feel passion about him. What I feel is profound, crushing embarrassment that I ever let him near my life.”
Gabriel walked slowly across the room, stopping a few feet from her chair. He didn't sit down, but his posture lost some of its rigid, predatory edge.
“Why did you marry him?” Gabriel asked, his tone curious rather than judgmental.
“Because six years ago, before the gambling, before the debts, before he started running with the Outfit’s low-level collectors, Tommy was charming,” she whispered, her gaze drifting toward the window. “He made me laugh when my mother died. He made me feel like I wasn't invisible in a city that usually swallows people like us whole. By the time I realized the charm was just a mask for a black hole of desperation, I was pregnant.”
She finally looked up, meeting Gabriel’s dark, unblinking gaze.
“And I made a promise to myself that my child would never grow up feeling unwanted. So I stayed. I tried to fix him. I thought if I just loved him enough, he’d stop digging our grave.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Turns out, some graves are too deep to climb out of.”
Gabriel stood in silence for a long moment, studying her with a depth of understanding that caught her entirely off guard. There was an unspoken weight in his own posture—the quiet burden of a man who understood what it meant to carry responsibilities that could not be put down.
“Loyalty is a trap, Norah,” Gabriel said softly. “When you give it to someone who doesn't know its value, it becomes a noose.”
“I’m learning that,” she murmured.
Before Gabriel could reply, the heavy library doors flew open.
Dante stepped inside, his face pale and tight, holding a red-flagged tablet in his hand.
“Boss,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a harsh, urgent register. “We just got a ping on one of Tommy’s burner accounts. He didn't go to Florida.”
May you like
Gabriel’s entire body went rigid, the casual stillness vanishing instantly. “Where?”
“Downtown,” Dante said grimly. “A warehouse owned by the D’Amico family. It looks like your husband didn't just steal from us—he tried to sell our routing codes to your worst enemies.”
