PART 2

The clinic was small.

Too small.

Gabriel hated it immediately.

There were no armed guards.

No marble lobby.

No private elevators.

Just pale green walls, tired nurses, and the faint smell of antiseptic.

Gabriel approached the desk.

“I’m looking for Elena Vale.”

The receptionist looked up.

“Family?”

“Yes.”

The lie came effortlessly.

She typed.

Then her face softened.

“Room fourteen.”

Gabriel stopped.

“What happened?”

The receptionist hesitated.

“You should ask her doctor.”

That answer terrified him.

He walked down the hallway alone.

Tommy remained outside.

Room fourteen was half-open.

Gabriel pushed the door.

Hazel lay in bed.

No gray cardigan.

No messy knot.

Her hair hung loose across the pillow.

She looked smaller.

Too pale.

An IV ran into her arm.

For one second, Gabriel could not move.

Hazel opened her eyes.

The instant she saw him, fear crossed her face.

Real fear.

Gabriel had never seen that expression on her before.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice came rough.

“You left.”

She looked away.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

Silence.

He stepped inside.

“You lied about your name.”

“Yes.”

“You lied about your past.”

“Yes.”

“You knew Michael.”

Hazel closed her eyes.

Gabriel’s breath changed.

“So that’s it.”

She opened her eyes again.

“What?”

“You came to my house because of my brother.”

Hazel said nothing.

Gabriel moved closer.

“Were you working with the FBI?”

“No.”

“The Morettis?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“No one.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her mouth trembled.

“Because I came there to kill you.”

The room went completely silent.

Gabriel stared at her.

Hazel looked almost relieved after saying it.

Like carrying the truth had been heavier than his anger.

Gabriel’s voice dropped.

“You came into my house to murder me.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

He laughed once.

It sounded empty.

“Very professional.”

“I wasn’t a professional.”

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“You were a nurse.”

Hazel looked down.

“Once.”

Gabriel’s eyes sharpened.

“What happened to Michael?”

She stopped breathing.

Gabriel repeated it.

“What happened to my brother?”

Hazel’s face broke.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Like something old had finally been asked to move after years of being buried.

“He talked.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched.

“What?”

“Michael talked before he died.”

Gabriel stopped.

Hazel looked at him.

“He arrived conscious.”

Her voice shook.

“Barely.”

Gabriel’s hands became cold.

“What did he say?”

Hazel looked toward the window.

“His first words were your name.”

Gabriel’s eyes burned.

“Then what?”

“He asked if you were there.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

“Then what?”

“He asked me to call you.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened.

“And did you?”

“No.”

The word was a blade.

Gabriel stared at her.

“Why?”

Hazel began to cry.

“Because Dr. Warren told me not to.”

“Who?”

“Your father’s physician.”

Gabriel went still.

“My father?”

Hazel nodded.

“Michael had been trying to leave the family business.”

Gabriel knew that.

Not publicly.

But he remembered.

Michael had argued with their father.

Said he wanted out.

Said he wanted a real life.

Gabriel had called him weak.

It had been their last argument.

Hazel continued.

“Michael said someone inside the family had arranged the shooting.”

Gabriel stopped breathing.

“No.”

“He said he knew who.”

“Who?”

Hazel shook her head.

“He never said.”

“Why not?”

“Because the doctor sedated him.”

Gabriel’s eyes changed.

“Sedated him?”

“He was bleeding, but his blood pressure was stable enough to operate.”

“Then why didn’t they?”

Hazel could barely speak.

“Because Dr. Warren got a phone call.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear.”

Gabriel leaned over the bed.

“You came into my house to kill me because somebody else murdered my brother?”

Hazel looked at him.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I believed it was you.”

Gabriel recoiled.

Hazel’s tears came faster.

“Michael kept saying your name.”

“What exactly?”

Hazel closed her eyes.

“He said, ‘Gabriel knows.’”

Gabriel stared.

“He said it twice.”

She swallowed.

“I thought it meant you knew he had been targeted.”

A cold memory opened inside Gabriel.

Michael standing in the garage two days before his death.

Agitated.

Asking Gabriel whether he trusted their uncle Vittorio.

Gabriel had laughed.

Told him to stop acting paranoid.

Michael had said:

You don’t see what’s happening.

Gabriel had answered:

Then explain it.

Michael had shaken his head.

Not here.

Gabriel had never asked again.

Now Hazel’s voice broke through the memory.

“After Michael died, the hospital changed the record.”

Gabriel looked at her.

“They said he arrived dead.”

“Why?”

“Because someone paid them.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t know.”

“You testified.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Gabriel laughed bitterly.

“That I understand.”

“The case vanished.”

“Also familiar.”

Hazel wiped her face.

“Then people started following me.”

“So you disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“Why wait six years?”

Hazel stared at him.

“I didn’t.”

Gabriel frowned.

“I tried to kill you twice before.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“Clearly not your strongest skill.”

Hazel looked offended despite everything.

“The first time, you changed cars.”

“When?”

“Outside Rossi Hall.”

Gabriel remembered a suspicious vehicle six years earlier.

“The second?”

“Charity gala.”

He looked at her.

“You were the waitress who spilled champagne on me.”

Hazel’s mouth twitched.

“You were supposed to drink it.”

Gabriel stared.

“Poison?”

“Enough to stop your heart.”

“And instead?”

“You handed the glass to your father.”

Gabriel went still.

Hazel nodded.

“I knocked it out of his hand.”

Memory hit him.

A nervous blonde waitress.

A glass shattering.

His father screaming at staff.

Gabriel had forgotten the woman’s face.

He looked at Hazel now.

“You saved him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he wasn’t my target.”

Something almost like dark amusement crossed Gabriel’s face.

“You had principles.”

“I had anger.”

“Same thing on bad days.”

Hazel looked away.

Gabriel’s voice softened.

“What changed?”

Her eyes returned to him.

“You did.”

He laughed.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“I’m exactly what people say.”

“No.”

“You lived in my house.”

“Yes.”

“You cleaned blood off my floors.”

“Yes.”

“You heard my men talk.”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t romanticize me.”

“I’m not.”

Hazel’s voice hardened.

“I know exactly what you are capable of.”

Gabriel said nothing.

“And that is why I hated you.”

“Past tense?”

Hazel closed her eyes.

“That was the problem.”

He stared.

She continued.

“I came to your house because I wanted to know your routines.”

“To kill me.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And then you thanked the gardener when you thought no one was listening.”

Gabriel frowned.

“What?”

“You paid Maria’s son’s surgery bill.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

“Maria talks too much.”

“You sat beside Tommy’s mother for six hours when she was dying.”

“She hated hospitals.”

“You fed the stray cat behind the greenhouse.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

“That cat was starving.”

“You remember every staff member’s children.”

“That’s security.”

Hazel gave him a tired look.

“No.”

Gabriel turned away.

He hated this conversation.

More accurately, he hated what it was doing to the simple hatred he had brought with him.

Hazel whispered:

“I kept waiting for proof that you were a monster.”

Gabriel looked back.

“And?”

“I found plenty.”

The answer almost made him laugh.

“But I also found things that didn’t fit.”

Her eyes filled again.

“And then you came into the kitchen bleeding.”

Gabriel remembered her hands.

Cool.

Steady.

“You could have killed me then.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Hazel’s mouth trembled.

“Because I realized I didn’t want you dead.”

Gabriel stood absolutely still.

Hazel looked down at the blanket.

“And I hated myself for that more than I ever hated you.”

The doctor arrived ten minutes later.

Gabriel nearly removed him from the room until Hazel said:

“Let him talk.”

Dr. Mercer was in his sixties.

Tired face.

Kind eyes.

He looked from Hazel to Gabriel.

“You’re family?”

Hazel answered before Gabriel could.

“No.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

Dr. Mercer looked at her chart.

“The scans confirm progression.”

Gabriel turned.

“What progression?”

Hazel closed her eyes.

The doctor hesitated.

Hazel whispered:

“Tell him.”

Dr. Mercer looked at Gabriel.

“Elena has pancreatic cancer.”

The words made no sense.

Gabriel stared.

“No.”

The doctor continued.

“It was diagnosed seven months ago.”

“No.”

“She initially responded to treatment.”

“No.”

“But it has spread.”

Gabriel looked at Hazel.

Seven months.

She had been working in his house for eleven.

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you left.”

Partly.

Gabriel heard the word she did not say.

“What’s the other part?”

Hazel said nothing.

“Hazel.”

Her eyes filled.

“I couldn’t die in your house.”

His expression broke.

“What?”

“I couldn’t let you find me.”

He shook his head.

“That’s insane.”

“I know.”

“You thought walking out at four in the morning was better?”

“I thought you’d be angry.”

“I was.”

“I thought anger would be easier.”

“For who?”

Hazel looked at him.

“For you.”

Gabriel laughed.

It was a terrible sound.

“You arrogant little liar.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I’m sorry?”

“You spent eleven months deciding what I could handle?”

“I was trying to—”

“To what? Protect me?”

She looked away.

Gabriel stepped closer.

“From what?”

“Grief.”

He stared at her.

“You don’t get to choose which grief I survive.”

Hazel’s face crumpled.

Gabriel’s voice cracked for the first time.

“You don’t get to walk out and leave me an empty room because you think it’s kinder.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gabriel turned away.

For several seconds, he could not speak.

Then he asked:

“How long?”

Dr. Mercer answered gently.

“Weeks, possibly months.”

Gabriel closed his eyes.

No.

He had survived shootings, betrayals, funerals, wars over streets no sane person should have died for.

But this?

This small room?

This woman in a cheap hospital gown?

This was the thing that frightened him.

That night, Gabriel stayed.

Hazel protested.

He ignored her.

At midnight, she woke and found him in the chair beside the window.

“You’re still here.”

“Yes.”

“You have work.”

“I canceled it.”

“You canceled your work?”

“Yes.”

“People might die.”

Gabriel looked at her.

“They usually do.”

Hazel almost smiled.

Then winced.

Pain tightened her face.

Gabriel stood.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

He pressed the nurse call button.

Hazel caught his wrist.

“Don’t.”

His eyes dropped to her hand.

“Why?”

“I want five minutes without someone asking me to rate pain on a scale.”

Gabriel sat.

Hazel released him.

For a while, they listened to wind press against the window.

Then she whispered:

“Michael talked about you.”

Gabriel turned.

“Before he died?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

Hazel smiled faintly.

“He said you were an idiot.”

Gabriel looked offended.

“That sounds like him.”

“He said you thought being the oldest meant you had to carry everything.”

Gabriel’s face tightened.

“He said you’d rather bleed than ask for help.”

“That also sounds like him.”

Hazel looked toward the dark glass.

“Then he said something strange.”

“What?”

“He said, ‘If Gabriel knew what Father did, he would burn the whole family down.’”

Gabriel went still.

“What?”

Hazel looked at him.

“I thought he meant you knew about the shooting.”

“But he said if I knew.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel stood.

The room suddenly felt cold.

His father.

Salvatore Rossi.

Dead five years.

A respected patriarch.

Beloved publicly.

Feared privately.

Gabriel’s pulse began to pound.

“What did Michael know?”

Hazel shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Gabriel looked toward the door.

He was already thinking like the man Hazel had once hated.

Files.

Accounts.

Names.

Witnesses.

Hazel saw it.

“Gabriel.”

He stopped.

“Don’t disappear into this tonight.”

He turned.

“My brother was murdered.”

“I know.”

“My father may have ordered it.”

“I know.”

“And you want me to sleep?”

“No.”

Hazel met his eyes.

“I want you to sit down.”

He almost laughed.

Then, somehow, he did.