The word wife-to-be hung in the cold air of the concrete chamber, heavier than the falling snow outside.

Julian Lombard blinked rapidly, his mind struggling to process the presence of the man he thought he had murdered, standing eight feet away with an arm length of steel trained on his skull.

His gaze flicked from Gabriel to Nora, taking in her dark waiter's trousers, her practical boots, and the heavy black SIG Nexter held steadily in her left hand.

“Your... what?” Julian rasped, his gold revolver trembling slightly in his grip.

“You thought you were dealing with a lonely man, Julian,” Gabriel said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. The soles of his leather shoes made no sound against the dusty floor. “You thought you could buy off Anthony, slip a vial into my glass, and leave my sister defenseless. You didn't realize I had already rewritten the ledger.”

The girl in the crimson coat—Julian’s sister, Clara Lombard—let out a sharp, panicked breath. Her hands tightened around the leather briefcase.

“Julian, shoot him!” she screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Shoot him now!”

“Shut up, Clara!” Julian yelled, sweat breaking out across his forehead despite the freezing air. He dragged Sofia’s chair backward, using Gabriel’s sister as a human shield, pressing the barrel of his gold revolver against her temple. “Don't move, Gabe! I swear to God, I’ll blow her brains out before your bullet touches me!”

Sofia looked at her brother through her swollen left eye. Even tied to a chair, bruised and bleeding, the Moretti blood showed in her chin.

“Do it, Gabriel,” Sofia whispered tightly. “Don't let him leave this room.”

“Nobody is dying tonight except the people who earned it, Sofia,” Gabriel said calmly. He didn't lower his gun an inch. “Julian, look around you.”

Red laser sights suddenly cut through the shadows of the high industrial ceiling. Three sharp dots appeared on Julian’s chest, another on his neck, and a fifth directly between Clara’s eyes.

Viktor and his tactical operators stepped out onto the iron catwalks above, their automatic rifles leveled down into the arena.

“You have three seconds to lower that weapon,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it felt like a physical weight pressing on the room. “If your finger twitches, my men will erase you and your sister from this earth before your body hits the floor.”

Julian looked up at the catwalks, seeing the dark silhouettes of Gabriel’s private army. The reality of his failure hit him with the force of a physical blow. His hand began to shake violently.

“You lied to me, Anthony...” Julian muttered, his eyes rolling in terror. “You said he was coming alone...”

“Anthony is currently six feet underground in my basement, Julian,” Gabriel lied smoothly, keeping the pressure absolute. “And you’re about to join him.”

Clara Lombard broke first.

With a shriek of terror, she dropped the leather briefcase onto the concrete, turned, and ran frantically toward the emergency stairwell behind the grain chute.

“Clara, no!” Julian screamed, turning his head for a fraction of a second toward his sister.

That fraction of a second was all Gabriel needed.

Gabriel didn't shoot to kill. He closed the distance in two explosive strides, grabbed the barrel of Julian’s gold revolver, twisted it upward, and slammed his heavy right fist directly into Julian’s throat.

Julian let out a wet, gasping choke, dropping the gun as he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his neck and thrashing for air.

At the same moment, Clara reached the fire door. She pulled a small, silver derringer from her crimson coat pocket and turned to fire blindly back into the room.

Nora didn't think.

The military training her father had drilled into her took over her muscles before her conscious mind could interfere. She raised her weapon, lined up the sights with the steel doorframe, and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The shot rang out like a cannon inside the enclosed silo.

The bullet struck the brass latch of the steel door right as Clara’s hand touched it. The force of the impact exploded the lock into a shower of sparks and metal shrapnel, jamming the heavy door permanently into its frame and flinging Clara back onto the floor with a painful cry.

The derringer clattered across the concrete, landing two inches from Nora’s boots.

Silence returned to the silo, broken only by the sound of Julian’s gasping breaths and the distant howling of the wind.

Viktor and his men dropped down from the lower catwalks, instantly pinning Clara to the floor and securing Julian in heavy steel zip-ties.

Gabriel stepped past the groaning man, pulled a pocket knife from his vest, and sliced through the heavy ropes binding his sister to the wooden chair.

Sofia fell forward into her brother’s arms, weeping silently against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Gabriel whispered, holding her tight, his hand cradling the back of her head with a profound, quiet tenderness that Nora had never imagined a man like him possessed. “I’ve got you, Sof. It’s over.”

After a long moment, Gabriel lifted his head.

He looked across the dusty concrete floor at Nora, who was standing beside the jammed fire door, her smoking gun held safely at her side, her breath coming in white clouds.

Gabriel stood up, walked over to her, and reached out, gently taking the heavy pistol from her hand and returning it to his coat.

“Your father taught you well,” Gabriel said quietly.

Nora looked down at her hands, which had finally stopped shaking. “Why did you say that back there?”

“Say what?”

“That I was your wife-to-be.”

Gabriel looked at her, his gray eyes reflecting the harsh industrial floodlights, holding a sudden, dangerous heat that made her pulse leap.

“Because, Nora,” Gabriel said softly, leaning in close enough for her to smell the cedarwood and rain on his skin, “in ten minutes, every newspaper and syndicate boss in this city is going to know that the Lombard family tried to kill me. And the only way I can keep you safe from their retaliation is if the entire city knows you belong to me.”