Page 9

9: Tori

The care ride to Diablo’s estate stretches longer than my patience, winding through perfectly trimmed hedges and fountains that probably cost more than my entire childhood. Gabe drives with both hands on the wheel, too tense for my liking, his sharp blue eyes scanning the grounds like he’s expecting ninjas to jump out of the hedges and attack.

He hasn’t met my eyes once today, and I’m fairly certain it’s because of what he saw. The awkward tension in the air between us is thick, and I’m not exactly a fan of it.

So, what do I do? I poke the damn elephant in the room and just ask.

“Exactly how much did you see last night?” I question, stretching in my seat like I didn't just ask the most humiliating question ever.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replies, his voice tight, his eyes avoiding me like they’ve just discovered the road has more answers to life than I do.

I roll my eyes, already knowing he’s full of shit, but I push on anyway. “You know exactly what I mean. When you came into the room last night—how much did you see?”

“I didn't see anything. I was pushed out before I even stepped a foot inside.” His voice is his gaze still glued to the road, pretending to scout the area.

“If that's the way you wanna play it, fine.” I shrug, crossing my arms tightly, letting my gaze drift out the window, the cold air biting through the glass. “We can pretend it didn’t happen. ”

He doesn’t answer, which is fair. I’d ignore me, too. Instead, he pulls up to the estate entrance, where a pair of guards open the grand double doors before we even get out. Diablo doesn’t do waiting, apparently.

Gabe is out first, rounding the car to open my door, a habit I pretend not to notice. “Try not to antagonize anyone important,” he mutters as I step out.

“No promises.”

As we step inside, a butler greets us and leads us through the halls toward the dining room, where Diablo’s lieutenants are already gathered, eyes shifting my way.

Is it a hundred degrees in here?

No, just me?

Great.

Seated to Diablo’s right is a woman who's watching me with casual interest, her elbow resting on the table, fingers lazily toying with the stem of her wine glass. She’s stunning, auburn hair slicked back into a high ponytail, sharp green eyes scanning me like I’m a puzzle worth solving. Her suit is tailored within an inch of its life, the kind of precise, effortless look that makes it clear she didn’t dress to impress—she just does.

“Tori,” Diablo says smoothly. “Come, sit. We have much to discuss.”

I slide into my seat, directly across from the woman who hasn’t taken her eyes off me. I match her stare, not in a confrontational way, just a measured one.

If this is a game, I don’t want to lose, even if I don't know the rules yet.

“You’re the infamous Victoria Reyes,” she finally says, voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh? And here I thought I was the family’s best-kept secret,” I say, reaching for my glass of water .

She grins, sharp but not unfriendly. “Not for long.” She offers her hand. “Cassandra.”

I shake it, her grip firm but not overcompensating. I appreciate that.

Lunch is a production, of course. The table is covered in dishes that belong in an art museum more than on a plate, and I spend half the meal trying to figure out if I’m supposed to eat the garnish or admire it. The conversation shifts between business updates and thinly veiled power moves, but my focus keeps drifting back to Cassandra.

She appears to be the kind of woman who can command a room without saying much at all. And unlike the others at this table, she doesn’t seem interested in proving anything to me. If anything, she looks amused.

“So, how’s the adjustment going?” she asks, cutting into something that looks too delicate to actually be food. “I imagine being thrown into this world isn’t exactly seamless.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah, real smooth. Kidnappings, death threats, moral dilemmas—just another Tuesday.”

She nods like it's to be expected. “Sounds like you’re catching on quick.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation,” she says, sipping her wine. “Most people take years to learn how to navigate this world. You’re doing it in weeks.”

I shrug, glancing at Diablo, who seems busy with a side conversation. “Trial by fire. And pure stubbornness.”

Cassandra tilts her head. “Good. You need both to survive.”

She’s easy to talk to, which surprises me. Most of Diablo’s people treat me like an obligation or a liability. She treats me like...a person. Like I belong here. It’s disarming, but not in a bad way .

As the meal goes on, our conversation drifts from business to something easier. We trade stories, and I find myself laughing more than I expected. She’s quick-witted, with a dry sense of humor that makes me like her despite my usual reservations.

“So, what did you do before you were thrust into mob royalty?” she asks, her tone teasing.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, you know. Just your average barista. Taking orders and slinging coffees like a master.”

Cassandra’s hands fly to her mouth, trying to cover the laughter she's suppressing. “Definitely not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What can I say? I was due for a career change. But what about you?” I ask. “Were you always a part of this life?”

She hums, considering. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have a traditional childhood.”

There’s something there, something unspoken, but I don’t push. We all have things we don’t talk about.

Plus, I just met her. I have some boundaries.

She shifts, leaning forward as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “You know, I think I like you.”

I raise a brow. “Yeah? What was the deciding factor? My sparkling personality or my complete disregard for authority?”

She chuckles. “Both, actually.”

It’s that simple. That easy. Like we’ve known each other longer than just one conversation. And just like that, I realize something: I think I like her, too.

"Great. Because like I said earlier, I'm pretty stubborn, so those qualities aren't going anywhere." I take a drink of my wine—a swig, really, because I'm not classy.

Cassandra takes a slow sip of her wine, her eyes sharp with amusement. "You know, I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so...easy to talk to."

I plaster on a smile, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with my fork. "What did you expect, some scared little mouse, shaking in her seat?"

Cassandra laughs, the sound smooth and genuine. "Not quite, but I wasn’t expecting someone I’d actually want to have a drink with either."

I clink my glass against hers. "Guess we’re both full of surprises."

We eat in comfortable silence for a beat before she leans in slightly. "So, tell me, what’s your angle in all this? You really planning to take over the empire, or is this more of a 'humor your dad' situation?"

I twirl my fork, considering my answer. "It started as something I was forced to accept. But I don’t know...the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t hate the idea of being in control for once."

Cassandra nods approvingly. "Good. This world isn’t kind to women who hesitate. We have to be five steps ahead just to be considered competent. Ten steps if we actually want respect."

"Great. So just casual light work," I deadpan.

She laughs warmly, like she likes my sense of humor. "Exactly. But if you ever need an ally in all this, you know where to find me."

The sincerity in her tone catches me off guard. I expected politicking, maybe a few subtle power plays. But Cassandra? She seems like someone I could actually trust, which is rare in this world.

Before I can reply, Diablo clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. "Tori, since you've met most of the table, I’d like you to make your rounds. Get familiar with the faces you’ll be working with."

Translation: suffer through forced small talk with a bunch of older men who think I should be anywhere but here.

I paste on my best ‘I’m totally engaged’ expression and make my way around the room, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and pretending to care about shipping routes and turf disputes. Every conversation blends into the next—monotonous, self-important, and barely tolerable.

Through it all, Gabe remains my shadow, always within arm’s reach, his gaze sweeping the room like a security camera. A few of the lieutenants give him curious glances, probably wondering why my bodyguard looks like he’d rather put a bullet in someone than be here.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Diablo seems satisfied. "That should be enough for now," he says, swirling the last of his whiskey. "Tomorrow, you’ll accompany me to oversee a shipment. It’s time you learn how these transactions are handled."

I nod, barely concealing my relief. Anything has to be better than sitting through more of these dull introductions. "Looking forward to it."

As we make our way toward the exit, Cassandra steps beside me. "Hey, Tori. Don't forget about my offer if you ever need help."

I nod, a real smile tugging at my lips. "I’ll keep it in mind."

Gabe and I step outside and the fresh air feels like freedom. He opens the car door for me and I slide in, leaning back with a sigh. "Well, that was...exhausting."

Gabe shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. "You handled it well."

I watch him for a moment. The way his hands grip the wheel, his expression tight. Protective. Always watching. "You didn't look like you enjoyed yourself."

He scoffs, starting the engine. "I don’t do small talk."

"Yeah, I got that."

As the car pulls away from the estate, I think about Cassandra’s words. About allies. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if maybe I’ve found one.

The road stretches ahead, bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon, and I roll my head against the seat, exhaling loudly. “God, that was painful. I think I lost brain cells listening to those guys talk about turf disputes.”

Gabe hums in agreement, keeping his eyes on the road. “I was more concerned with making sure none of them tried anything stupid.”

I snort. “Like what? Slipping something in my drink? Patting me on the head and telling me to run along? Please, I could handle them in my sleep.”

A hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, barely there, but I catch it. “No doubt. But that doesn’t mean I would give them the opportunity.”

I study him for a second, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the way his fingers flex against the wheel like he’s still on high alert. “You always this intense, or is this a special performance just for me?”

He exhales sharply, but this time there’s a ghost of amusement in it. “You’re a unique case.”

I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Too late.

I prop my elbow on the center console. “You know, I think that was the first time I saw you smirk. Are we making progress? Do you, in fact, have a soul?”

His lips twitch again, like he’s fighting it. “Debatable.”

“Ah, so there is a real person under all that brooding.” I stretch my legs, sighing dramatically. “I feel honored to witness this moment.”

“I could still toss you out of the car,” he replies, but there’s warmth beneath the threat.

I tilt my head, eyeing him. “You wouldn’t.”

“No?”

“Nope. You’re way too invested in keeping me safe. Pretty sure you’d dive after me before I even hit the ground. ”

His silence is telling. And then, to my absolute delight, he chuckles. It’s low, rough, like he doesn’t use it often, but damn if it doesn’t do something to me.

“What?” he asks, catching my expression.

I shake my head, grinning. “I was right. You totally have a soul.”

“Don’t start getting ideas,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

I lean my head back against the seat, feeling lighter than I have all day. Maybe it’s the relief of leaving that house behind, or maybe it’s just Gabe finally dropping his walls enough for me to catch a glimpse of the man underneath all that steel.

Either way, I like it.

And I want more.

I glance at him again, watching the way his knuckles begin to relax against the wheel. “So, mystery man,” I say, tilting my head. “If I’m such a unique case, does that mean you don’t usually babysit 'mafia princesses?'”

His eyes flick to me, unimpressed. “You’re not a princess.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention,” I tease, nudging his arm lightly. “Alright, then. If you’re not a full-time glorified babysitter, what do you actually do for fun? Don’t tell me you just sit in a dark room cleaning guns in your spare time.”

His lips press together like he’s considering playing dumb, but I see the way his brow twitches, like he’s trying not to give in. “I read,” he finally admits.

I blink. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “Read? Like actual books? With words and pages and everything?”

“That is what reading generally entails, yes.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. “What kind of books?”

He hesitates for a second, like maybe he regrets saying anything at all. “A little bit of everything. ”

“Uh-huh. That sounds fake. Come on, Gabe, what’s your guilty pleasure book? Romance? Poetry? Maybe a little sci-fi?”

His silence stretches long enough that I’m about to give up when he sighs, shaking his head. “Greek mythology.”

I stare at him, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shifts in his seat, his grip on the wheel just a little tighter. “I like Greek mythology.”

A slow grin spreads across my face. “You mean to tell me, all this time, I’ve had my very own brooding, modern-day Achilles as my bodyguard, and you’re only just now sharing this?”

He exhales through his nose, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, this is fantastic,” I say, grinning. “Alright, favorite story. Go.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but I can see the slight shift in his expression, the way his eyes darken in thought. “Orpheus and Eurydice.”

My grin fades just slightly. “That’s the one where he tries to save her from the underworld, right?”

Gabe nods. “But he looks back too soon. Loses her forever.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something deeper than just a love of mythology. I study him, my stomach twisting with curiosity. “That’s kind of a tragic choice, don’t you think?”

He gives me a sideways look. “Not all stories have happy endings.”

I watch him for a second longer, my heart kicking up for reasons I don’t entirely understand. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve one.”

His grip on the wheel tightens again, and for the first time, I think maybe Gabe isn’t just a bodyguard with a tragic backstory—he’s someone who’s still living it.

The silence that settles between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s something else. Tense but not heavy, expectant but not urgent. Like we’re both waiting to see who cracks first .

“So,” I start, staring at him from my spot on the center console. “You gonna keep trying to dodge all my questions, or do I finally get to unravel the enigma that is Gabe Morales?”

His lips twitch. “That depends. You planning on giving up if I keep ignoring you?”

“Not a chance.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he’s somehow both amused and exasperated with me. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

“Full name?”

“Gabriel Andres Morales.”

I hum, rolling the name on my tongue. “Strong name. Sounds like you should be leading a rebellion or something.”

“Not much of a rebel,” he says dryly. “More of a survivalist.”

That catches my attention. I straighten in my seat, interest piqued. “Survivalist, huh? What’d you have to survive?”

His grip on the wheel tightens, just for a fraction of a second, but I notice it. “Life.”

“Wow, okay. Way to be dramatic.”

He glances at me, one brow raising. “You’re one to talk.”

“Fair. But come on, throw me a bone. What was little Gabe like? Were you always this serious?”

His silence stretches long enough that I almost think he won’t answer, but then, quietly, he says, “I didn’t get to be little for long.”

Something in my chest clenches. There’s weight behind those words. A past I suddenly want to pry into, to pull apart until I understand every piece of what made him who he is.

Instead, I keep it light. “Alright, Batman. Then tell me about the present. What do you do for fun? Aside from reading."

He snorts. “Fun?”

“Yes, fun. You know, that thing normal people have? ”

His hands flex on the wheel, and for the first time, I catch something that looks like hesitation on his face. “I don’t have time for fun.”

I scoff. “Bullshit. No one is that dedicated to their job.”

He side-eyes me. “You are.”

I open my mouth to argue, then promptly shut it. Dammit. He has a point.

“That’s different,” I argue anyway, because admitting defeat isn’t in my nature. “I got thrown into this. You chose it.”

“Did I?” The question is quiet, rhetorical, but it leaves something thick and unspoken between us.

I watch him for a long moment, studying the hard angles of his face, the sharp focus in his eyes, the way his body is always coiled, like he’s never truly at rest. “So, if you could do anything else, what would it be?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The road stretches before us, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. Finally, just when I think he won’t say anything, he exhales and mutters, “Hiking.”

I blink. “Hiking?”

Gabe shifts nervously, like he regrets answering. “Yeah. Being out in the open, no noise, no people. Just you and the land.”

I never would’ve guessed that. “Wow. Didn’t peg you for the nature type. Thought you’d be more of a ‘brood in the corner of a dimly lit bar’ guy.”

His lips twitch again, and this time, the smirk does break through. “That too.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Alright, I’ll bite. Where’s your dream hiking spot?”

He hesitates, then says, “Torres del Paine.”

I blink. “Where the hell is that?”

“Chile. Patagonia. ”

I gape at him. “Damn, alright, international man of mystery. Didn’t expect you to have dream destinations.”

“Everyone has dreams,” he says simply. “Even if they don’t talk about them.”

That does something to me. I don’t know what, but it makes my throat feel tight, makes my heart trip over itself in a way I don’t like.

I swallow hard and look out the window, processing that. But before I can dwell too long, he speaks again.

“Your turn.”

I glance back at him. “Huh?”

“You asked me mine. What’s yours?”

I roll my eyes. “Gabe, I am not a nature person at all. I have never thought about hiking spots.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His voice is softer now, and something about it makes my stomach flip.

“What do you want, Tori?”

The only ones to ever ask me that have been Blaze, Ryder, and Thorne, and only just recently. To have Gabe ask me the same, well, it throws me off.

What the hell do I want? I thought I wanted this, but now I'm not so sure.

I wet my lips, suddenly uncomfortable. “I—”

The car jolts as Gabe suddenly swerves, his hand shooting out instinctively, landing firmly against my stomach to keep me steady.

The warmth of his palm, the way his fingers splay against my shirt, the way he doesn’t immediately move away—it sends a jolt through me, sharp and unexpected.

“What the hell?” I snap, my voice higher than I’d like it to be.

His eyes flick to mine, something veiled in them before he finally removes his hand and grips the wheel again. “Pothole.”

A goddamn pothole .

Except now my heart is racing for an entirely different reason, and suddenly the air in the car feels too thick.

He clears his throat. “You were saying?”

Right. What do I want?

I don’t know. Not when I can still feel the ghost of his touch burning through my clothes.