Chapter 7 - Shadows on the Roof
The private terrace on the eleventh floor of the Drake Hotel offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of Lake Michigan under the glittering Chicago skyline. The cold wind bit through Hannah’s velvet gown, but she welcomed the chill; the suffocating heat of the ballroom had left her head spinning.
Noah had been safely escorted back to the compound thirty minutes earlier by Calvin and four heavily armed security teams. Gabriel had insisted Hannah remain behind with him for just fifteen minutes to finalize the press statements and sign the formal charity pledge that cemented their public narrative.
""Cold?"" Gabriel’s voice rumbled behind her.
Hannah turned to find him stepping out onto the stone terrace, holding two steaming mugs of spiced cider. He draped his heavy tuxedo jacket over her bare shoulders, his hands lingering on her collarbones, his thumbs gently brushing the hollow of her throat.
""A little,"" Hannah admitted, looking up at him through her lashes. ""Did we win?""
""Price’s clinic will lose its medical operating license by morning,"" Gabriel said, his dark eyes glittering with satisfaction. ""And the federal prosecutor called Calvin ten minutes ago to apologize for even considering Volkov’s allegations. You were magnificent in there, Hannah. You commanded that room like an empress.""
Hannah smiled faintly, looking out over the frozen lake. ""It felt good to stand up to Evelyn. But... it was an act, wasn't it? The engagement. The fairy tale.""
Gabriel went very still. He set the mugs down on the stone balustrade and stepped into her personal space, his towering frame shielding her from the biting wind. ""Do you think I let just anyone wear my mother’s emeralds, Hannah?""
Hannah’s heart skipped a violent beat. ""Gabriel...""
""I spent fourteen months living in a tomb,"" he murmured, his voice thick with raw passion. His large, warm hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face up toward his. ""I watched my son waste away in silence. I thought my heart had died with the wreckage on Route 41. And then an elf with fiery red hair and the heart of a lioness threw herself into gunfire to protect my boy.""
He leaned down, his lips hovering a breath away from hers. ""Nothing about this is an act. I haven't been this alive in ten years.""
Before his lips could touch hers, the heavy glass doors leading to the terrace shattered in a violent hail of automatic gunfire.
""Down!"" Gabriel roared, grabbing Hannah by the waist and pulling her behind a heavy decorative limestone planter as bullets chewed through the stone, spraying sharp chips across the balcony.
The service door had been kicked off its hinges. Sergei Volkov strode onto the terrace, accompanied by four masked mercenaries wielding submachine guns.
""Gabriel!"" Volkov shouted over the howling wind, his face twisted in a manic sneer. ""Such a romantic evening! A pity your bride won't live to see the morning paper!""
Gabriel pulled his snub-nosed revolver from his inner holster, his eyes turning to black ice. ""Volkov. You shouldn't have come out of your rat hole.""
""You made a mistake bringing your personal life into the light, Moretti,"" Volkov mocked, stepping forward as his men spread out in a pincer formation. ""Drop the weapon, or my men turn this little redhead into a sieve.""
Hannah looked at Gabriel. There was no fear in her eyes now—only a fierce, unyielding resolve. She remembered the crowd-control training, the years of dealing with erratic patients, and the desperate instinct that had kept her alive at Northgate Mall.
She reached into the stone planter beside her, her fingers wrapping around a heavy, frozen brass landscape spotlight anchored in the soil.
""Gabriel,"" she whispered, catching his eye.
He saw what she held. A faint, deadly smirk touched his lips. He nodded once.
""You want my weapon, Sergei?"" Gabriel shouted, rising slightly from behind the stone. ""Come take it!""
May you like
Hannah ripped the brass spotlight from the frozen earth, severing the high-voltage electrical cable. Sparks exploded into the darkness. She hurled the heavy brass housing directly at the feet of the lead mercenary, the frayed wire catching the wet, slush-covered stone.
The high-voltage surge hit the pool of melted ice, electrocuting the two front shooters instantly. They dropped with agonized shrieks, their weapons clattering across the patio.
