Chapter 3: Claws and Confessions

The hallway felt narrower than it had this morning, like the walls had decided to pick sides in whatever war was brewing between us. I trailed after Gabriel, my bare feet silent on the cool tile, the oversized hoodie suddenly too warm against my skin. Every step reminded me of that hidden compartment I'd found earlier, my father's name scrawled in faded ink like an accusation from the grave.

My pulse hadn't settled since shoving that ledger back into place. Statistically speaking, keeping secrets from a man who killed for a living ranked somewhere between skydiving without a parachute and licking a battery. Yet here I was, chin up, arms crossed tight over my chest to hide the tremor in my hands.

Gabriel stopped abruptly in the living room, rolling those massive shoulders like the phone call with Mateo had lodged something sharp between his shoulder blades. The bay glittered beyond the windows, all innocent turquoise and sailboats, a cruel joke considering the monster standing in front of it.

"You look like you're about to bolt," he said, voice low and edged with that accent that did unforgivable things to my insides. His dark eyes pinned me in place, seeing too much. "Or like you've already done something stupid."

I laughed, the sound brittle enough to crack glass. "Me? Stupid? Never. I just reorganize furniture when I'm stressed, remember? Not commit felonies." My fingers itched to straighten the throw pillows on his obscenely expensive couch, but I jammed them under my arms instead.

He stalked closer, close enough that I caught the faint metallic tang of gun oil on his hands mixed with the woody spice of his cologne. The combination shouldn't have made heat pool low in my belly. It did anyway. Traitor body. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering on the way I was biting my lip again.

"Little accountant," he murmured, the nickname sounding less sarcastic this time. "What aren't you telling me?"

My stomach flipped. I hadn't expected him to go straight for the throat. Part of me wanted to lie, to spin some tale about admiring his rare book collection. The smarter part knew he'd smell it. Instead I lifted my chin higher, meeting those intense eyes with every ounce of defiance I could muster.

I should have kept my mouth shut. But the words clawed their way out anyway. "Your mother's photo. And that ledger entry with my father's name. Care to explain why the Ramirez cartel was paying him off fifteen years ago?"

The words hung between us. Gabriel's jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth click. For a second, something raw flickered across his face. His hand shot out to brace against the wall beside my head, caging me without touching.

"You went digging in my things." His breath ghosted across my cheek, hot and ragged. "That was a mistake."

"Was it?" My voice came out steadier than I felt, hazel eyes narrowing as I studied the way his scar stood out white against bronze skin. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like our families were tangled up long before I stumbled into those encrypted files."

He cursed in Spanish, the words rough and guttural, sliding under my skin like a caress I didn't want. His free hand came up, fingers hovering near my wild curls before fisting at his side. The restraint in that small movement did something terrible to my breathing. I hated how much I noticed it.

"My mother trusted the wrong people," he ground out. "Your father was one of them. Payments for silence, for looking the other way. The ledger doesn't tell the whole story, Rosalind. It never does."

My hands came up between us, shoving at his chest. The muscle there was like warm steel under my palms. He didn't budge an inch. I hated that my fingers lingered a second too long, tracing the shape of him even as I told myself to push harder.

"So what, you kept that photo as some kind of reminder?" I demanded, my voice rising. "A trophy of the blood on your family's hands?"

Gabriel's eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown until they looked almost black. His hand finally moved, tangling in my curls with that same surprising gentleness that always undid me. He tugged just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth.

"You think you know monsters, little accountant?" His thumb traced my jaw, callused and careful. "You have no idea what I've done to protect what's mine. What I'd still do."

The touch sent electricity racing down my spine. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to pull him closer. My nipples tightened against the soft cotton of the hoodie, and I cursed my body for the betrayal. This is objectively a terrible idea, I thought, but my body leaned into his anyway.

His laugh was bitter, vibrating through his chest into mine. "Terrible doesn't begin to cover it. I was supposed to kill you. Clean. Quick. Instead I bring you here, feed you, pay your brother's bills like some lovesick fool. And now you know too much about things that could get us both erased."

His mouth hovered inches from mine, breath mingling. I could see the conflict warring in his eyes, the same fracture I'd glimpsed when he spoke of his mother. The cartel underboss who never hesitated, suddenly hesitating over me. My fingers curled tighter into his shirt, knuckles white.

"Then maybe you should have pulled the trigger back in my apartment," I shot back, even as my hands fisted harder in his shirt. My voice cracked on the last word. "Why didn't you, Gabriel? Why keep me when everything in your world says I need to disappear?"

"Because you looked at me." His forehead dropped to rest against mine, the contact searing. "Really looked. Not at the gun, not at the monster. At me. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about what your mouth would feel like if I finally took what I want."

The confession hung there, raw and unguarded. My breath hitched, thighs pressing together against the sudden ache building between them. I should have pushed him away. Instead my lips parted on a shaky exhale.

He closed the distance with a growl, mouth crashing into mine like a man who had run out of reasons to hold back. The kiss wasn't gentle. Teeth clashed, his grip in my hair turning possessive as he angled my head exactly how he wanted. I tasted the coffee from breakfast on his tongue, felt the scrape of stubble against my chin.

A small sound escaped me, mortifying and honest. My body melted against his despite every screaming instinct that this man was dangerous. His free hand slid down my side, palming the curve of my hip through the hoodie, pulling me flush against the hard line of his body. The evidence of his arousal pressed hot and insistent against my stomach, making my core clench with empty need.

"Gabriel," I gasped against his mouth when he finally let me breathe. My hands had somehow found their way into his hair, tugging the dark strands hard enough to draw a groan from deep in his chest. "This doesn't fix anything."

"No," he agreed, voice wrecked as he kissed along my jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. "But fuck if it doesn't feel right." His Spanish slipped out again, murmured curses that sounded like prayers against my skin. "Mi reina. What are you doing to me?"

I arched into him, one leg hooking around his calf without conscious thought. The marble floor felt cold against my bare foot, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. My curls were a wild mess around us, some of them caught in his fist as he claimed my mouth again, deeper this time, tongue stroking mine in a rhythm that made me think of other things, darker things.

His hand slipped under the hem of the hoodie, callused palm sliding up the soft skin of my thigh. The touch burned, sending sparks straight to my center. I was wet already, embarrassingly so, and the realization made me shift against him, chasing more of that friction even as my brain yelled at me to stop.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, dark eyes blazing with something that looked a lot like fear mixed with hunger. His chest heaved, the antique watch on his wrist catching the light as he traced that damn scar again with his thumb. The gesture seemed to ground him.

"I can't," he rasped, the words sounding like they cost him physical pain. "Not like this. Not when I'm this close to becoming exactly what killed my mother. Not when one wrong move gets you buried next to her."

The rejection landed hard. Heat flooded my cheeks as I shoved at his chest again, harder this time, and he stepped back, hands dropping away like I'd burned him. My lips felt swollen, my body humming with unfulfilled need that made me want to scream at both of us.

I tugged the hoodie down over my thighs like it could shield me from the way he'd just unraveled me. "So that's it? You kiss me like you're starving and then remember your precious cartel code? Nice. Real heroic."

"Rosalind..." His hand reached for me again, then fell away. The muscle in his jaw jumped violently. "You don't understand what this could cost. What I could cost you."

"I understand plenty." My arms wrapped around my middle, holding myself together by sheer force of will. "My father's name in that ledger. Your mother's photo. The way you look at me like I'm both salvation and damnation. I get it, Gabriel. I'm a problem you haven't solved yet."

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He snatched it up, expression hardening as he read the screen. The color drained from his bronze skin, leaving him looking almost ashen.

"What is it?" I asked, despite myself. The shift in him was palpable, the passionate man of moments ago vanishing behind the ruthless underboss mask.

"Business," he said curtly, already moving toward the door. "Stay inside. Don't talk to anyone but me. I'll handle this."

Gabriel crossed back to me in two strides, cupping my face with both hands this time. The tenderness warred with the violence simmering just beneath his skin. His thumbs brushed my cheekbones, wiping away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. The gesture felt too intimate after what we'd just done, too much like care when I needed to remember he was my captor.

"What if they come here?" I whispered, hating how small I sounded. How much I suddenly didn't want him to leave.

"They won't get past my men." He pulled a sleek black phone from his pocket. "This one's clean. Only my number is programmed in. Use it if you need me. No one else."

I took it with numb fingers, the metal cool against my overheated palm. Our eyes locked, and for a moment the air thickened again with everything unsaid. The kiss still burned on my lips, the ghost of his hands on my thighs making me shift uncomfortably.

Gabriel turned toward the door, then paused. His back was to me, shoulders rigid. "Don't trust anyone in this penthouse while I'm gone, Rosalind. Not the guards. Not the staff. No one."

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't answer. Just rolled his shoulders once more and disappeared through the door, leaving me standing there with swollen lips and a heart that wouldn't stop racing. The silence pressed in, heavy enough to make my ears ring.

I sank onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest, the new phone clutched like a lifeline. My mind raced through the revelations, the kiss, the half-truths. My father connected to all this. Gabriel's mother. The way his mouth had felt on mine, desperate and claiming. I traced my lower lip with a trembling finger, remembering the scrape of his teeth, the way he'd groaned my name like it hurt him to want me.

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