She thought she could hide the bruises beneath her uniform, but the mob boss unexpectedly walked into the bathroom and saw the truth she had been terrified to reveal.

By Friday morning, the tension inside the Ashford residence had shifted from icy caution to a strange, unspoken alliance.

Harper spent her mornings cleaning the lower levels, scrubbing baseboards, polishing silver, and maintaining the immaculate standards Mrs. Morrison demanded. But the rules had subtly changed. Mrs. Morrison no longer looked at her with suspicion; instead, the older woman watched Harper with a knowing, guarded respect, sliding extra meal vouchers and cash envelopes across the desk without a word.

Noah was safe. Harper had used part of her advance to pay off three months of back rent on the Dorchester apartment and hired a reliable college student from down the hall to watch him after school.

Yet the outside world was closing in.

Around 2:00 PM, while Harper was dusting the grand library on the second floor, the heavy oak front doors downstairs rattled violently. Muffled shouting echoed up through the high ceilings.

Harper froze, dusting cloth clutched in her hand.

"I don't give a damn who you are, open this door!" a gruff, aggressive voice bellowed from the foyer.

Derek.

The sound of her ex-husband’s voice hit Harper like a physical blow. The blood drained from her face, her knees turning to water. How had he found her? He couldn't have tracked her to Beacon Hill—nobody traced the Ashford residence unless they had a death wish.

"Detective Lawson," Gabriel’s voice rang out downstairs, smooth, unhurried, and dripping with lethal mockery. "You’re trespassing on private property. And your shoes are tracking mud across my imported Persian rug."

"Save the hospitality bullshit, Ashford," Derek snarled, his voice rising in volume. "I know my wife is in this house. One of your CIs down in Roxbury saw a woman matching her description getting dropped off near this neighborhood three nights ago. Hand her over."

Harper pressed her back against the towering mahogany bookshelves, her breath coming in shallow, terrified gasps. She was trapped on the second floor. There was no back way down.

"Your wife?" Gabriel’s voice echoed, cold as a tomb. "As I recall, Detective, public records indicate that a woman named Harper Queen filed for abandonment last week. Furthermore, this is a private residence. You have no warrant. You have no jurisdiction. And if you take another step across my foyer, I won't have my security guards throw you out. I’ll have them feed you to the harbor."

"You think you're untouchable because you run this city!" Derek roared, a metallic clatter of a firearm being unholstered echoing off the marble floor. "I’m a sworn officer of the law, and I have probable cause—"

CLACK.

The sound of multiple automatic weapons locking and loading simultaneously filled the foyer.

"Drop the piece, Detective," Marcus, Gabriel’s chief of security, commanded in a voice that left zero room for argument.

Upstairs in the library, Harper squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was putting Gabriel in the crosshairs of the Boston Police Department. She was destroying the only safe harbor she had left.

Slowly, she walked out of the library and approached the grand staircase, looking down into the brightly lit foyer.

Derek stood in the center of the marble floor, his face red with rage, his service pistol half-raised, surrounded by four men in tactical black gear with assault rifles trained directly on his chest. Gabriel stood a few feet away, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trousers, looking at Derek the way a scientist looks at a particularly obnoxious insect.

"Derek, stop!" Harper called out, her voice echoing down the stairwell.

Every head turned.

Derek looked up, a triumphant, ugly smirk spreading across his bruised, unshaven face. "There she is. Look at you, playing house with a criminal while I’ve been tearing the city apart looking for you. Get down here, Harper. We're going home."

Harper gripped the wooden banister so hard her knuckles turned white. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Derek. It's over."

Derek’s face twisted into dark fury. He raised his pistol, shifting his aim away from Gabriel’s guards and pointing it directly up the stairs—straight at Harper.

"You don't get to leave me!" Derek screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "You belong to me!"

Before Derek’s finger could even twitch against the trigger, a blur of motion filled the foyer.

Gabriel moved with terrifying speed. In less than a second, he closed the distance between them, his hand lashing out like a striking viper. He caught Derek’s wrist, twisted it with bone-shattering force, and sent the service pistol clattering across the marble floor.

Before Derek could cry out, Gabriel slammed him face-first against the mahogany console table, driving his knee into the back of Derek’s legs and pinning him flat.

"You raised a weapon," Gabriel whispered, his voice carrying an icy, terrifying calm that echoed through the entire house. "In my home. At my employee."

"I’m a cop!" Derek choked out, his face pressed against the wood. "You can't touch me—"

"I am the law in this zip code, Detective," Gabriel interrupted coldly. He signaled with a flick of his fingers.

Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Derek by the collar and hauling him up like a rag doll.

"Take him down to the basement holding cells," Gabriel ordered without missing a beat. "Call Judge Callahan. Tell him we have an unregistered, rogue officer trespassing on private property with intent to commit murder. Have his badge stripped by morning and transfer him to a federal penitentiary upstate where the inmates appreciate his particular skill set."

"No! You can't do this! Do you know who I am?!" Derek shrieked as he was dragged toward the service elevators, his voice fading into the depths of the mansion.

Silence descended upon the foyer once more.

Gabriel straightened his cuffs, took a deep breath, and slowly looked up the grand staircase.

Harper was standing there, shaking from head to toe, tears streaming freely down her face.