Chapter 1 - The Jacket That Made Gabriel Rossi Lose His Composure
Gabriel Rossi did not yell.
Men with real power rarely had to.
He simply stood in the doorway of the dingy back-alley clinic while the flickering neon outside painted his jaw in flashes of hollow blue.
His dark, deadpan eyes settled on Emily's shoulders.
Or rather, on what was draped over them.
An oversized, scuffed leather jacket belonging to a man who was currently sweating bullets in the corner.
The silence in the room was almost impossible to breathe through.
Then Gabriel took one step forward.
The radiator in the back room of the clinic had been dead since Tuesday.
Emily exhaled and watched a faint puff of condensation form in the air before disappearing into the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol, stale sweat, and damp brick.
She pressed the final strip of surgical tape over Liam's ribs, her numb fingers slipping slightly against his clammy skin.
"Keep weight off that side," she said.
Her voice carried the flat, mechanical exhaustion of a woman who had spent the last eight hours patching up men who refused to go to a real hospital.
"And if the stitches tear, don't come crying to me at three in the morning. Use superglue like the rest of the degenerates."
Liam gave a strained chuckle, then winced when his rib cage expanded.
He was young.
Too young to be running collections for Gabriel's organization.
Too young to have a knife wound one inch deep above his hip.
He sat on the edge of the metal examination table, buttoning his torn flannel shirt with shaking fingers.
"You're an angel, Doc."
"I'm a nurse practitioner with a suspended license and a low moral baseline."
Emily turned toward the rusted sink and twisted the tap.
Nothing came out except a hollow cough of air.
She swore under her breath and reached for hand sanitizer instead.
The cold inside the clinic was absolute.
A damp, deep-bone chill came in from the nearby harbor and seemed to settle into the foundation of the building.
November in that neighborhood did not simply announce winter.
It felt like punishment.
Emily shivered and rubbed her arms.
Her thin scrubs offered no protection against the draft coming through the cracked window.
Liam noticed.
His eyes moved to the heavy fleece-lined leather jacket resting on the plastic chair beside him.
He picked it up.
"Here."
Emily glanced over her shoulder.
"I don't want your jacket, Liam. It smells like cheap weed and bad decisions."
"Come on, Emily. Your lips are literally turning blue."
He tossed it toward her.
It landed heavily on the counter.
Emily stared at it.
She was freezing.
Her teeth were ready to start chattering, and her joints ached from the cold.
She did not want to owe anyone anything.
Not even a moment of warmth.
But the leather looked undeniably inviting.
With a sigh, she picked it up and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
It dwarfed her.
The jacket hung loosely from her shoulders and smelled exactly as she predicted, with an additional undertone of stale motor oil.
But it was warm.
Almost immediately, the violent shivering along her spine began to ease.
"Thanks," she muttered, pulling the collar around her neck.
"Don't mention it."
Liam slid off the examination table.
That was when the heavy steel door at the front of the clinic opened.
It did not slam.
The door moved inward with a slow, deliberate groan of hinges, followed by the heavy, rhythmic sound of leather shoes on cracked linoleum.
Emily froze.
Liam stopped mid-step.
The remaining color drained from his already pale face.
The atmosphere changed.
It was not simply the draft from the open door.
It was pressure.
Gabriel Rossi appeared in the doorway to the examination room.
He looked exactly as he always did, like a man carrying an entire city's worth of sins across his shoulders and finding the weight acceptable.
A tailored charcoal overcoat covered a dark suit.
His tie was loosened.
His shirt collar was open.
Rainwater glistened in his dark hair beneath the fluorescent lights.
A faint shadow of stubble ran along his jaw, evidence of how long he had been awake.
Emily's chest tightened.
It always did.
She hated the involuntary reaction, the way her pulse betrayed her better judgment every time Gabriel entered a room.
He said nothing.
His tired eyes moved through the clinic.
Bloody gauze in the trash.
Liam standing too still.
Then Emily.
More precisely, the oversized leather jacket around her body.
The silence lengthened.
Gabriel did not lose his temper theatrically.
He did not smash furniture or shout.
His violence was usually quiet, calculated, and deliberate.
That made his silence worse.
Liam swallowed.
The sound was audible.
Gabriel slowly raised his gaze from the jacket to Emily's face.
Then turned toward Liam.
"Liam."
His voice was low, gravelly, and without inflection.
"Mr. Rossi," Liam said, straightening despite the obvious pain.
"I was just—"
"Get out."
Two words.
No raised voice.
Only the casual authority of a man moving something inconvenient out of his way.
Liam did not hesitate.
He did not look at Emily.
Did not ask for his jacket.
Did not even retrieve his keys from the counter.
He edged around Gabriel with his head lowered and disappeared into the hallway.
Seconds later, the front door closed.
Emily and Gabriel were alone.
Gabriel remained in the doorway.
Watching her.
Emily crossed her arms and buried both hands inside the oversized jacket pockets.
She refused to shrink beneath his gaze.
She was a civilian.
Mostly.
"You're bleeding."
Emily broke the silence.
Her eyes had moved to Gabriel's left hand.
Blood traveled steadily over his knuckles, gathering beneath his gold signet ring before dripping to the linoleum.
Gabriel did not look down.
He kept his eyes on her.
Then entered the room.
The door swung shut behind him.
He crossed the distance in slow, measured steps.
Emily held her breath.
The closer he came, the more clearly she could smell him beneath the odor of Liam's jacket.
Expensive cedar soap.
Cold rain.
Copper.
Blood.
She had come to associate that combination entirely with Gabriel.
He stopped one foot away.
Up close, the exhaustion on his face was unmistakable.
Darkness beneath his eyes.
Tension across his jaw.
He looked like a man who had spent the previous forty-eight hours fighting for his life.
Considering his business, it was possible.
Gabriel raised his uninjured hand.
His fingers hovered briefly in the air.
Then he pinched the leather jacket's lapel between his thumb and forefinger.
"Why are you wearing his jacket?"
His voice was barely above a whisper.
There was nothing casual in the question.
Something possessive ran beneath it.
Emily lifted her chin.
"Because the radiator is broken, Gabriel. It's thirty-two degrees in here."
His eyes darkened.
His thumb brushed the collar.
"I don't care if it's snowing inside this room. You don't wear another man's coat."
Emily gave a dry laugh.
"Really? That's where we draw the line today? You walk in here bleeding from the knuckles, looking like you just buried somebody in a landfill, and you're offended by borrowed outerwear?"
"Take it off."
"I'm freezing."
"Emily."
A warning.
Soft.
Dangerous.
"Gabriel, stop."
Her own exhaustion broke through.
"He's a kid. He was being polite. A concept you might want to investigate."
Something flared in Gabriel's eyes.
In a fraction of a second, his restraint fractured.
His hand released the lapel and closed around the back of her neck.
He did not hurt her.
He never did.
But his grip was firm.
Unyielding.
He pulled her forward.
Emily gasped as she collided with his chest.
The heavy wool of his overcoat scraped against her cheek.
Gabriel wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, trapping her arms between them.
The warmth coming from his body was overwhelming after the cold clinic.
He buried his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled sharply.
Emily stiffened.
Her heart pounded.
She knew she should push him away.
She knew exactly who Gabriel Rossi was.
A predator in a bespoke suit.
A man who ordered killings over morning coffee.
A man who ruined lives.
But his breathing against her collarbone was ragged.
For that moment, he did not feel like a crime boss.
He felt like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.
"Do you have any idea what it does to me," he murmured against her skin, "walking in here and seeing you wrapped in something that belongs to someone else?"
"It's a jacket, Gabe."
Her voice trembled despite her.
"Nothing is just a jacket. Not with you."
He pulled back enough to look at her.
His grip softened.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
"You are mine. You don't take warmth from anyone else. You don't take anything from anyone else. Do you understand me?"
It was toxic.
Archaic.
A level of possessiveness that should have sent any sensible woman running.
Emily was not naive.
And she was not entirely sensible anymore.
In Gabriel's violent world, possession was not only jealousy.
It was survival.
If someone like Liam believed he could lay any claim, even an innocent one, to the woman Gabriel cared about, it could be interpreted as weakness.
Weakness made her a target.
Gabriel's thumb passed across her lower lip.
Without looking away, he reached down, seized the front of Liam's jacket, and shoved it from her shoulders.
The leather slid down her arms and hit the floor.
Cold air struck Emily immediately.
Before she could shiver, Gabriel opened his own overcoat with his uninjured hand.
He wrapped the heavy wool around her and pulled her against his chest again, closing the coat around both of them.
His arms locked around her.
"You're getting blood on my scrubs," she murmured.
"I'll buy you new ones."
They stood together in the freezing, silent clinic.
Emily closed her eyes.
For one moment, she allowed herself to lean against him.
She could feel his heart beneath the layers between them.
Slow.
Steady.
Almost calm.
Completely at odds with the violence surrounding him.
That was the tragedy.
She hated what Gabriel did.
Hated the world he belonged to.
But the truth she refused to say aloud was much worse.
She had started to hate how much safer she felt when he was near.
Gabriel lowered his face.
His mouth brushed her temple.
"You're coming with me."
"No."
"Emily."
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"You are not staying here."
"I work here."
"You patch up criminals in a building with no heat."
"It's a clinic."
"It's a basement."
"It's my job."
"It's suicide."
"Then perhaps I should start charging you by the hour."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then a phone vibrated in his pocket.
Gabriel answered.
His expression changed.
"How many?"
A pause.
"Where?"
Another pause.
"Lock the exits."
Emily felt him tense.
He ended the call.
"What happened?"
"Someone found the clinic."
She stared.
"Who?"
"We're about to find out."
The lights went out.
Emily heard the front door burst open.
Men shouted.
Footsteps thundered through the corridor.
Gabriel pulled her behind him.
"Stay here."
Gunfire cracked.
Emily flinched.
Gabriel moved.
Fast.
Controlled.
Three shots.
Then silence.
Another burst of gunfire came from the hallway.
"Gabriel!"
"Stay down."
Emily crouched behind the metal table.
She heard footsteps approaching.
Then a man's voice.
"Rossi!"
Gabriel answered.
"You're in the wrong building."
More shots.
Then a body hit the floor.
Silence returned.
Minutes later, Mercer stepped inside.
"The building is secure."
Gabriel nodded.
"Any survivors?"
"One."
"Who?"
Mercer looked at Emily.
"The shooter knew her name."
Emily's stomach dropped.
"What did he say?"
Mercer hesitated.
"He called her Evelyn."
Emily's blood turned cold.
Because Evelyn was her mother's name.
A woman who had supposedly died eleven years earlier.
Gabriel looked at Emily.
"Who is Evelyn?"
Emily could not answer.
May you like
Her entire world had just shifted.
And the jealousy over a leather jacket suddenly seemed like the least important thing in the room.
