Chapter 8 - THE FIVE YEARS HE STOLE
There were 417 photographs.
I saw every one.
I wish I hadn’t.
Noah’s first birthday.
Lucas learning to ride a bicycle.
Eli asleep against my father’s chest.
The boys entering preschool.
Me grocery shopping.
Me leaving work.
My father’s funeral.
Christmas morning through our living-room window.
Five years of our supposedly private life documented by strangers.
Vincent Rourke had known everything.
Gabriel stood beside me in the federal building while Agent Hart opened folder after folder.
His face was expressionless.
His hands were fists.
“Why?” I asked.
Agent Hart slid over a financial ledger.
“He wanted insurance.”
“Against Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel stared at the photographs.
“If Claire ever returned?”
“Or if you ever discovered the children.”
Agent Hart folded her hands.
“Mr. Rourke understood the boys could threaten his control of Cross Holdings.”
“So why didn’t he hurt them earlier?”
I hated asking.
Agent Hart hesitated.
“Because as long as Gabriel didn’t know, they were more useful alive.”
My stomach turned.
Gabriel stepped away from the table.
“Enough.”
Agent Hart looked at him.
“We need Mrs. Carter to understand—”
“She understands.”
His voice cracked.
I looked at him.
He was pale.
Not angry.
Sick.
Gabriel had spent his life around violence.
But photographs of three children eating birthday cake had broken him.
Outside the building, snow had begun falling.
Gabriel stood on the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my coat.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“I built the world that made it valuable to stalk my children.”
I had no answer.
He looked at me.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“All of it.”
His laugh held no humor.
“You asked me to leave.”
I remembered those nights.
Begging.
Fighting.
Telling him one day someone innocent would pay for his choices.
“I told you I couldn’t walk away because men depended on me.”
His eyes reddened.
“The truth was I liked being needed.”
That confession felt more important than apologies.
“I liked people being afraid to disappoint me.”
He looked toward traffic.
“I liked walking into a room and knowing everyone understood who had power.”
Then he looked at me.
“And I lost the only people whose opinion should have mattered.”
I swallowed.
“Gabriel.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
A faint smile.
“I remember that about you.”
“What?”
“You never made mercy easy.”
“I used to be easier.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You used to love me more than you loved yourself.”
The sentence hurt.
“Maybe.”
“I took advantage of that.”
We stood beneath falling snow.
Then he reached inside his coat.
Not toward me.
He removed an envelope.
“What is it?”
“Custody papers.”
My heart stopped.
“I had my attorneys prepare them this morning.”
I didn’t take the envelope.
“What kind?”
“Full legal and physical custody to you.”
I stared at him.
“Gabriel.”
“No restrictions.”
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you what I should have given you five years ago.”
“A choice.”
My throat tightened.
He continued.
“I’m their biological father. That doesn’t make me entitled to walk into their lives and reorganize everything.”
“You want custody.”
“Yes.”
The answer was honest.
“More than I can explain.”
His eyes filled.
“But wanting something doesn’t make it mine.”
That was not the Gabriel I remembered.
“I also established trusts for them.”
I immediately stiffened.
“No.”
“Not Cross succession trusts.”
He almost smiled.
“College. Medical care. Whatever they choose.”
“They don’t need your money.”
“I know.”
“You cannot buy five years.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
So did he.
Then he became serious again.
“The documents also remove them from the corporate succession clause.”
I froze.
“You can do that?”
“I can dissolve the clause entirely.”
“Then do it.”
“I already did.”
I stared.
His father’s trust.
His grandfather’s dynasty.
Generations obsessed with sons inheriting power.
Gone with a signature.
“The boys will never inherit the organization,” he said.
“What do they inherit?”
“Whatever kind of father I manage to become.”
That almost destroyed me.
I looked down at the custody envelope.
“You really signed this?”
“Yes.”
“And if I tell you to disappear?”
He went pale.
But nodded.
“I will.”
“You won’t fight?”
“No.”
“You could hire every attorney in New York.”
“I could.”
“You could bury me.”
His expression tightened.
“Once, I might have.”
That honesty hurt more than denial.
“But I won’t.”
I finally took the envelope.
That evening, we returned to Connecticut.
The boys were waiting.
Noah ran to Gabriel first.
Not me.
I noticed.
So did Gabriel.
He caught him awkwardly.
Then Lucas.
Then Eli.
Three small bodies wrapped around a man who had spent his life making adults afraid of him.
“Did you catch the bad guy?” Lucas asked.
“The police did.”
“Are you still a mafia boss?”
Gabriel glanced at me.
“Not if I can help it.”
Noah frowned.
“What are you now?”
Gabriel considered.
“Unemployed.”
The boys laughed.
We had pizza on the living-room floor.
Gabriel let them put olives on his face.
Eli fell asleep against his side.
Lucas demanded a story.
Noah corrected every detail.
I sat across from them and felt something terrifying.
Peace.
After the boys were asleep, Gabriel found me on the porch.
“I booked a hotel.”
“You don’t have to.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“You can stay downstairs.”
Hope crossed his face so quickly it almost hurt to watch.
“Okay.”
“This doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know.”
“Gabriel.”
“Sorry.”
I looked out over the lake.
“Do you still love me?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
My heart hurt.
“How long?”
“Always.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
“You loved me when you kissed her?”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Then what does that word even mean?”
He was silent a long time.
Finally he said, “Maybe love isn’t worth much when it isn’t accompanied by loyalty.”
I looked at him.
“I loved you badly.”
His voice was quiet.
“I don’t expect you to trust the word anymore.”
For some reason, that answer reached me.
I stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough that I could see the small scar beneath his eyebrow.
The one I had kissed a thousand times.
“You really changed the succession clause?”
“Yes.”
“You stepped down?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cooperating with investigators?”
“Yes.”
“What if it costs you everything?”
Gabriel looked through the window at the sleeping boys.
“It already did once.”
Then headlights appeared on the driveway.
Dominic’s SUV.
He got out holding a file.
Gabriel opened the door.
“What happened?”
Dominic’s expression was strange.
Not alarmed.
Almost stunned.
“Serena gave the prosecutors everything.”
“All of it?”
“Everything.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Because Vincent just tried to have her killed in federal custody.”
My blood chilled.
Gabriel’s face hardened.
Dominic held up the file.
“And because she finally told them what really happened the morning Gabriel filed for divorce.”
I stared.
“What do you mean?”
May you like
Dominic looked at Gabriel.
“There was one more lie.”
