Chapter 12 - The Blood Pact of Sunday
Three days had passed since the bloodbath at Pier 42.
The media had reported a massive fire and localized gas explosion in the Red Hook industrial district, completely swallowing the deaths of Vance and Sullivan’s dock crew.
Mia was now resting in a secure private recovery wing at Mount Sinai, her pneumonia fully broken by the imported monoclonal therapy.
Clare sat beside her sister’s bed, peeling an orange with a small silver knife.
The afternoon sun spilled through the expansive sixth-floor windows, illuminating Mia’s rosy cheeks.
"Is he really your boyfriend, Clare?" Mia asked, her small voice full of childlike curiosity as she pointed toward the door.
Standing outside in the corridor, visible through the reinforced glass window, was Thomas.
The giant bodyguard was holding a massive bouquet of pink tulips and a giant stuffed teddy bear Gabriel had ordered that morning.
Clare smiled softly, though a knot of guilt tightened in her throat.
"He’s... he’s someone who helped us, Mia," Clare explained, handing her sister a slice of orange. "He took care of the doctors and made sure we never have to worry about rent again."
"He looks scary on the news," Mia whispered, chewing the fruit thoughtfully. "The TV said he owns shipping companies and that the Mayor listens to him."
"He is scary to bad people," Clare said, smoothing a lock of hair from Mia’s forehead. "To us, he kept his promise."
The heavy door swung open, and Gabriel stepped into the room.
He wore a tailored charcoal wool coat over a crisp white shirt, completely devoid of his usual tactical gear.
He looked imposing, commanding the entire room simply by crossing the threshold.
Mia shrank back slightly against her pillows, clutching her blanket.
Gabriel stopped at the foot of the bed.
He looked down at the little girl, his hard, weathered features softening into an unfamiliar expression of quiet respect.
"You have your sister's stubborn eyes, little one," Gabriel said, his voice unusually gentle.
Mia peeked out from behind her sheets. "Did you buy the teddy bear?"
Gabriel glanced sideways at Thomas, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"It was... recommended by pediatric protocols," Gabriel replied stiffly.
Clare let out a soft laugh, the sound making Gabriel’s gray eyes flick toward her with warm amusement.
"It's time, Clare," Gabriel said, checking his silver pocket watch. "Don Salvatore’s Sunday dinner is at five. We cannot keep the Commission waiting."
Clare kissed Mia’s forehead, pulling the blankets up to her chin.
"I’ll be back tonight, sweetie. Evelyn is right outside."
"Okay," Mia chirped, already reaching for the giant stuffed bear Thomas carried in. "Don't let him buy any more flowers, Clare. The room smells like a garden!"
Ten minutes later, Clare and Gabriel were sitting in the leather interior of the armored Rolls-Royce, cruising up the Hudson River toward Westchester County.
Clare was dressed in a modest, high-collared navy velvet dress with long lace sleeves, exuding understated elegance and traditional respect.
The five-carat diamond caught the dying autumn sun on her left hand.
"Moretti will not be alone today," Gabriel briefed her, his voice returning to its sharp, analytical cadence. "The heads of the Lucchese and Genovese families will be present. They want to witness the formal announcement."
"What announcement?" Clare asked, turning to face him.
"Our wedding date," Gabriel answered, looking directly into her eyes. "In our tradition, an engagement that lasts longer than three months without a ceremony is considered a tactical delay. If we do not set a date, they will assume this is a facade."
Clare’s breath caught in her chest.
"A real wedding?" she asked, her voice dropping. "With priests, contracts, and legal papers?"
"A legal marriage protects you and Mia unconditionally," Gabriel said, reaching across the console to take her gloved hand.
His grip was warm, solid, and strangely comforting.
"If I die, Clare, the Hayes trust transfers entirely to you. You become untouchable. The families cannot seize my assets without declaring war on the entire Commission."
Clare looked at their joined hands.
"And what happens to you if you marry me?" she asked softly.
"I gain a partner who walked into a hostage negotiation without blinking," Gabriel murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "In my world, loyalty bought with gold rots within a year. Loyalty forged in blood lasts until the grave."
The vehicle turned through the towering iron gates of the Moretti estate.
The sprawling Italianate villa was surrounded by manicured vineyards and patrolled by armed guards with Belgian Malinois attack dogs.
They entered the grand dining hall, where a massive mahogany table seated twenty men in bespoke suits.
Don Salvatore Moretti sat at the head of the table, a crystal decanter of vintage Barolo before him.
When Gabriel and Clare entered, the low murmurs of conversation died instantly.
"Gabriel," Moretti boomed, his ancient voice commanding the room. "And the brave Savannah rose."
Gabriel escorted Clare to two empty seats positioned directly to Moretti’s right.
As they took their seats, an older man with a scarred jaw across the table sneered.
"We heard about Red Hook, Hayes," the man said, swirling his red wine. "Bodies piled up like firewood. Sullivan shipped off to Florida in a wheelchair, and his pet doctor disappeared into thin air. You're causing quite a commotion for a man who claims to want peace."
Gabriel didn't even look at the man.
He uncapped his napkin and laid it across his lap.
"Sullivan tried to steal what belongs to me, Carmine," Gabriel stated with chilling calm. "I don't leave thieves breathing. If you have an objection to my pest control, you are welcome to file it with Don Salvatore."
The man, Carmine, flushed red and fell silent under Moretti’s sharp glare.
"Enough business before the pasta," Moretti commanded, slamming his palm against the linen cloth. "We are here to celebrate life, not count dead dogs."
The patriarch turned his piercing gaze toward Clare.
"My people tell me you were seen at Mount Sinai, Clare," Moretti said, his eyes probing like scalpels. "Visiting a sick child."
The room fell dead silent.
Clare felt the gaze of every boss at the table burning into her skin.
Gabriel’s hand subtly moved under the table, resting on her knee in a silent message of support.
Clare did not look at Gabriel.
She looked straight into the ancient Don's eyes, lifting her chin with regal grace.
"Yes, Don Salvatore," Clare replied, her voice ringing clear and steady. "Mia. She is the orphaned daughter of my late mother's dearest cousin. When her parents died, I swore on my mother's grave that I would protect her with my life."
Moretti’s eyes narrowed slightly. "A child of your blood?"
"A child of my heart, which is stronger than blood," Clare countered without hesitation. "Gabriel ensured she received the finest medical treatment in this country. A man who protects the weak among his own people is a man worthy of leading this city."
The bosses shifted in their seats, stunned by the sheer boldness of her response.
Moretti stared at her for several long seconds.
Then, a slow, appreciative smile crept across the old man’s face.
He raised his crystal glass high into the air.
"To family!" Moretti roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandelier overhead. "Not the blood that runs through our veins, but the loyalty that binds our souls! Drink, gentlemen! Gabriel has found a lioness to rule by his side!"
The table erupted into toasts, crystal clinking as wine flowed freely.
Under the table, Gabriel’s fingers slid into Clare’s, his grip tightening with a warmth that went far deeper than political alliance.
As the dinner progressed, Moretti leaned toward Gabriel.
"When is the date, boy?"
Gabriel looked at Clare, his gray eyes softening into something raw, real, and undeniable.
"Two weeks from Saturday, Don Salvatore," Gabriel announced to the entire room. "At St. Patrick's Old Cathedral."
Clare looked at him, her heart skipping a violent beat.
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The contract was signed in the eyes of the underworld.
There was no turning back now.
