When She Learned My Name

11. Flinched

The sudden halt of her hand feels like a physical jolt, snapping her back from the silent plea she had just tapped out to Gray. Her voice hitches, coming out a fraction too high, too breathless as she yanks her hand back from the spoon, forcing a stiff, brittle smile onto her face.

"I’m—I’m fine! Fernan—I’m fine…"

She dips her head quickly, avoiding the heavy, suffocating weight of his dark gaze, and forces herself to blindly scoop another spoonful of the cooling broth into her mouth. It tastes like ash, but she swallows it anyway, chewing mechanically while her entire body trembles beneath the tablecloth.

Across the mahogany table, Gray’s eyes are burning with a furious, unspoken demand for answers. He caught the code. He knows something is fundamentally, dangerously wrong. But before he can open his mouth to intervene, Fernando’s hand slowly withdraws, his lips curving into a thin, enigmatic smile that promises retribution for her little coded rebellion.

"See?" Fernando murmurs smoothly, turning his attention back toward her brother and the rest of the table as if nothing at all just transpired. "Just a long day. She's eating now."

Gray’s jaw clenches so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek, his fingers tightening around his wine glass until his knuckles turn bone-white. He doesn't buy the performance for a second, but trapped beneath the watchful, obsidian eyes of Richard Blake and the polite chatter of the elders, his hands are effectively tied for the rest of the evening.

As the dinner drags on through endless, agonizing courses of sea bass and small talk, Gabriella stares blindly down at her plate. The rhythmic clink of crystal and silver around her fades into a dull, muffled roar, drowned out by the terrifying countdown echoing in her head.

Tomorrow morning at Blake Tower is coming. And no amount of stirring, hiding, or running away is going to stop the sun from rising on the most dangerous day of her life.

***

The heavy oak doors of Cheffi Sea swing shut behind them, cutting off the muted hum of jazz and clinking crystal, and releasing them into the crisp, biting chill of the Toronto night air. The harbor wind whips off the dark water, carrying a sharp bite of salt that instantly makes Gabriella shiver beneath her light coat.

Before Fernando can close the distance or reclaim his proprietary place beside her, Gabriella moves with desperate, calculated speed. She links her arm tightly through Gray’s, her fingers curling around the fabric of his sleeve and gripping his forearm with a bruising, desperate intensity that communicates everything words cannot.

"Gray! Can you make me hot Milo at home?!" she chirps, her voice pitching up just a fraction too high into an innocent, overly bright register as she flashes a wide, trembling smile toward her brother. "It’s been a long timeee!"

Gray freezes for a microsecond. He feels the white-knuckled vise grip of her hand on his arm—feels the cold, trembling panic radiating right through his jacket. His eyes flare with sudden, razor-sharp awareness. He didn't miss the tap-code at the table, and he certainly doesn't miss the frantic, performative cheer in her voice now.

"Hot Milo?" Gray echoes, his voice dropping into a tight, controlled cadence as his protective instincts lock into place. He immediately throws a hard, warning glare over her shoulder toward where Fernando is standing just a few paces away. "Yeah. Yeah, of course, Gabby. I've got a whole tin waiting at the apartment. Come on, let's get you out of this wind."

Without waiting for a formal goodbye, Gray pivots, sweeping her swiftly toward the Valentina family town car idling a few bays down from the sleek, obsidian Maybach.

A few feet away, Fernando stands beside his car with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored slacks. The ambient streetlights catch the dark, dangerous amusement playing across his sharp features. He watches the brother and sister retreat with the terrifying, absolute stillness of a cat letting the mouse take a few extra steps toward the hole, knowing it has nowhere left to run.

As Gray opens the rear door of their car and shields her inside, Fernando’s deep, velvet voice carries effortlessly across the pavement, cutting through the wind.

"Drive safe, Gray. Make sure she rests up," Fernando calls out, his dark eyes locking directly onto Gabriella through the closing window, a silent, unyielding promise hanging in the air between them. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Gabby."