The war room, that's what I'd started calling the dining room that had been transformed into our command center, hummed with quiet activity. It was barely seven in the morning, but Gabe had been up for hours. I'd woken to an empty bed and the sound of low voices drifting up from downstairs.
Now, standing in the doorway in one of Gabe’s t shirt and sleep shorts, I watched him work. He stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled from running his hands through it. Marco was to his right, Tony to his left, and several other men I recognized from the organization were scattered around the room.
Gabriel's eyes found mine immediately, like he had some sixth sense for when I entered a room.
"Morning, baby girl." His voice softened in that way it only did for me.
