16. Bella

16

BELLA

M y heart nearly stops in my chest when I hear Gabriel’s footsteps in the kitchen, earlier than he usually comes home, and I slam the laptop shut. Shit , is all I can think, barely keeping from blurting the word out as he looks at me from the doorway, wanting to know what I was doing.

Of course, he wants to know. I sink my teeth into my lip, wondering if there’s some way I can get out of answering. Or if I should lie, and say I was looking up something for the kids, something about an educational show I was looking into or something like that. Anything other than shopping for myself during work hours.

But I have a feeling that Gabriel will know if I lie. If he does, it will just make it worse. And we just got past my mistake of having Clara over without asking. Between that and the disturbance of my nightmares and all of the past trauma I revealed to him, I don’t know how much more understanding he has left. I think I’ve already pushed past what most men would be willing to put up with.

“Bella?” He looks at me curiously, but with a flicker of concern. I’m being weird by not answering, I know that. I’m making it worse than it is.

Reluctantly, I open the laptop back up, turning it so he can see the screen. It’s a website specializing in photography equipment, some of the best that can be had. “I’m sorry for looking at it while I was working,” I apologize quickly. “I know I shouldn’t have. But I wasn’t really doing anything, so I thought?—”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel says, almost offhandedly, as he walks over and inclines his head to look at the screen. “This looks like good equipment,” he says, and I flush. I can only imagine what he’s thinking—probably how foolish it is for me to even think about spending that kind of money on something that’s nothing but a hobby.

“It is,” I say hesitantly. “But I was just looking. I wasn’t planning on buying it.”

He looks at me narrowly, his voice lowering. Danny isn’t going to pay attention to this conversation, but I get the impression that he’s keeping it somewhat quiet from Cecelia, and maybe Agnes. “Does your father give you an allowance, Bella?”

My stomach tightens. Clara and I talked about this moment, the one where I might try to leverage my job with Gabriel into something else, into the possibility of independence. But I’m not ready for that yet. I’m so far from ready.

But I also can’t lie to Gabriel. I sense that that’s part of what this entire thing is balanced on—the idea that I might come with baggage. I might not be able to be open with him about everything, but I won’t actually lie to him.

“No,” I admit quietly, matching my tone to his. “He used to. Before I moved in here. But he hasn’t added anything to my card since. So I assume?—”

“That since I’m providing everything for you, he doesn’t think he needs to do the same.” Gabriel’s tone is clipped, and I feel my cheeks flush as I close the laptop sharply again.

“I’m sorry. I know my father can be?—”

“It’s not your fault, Bella.” The words come out abruptly, and I flinch. Gabriel must see it, because he softens instantly, his voice doing the same. “This isn’t your fault. It’s between your father and I.” He pauses. “You mentioned you like photography. You must like it a lot, if you spend time just browsing like this.” He nods at the laptop.

I bite my lip. “I do,” I admit. I still can’t bring myself to tell him how much, to expose that part of myself to him. Especially now, when he knows so much about my past, has seen me crying in the middle of the night, when I’m sleeping in his bed—it feels too raw. Too vulnerable. Like I need to keep something to myself. “I’ve liked it for a long time. I haven’t gotten a chance to do much lately, though.”

Gabriel nods, almost to himself, as if he’s thinking something privately. He stands up, reaching into his pocket, and before I can process what’s happening, he sets that black credit card on the table. “Buy your equipment,” he says. “Whatever it is that you want. I don’t care how much you spend. Buy whatever you might need, and anything you want for it.”

“Gabriel!” I gasp his name before I can stop myself, and I see the way he tenses. His spine goes stiff for a minute, that tension rippling through him as his hands curl where they’re shoved in his pockets, and I see his jaw tighten. Something in me tightens, too, a twist in my stomach that feels like a primal reaction to what he just did, something I don’t fully understand. I only know that he’s a part of it, and so am I.

“I told you the other day to buy yourself something nice,” he says firmly, glancing back at me. “You didn’t then, so do it now. Whatever you want,” he repeats.

“I don’t think you understand how expensive this all is,” I protest weakly, and Gabriel chuckles, turning to face me a little more.

“I have some idea,” he says wryly. “Bella, I intended to pay you a wage for this job.” His voice is very low now, this conversation clearly intended just for us, even though we’re still in the kitchen. If Agnes can hear us, she’s doing a very good job of pretending that she can’t. “But your father insisted that the money go to him. I planned on talking to you later about all of this, but it’s clear that you need to understand the situation.” His jaw tightens again, his lips thinning. “I’m going to do something to rectify this situation. But while I handle that, you can start by buying yourself whatever camera, lenses, and anything else you want. Don’t give me back that card until you’re finished.”

And then he turns abruptly on his heel, leaving the room.

I stare after him, stunned by his generosity. It’s hard to imagine he’s serious—but I know he is. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his posture. Gabriel is the kind of man who doesn’t need to yell and shout to command authority. He can be quietly commanding, discreetly forceful, and something about that confident authority sends a shiver down my spine, my skin tingling in a way that feels almost—good.

I open the laptop again, looking at the listings of cameras, lenses, and all the equipment I could ever need. I look at the credit card, and I know what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to accept this gift, to do this without feeling guilty about it.

Don’t feel guilty, I think, picking up the card. Gabriel was right about one thing, I’m not being paid for this job. He said something about changing it, and I don’t know what he meant by that. I’m afraid to speculate. But if he wants to begin by paying me in photography equipment?—

Well, who am I to argue?

This time, I do as he asked. I add everything I want to the cart, and just about the time that Agnes and Cecelia are sliding the pie into the oven, I enter Gabriel’s credit card number and hit purchase .

I feel faintly sick, seeing the total, but then I remember that if I was working a regular job, I would have gotten two paychecks by now, almost. I’m not sure if they would have totaled that much, but I could ask Clara. She knows how actual jobs work. And with the fading of the guilt over the price comes a wave of excitement, all the ideas about what I can do with that equipment, the pictures I can take, flooding me.

And then a sharp, hard banging on the front door jolts me out of my thoughts.

Agnes frowns, closing the oven. “I’ll get it,” she says, shooing Cecelia towards the table. “Probably someone selling cable plans or something that doesn’t know we don’t need them to help with it.”

I don’t tell Agnes that no one has had cable in at least five to seven years, at least not anyone Gabriel’s age. I just ask Cecelia about the pie she and Agnes were making, and she’s only halfway through explaining to me the process for making a peach pie when I hear Agnes’ clipped stride coming back into the kitchen.

“Bella,” she says without preamble. “Your father is here.”

My stomach drops to my feet. Panic instantly sweeps over me. The only reason I can think of for my father to be here is that he’s decided he’s done with letting me play nanny at Gabriel’s, and he wants me to come home to marry whatever man he’s decided is the right choice for me. That sick feeling comes back, only for an entirely different reason this time, and the world tilts a little as I push myself to my feet.

Agnes must see my reaction, at least a little, because she shoots me a worried look as she walks to the table. I don’t want my father to come in here and bother her again, or Cecelia and Danny, so I force myself to walk out, all the way to the living room where I’m sure he’s waiting.

He hasn’t bothered to sit, although I’m sure Agnes offered it. He’s standing at the fireplace with his back to me, looking out of the living room window as if he owns this place, and an odd sort of anger rushes through me, a protectiveness over this home, as if it’s my home, and not Gabriel’s. Or rather, as if it were mine, too. All I can think is that he has no business barging in here. Gabriel wouldn’t barge into his home. He has more respect than that. But I feel certain that my father didn’t make an appointment.

“Dad?” My voice is higher pitched than I would like it to be. He turns, his face set in hard lines, and my stomach quakes again. “What’s going on?”

“I want a word with you, Bella.”

I swallow hard. “Okay,” I manage, hating the quiver in my voice, but unable to stop it. My father didn’t come here because he misses me. I was never under any illusions about that. But the reality of what he probably does want grows closer and closer with every second that passes.

“Gabriel came to my office today.” His lips press together, and I can’t help but frown.

“Did he barge in, or did he call first?” I know I shouldn’t have said it as soon as I do, but I couldn’t stop myself. My father is being rude, in the house of a man who has done nothing but try to help me, and I resent it. I resent him , more than ever.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” he snaps. “Gabriel came and practically interrogated me. About your past. About Pyotr.”

Cold ripples down my spine, and I realize this is about something else entirely. This is about Gabriel starting to dig in places where my father absolutely would not want him to go. “I’m sorry,” I manage, as meekly as I can. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“But you did tell him what happened.” It’s not a question—Gabriel probably wouldn’t have found out any other way, nor would he have had any reason to go looking for that information, unless I told him.

“I—I had nightmares. I was out of my pills, and he was woken up by me crying. He wanted to know what was wrong. I had to tell him at least some of it.” I swallow hard, tugging my sleeves down over my hands, wrapping my arms around my waist. I want to shrink down into myself, away from my father, away from the memory of all of this. Just when I thought it could get better, something happens to make it all feel so much worse.

My father might not care very much, but he’s at least perceptive. He sees what I’m doing, and he shakes his head, disgust plain on his face. “You’re weak,” he says, his voice cutting. “I’ve seen men endure far worse than what they did to you, and come out stronger for it. Do you know what Gabriel called it today, what he heard about what happened to you? Torture .” He nearly spits out the word. “Neither you nor Gabriel know anything about torture.”

“And you do?” Again, the words come out before I can stop them, before I can think better of them. But I know my father has never endured anything like that. He’s a soft man, not in emotion, but in constitution. He wouldn’t be able to endure the sort of thing he’s talking about, those things that are worse than what happened to me. Nor is he able to understand that I would have rather endured physical pain, over what those men did to me.

“You’ve let it get the better of you,” he spits. “You’ve used it as a crutch. But you enjoy the dramatics, don’t you? Being a victim? You were just a consolation prize for the Bratva, but now you’re special . Or at least you think you are—but all you’ve made yourself is someone almost useless to me. It took me all those months to dig up someone willing to marry you in your state, and you threw it away to watch Esposito’s brats?—”

“I’m glad to know how you really feel, Masseo.”

Gabriel’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, and I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. This time isn’t my fault, and my father isn’t a stranger, but every part of my body screams to flee, that reaction that I hate and I can’t control every time there’s conflict now rearing up. Gabriel walks into the room, a sleek, glossy folder in his hand, and he sets it down on the couch.

“You should go,” he tells my father coldly, addressing him, and only him. “You won’t speak to Bella that way in my house.”

My father isn’t cowed, not in the slightest. In another man, it would be impressive, but next to Gabriel’s cool, confident stature, it only shows my father for what he is—a man posturing in front of someone he believes to be beneath him, but who is anything but. “She’s my daughter,” he bites out, and Gabriel nods.

“She is. And in your house, you can speak to her however you like. But you’re in mine, and I won’t stand for it. Go, Masseo. Before I start to rethink my business portfolio. And,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “don’t come to my house without an invitation again.”

My father’s jaw tightens, anger plain on his features, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s on Gabriel’s turf, in his house, and Gabriel has the right of it.

“We’ll talk later, Bella,” he says stiffly. And then he turns sharply, and leaves.

All of the air leaves my lungs as I sink onto the couch, my heart still beating hard. “Thank you,” I say softly, looking up at Gabriel.

“There’s no need for thanks.” Gabriel sits down next to me, far enough away that there’s no chance of him accidentally touching me, but still close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off of him. My skin prickles again, my breath coming up short, and I lick my lips nervously, not fully understanding what I’m feeling. It’s too confusing, especially on the heels of everything else.

“I went out to take care of some things,” Gabriel continues, and he reaches for the glossy folder, opening it. There’s a stack of paperwork inside, and an envelope. He hands me the envelope, and I open it, startled to see two new, smooth plastic cards inside.

“A debit card, and a credit card,” he explains. “In your name.”

“What?” None of it registers at first. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says patiently, “that I went to the bank, and I opened accounts for you.” He pushes the folder into my lap. “It took a bit of doing, handling it all without you present, but fortunately, my position in life affords me a bit of freedom to utilize my connections in ways that let me skirt around some rules. In this case, I skirted them for you, because I knew your father would never agree to help me in this. And I wanted to surprise you.”

I stare at the paperwork. I can’t quite seem to absorb what’s in front of me. I see my name, and signatures, and numbers. Five thousand dollars, in a checking account. Two thousand in savings. A debit card and a credit card, sitting in front of me, with my full name on them. Elizabeth Isabelle D’Amelio .

“You—” I can’t finish the sentence. It seems unreal. Just a few days ago, Clara and I were talking about this possibility, and it felt so far off. So impossible. Just a dream, that I could convince Gabriel to help me gain my freedom. And yet, here it all is, without my even having to ask.

There aren’t any words I can think of for the feeling welling up in my chest, so I just stare at him, shocked into silence.

“Only your name is on all of it,” Gabriel continues. “Not your father’s, or mine, or anyone else’s. You’ll be paid from here on out, and it will be deposited into your account. Your father won’t get any more money from me, for your hard work. I was already putting this all into motion, but—” His mouth firms, an angry look crossing his face for a brief moment. “After that, I’m even less inclined to let your father have any more profit from me. At least when it comes to you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. “Thank you. I-I?—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Gabriel says gently. “You’re an adult woman, Bella. You deserve your own independence, and I want to see that you have it. Being chained to your father the way you are is reprehensible. It’s archaic. And I wanted to put a stop to it.”

“Do you realize—” I press a hand to my mouth, my thoughts running so far ahead that I have to reel them back in. “Gabriel?—”

“Yes, I do.” He turns to face me more fully, a serious look on his face, but I can see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and I realize that this is, in a way, a victory for him, too. He has strong feelings about the conventions of the world we live in, and in this instance, he’s managed to help me overcome them. Or, at the very least, begin to. “You should have a chance at your own life, Bella. To determine what it is that you want.”

“Why?” The question comes out before I can stop it. “Why me?”

Gabriel raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You ran into me that day in the hallway.”

I was lucky. It hits me then, and I realize that, for the first time, I’ve been lucky. Lucky to have come out of the office that day as Gabriel was going to see my father, lucky that it was him that I ran into. For once, fate seems to be on my side.

I have a chance to make things different for myself, and I make up my mind then and there that I’m going to do my best to take it. Standing up to my father will be frightening, and difficult, but I don’t want to lose this chance. Not when there’s even the slightest possibility that I might be able to get my freedom.

“One more thing,” Gabriel adds, and I look back at him, startled.

“There’s more?”

He nods. “I want to teach you to drive. I have a driver, of course, and you’re always welcome to have him take you anywhere you need to go. In fact, I would prefer that even once you have your license, you stick with using the driver and keeping Gio with you if you go anywhere.” He lets out a sharp breath, his lips pursing for a moment. “I’m a little concerned about the Bratva, and your past with them. I’m worried that they may still target you in some way. It’s a minor concern,” he adds quickly, seeing my eyes widen. “I don’t truly believe they’ll come after you. But I still think it’s best for you to have some protection. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else.”

“I—” I struggle, for a moment, to come up with what to say. I feel overwhelmed by all of it—the new accounts and the freedom of having my own money and cards, with no one else attached to them, and now this new offer of learning to drive. And, on top of all of that, Gabriel saying so plainly that he worries for me. That he wants me protected— me, personally—not for his family’s sake, but for my own.

I’ve had very little of that kind of caring in my life. I thought I was fine without it, that it didn’t matter all that much to me. But I find, as I listen to him, that it means more to me than I could possibly have imagined.

“Thank you,” I say finally. It feels like too simple of a thing to say, not enough to encompass everything he’s given me in the space of less than ten minutes. But I think he understands, from the way he smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he looks at me. I notice, in my periphery, the way his hand flexes on his knee, as if he wants to reach out and touch my hand. But he doesn’t, restraining himself—and that means something to me, too.

I find myself wondering what it would feel like, if he did touch my hand.

I find myself wanting him to try.