Fifty-six

Fifty-six
Isabela

The air in Gabriel’s estate was thick with anticipation. I had tried to keep myself busy throughout the day, but every ticking second felt like a hammer striking my nerves. Gabriel and his team were out there, walking into the lion’s den, and I was powerless to help.

Clara, sensing my unease, stayed close. She busied herself with Miguel, who thankfully seemed oblivious to the tension. His laughter echoed through the halls, a sound that felt both comforting and cruel—a reminder of what was at stake if things went wrong.

“It’s going to be okay,” Clara said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Gabriel knows what he’s doing.”

I nodded, but the reassurance felt hollow. Gabriel was meticulous, yes, but André was cunning. The thought of Gabriel walking into a trap sent a shiver down my spine.

The hours dragged on until finally, my phone buzzed. My heart leapt as I saw Gabriel’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” I answered, my voice trembling.

“It’s done,” Gabriel said, his tone steady but weary. “We got what we needed.”

Relief flooded through me, but it was quickly tempered by the exhaustion in his voice. “Are you okay? Did everything go as planned?”

“There were complications,” he admitted. “But we handled them. I’m on my way back.”

Before I could ask more, the line disconnected. I stared at the phone, a mix of relief and anxiety swirling in my chest. What kind of complications had he faced? And what did “handled” mean in Gabriel’s world?

When Gabriel finally arrived, the first thing I noticed was the weariness etched into his features. His usually sharp suit was rumpled, and there was a faint smear of blood on his sleeve. My stomach twisted at the sight.

“You’re hurt,” I said, rushing to him.

“It’s not mine,” he said quickly, brushing off my concern. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t believe him, but before I could press further, Laura entered the room with a folder in hand. She looked equally exhausted, but her expression carried a spark of triumph.

“We got the shipment logs,” she said, placing the folder on the table. “It’s all there—locations, dates, and contacts. André’s entire network.”

Gabriel nodded, his focus shifting immediately to the documents. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. With this, we can dismantle his operation piece by piece.”

I watched as they delved into the details, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. But as the adrenaline faded, the weight of what they had accomplished seemed to settle over them.

Later that night, after Miguel was asleep and the house had quieted, Gabriel and I sat in the living room. He had poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened as he stared into the glass.

“What happened out there?” I asked gently, breaking the silence.

He sighed, swirling the whiskey before taking a sip. “André’s men were waiting for us. They knew we were coming.”

My breath caught. “How?”

“The mole,” he said bitterly. “Even with Victor out of the picture, someone else is feeding André information. We underestimated how deep his influence runs.”

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers with his. “But you still managed to get what we needed.”

Gabriel’s eyes softened as he looked at me. “Barely. We lost two men, Isabela. Good men who trusted me to bring them home.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, and it broke something inside me. “You can’t blame yourself for that,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You’re doing everything you can.”

“It’s not enough,” he said, his voice cracking. “Every step we take forward, André finds a way to pull us back. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, protecting Miguel. But I feel like I’m losing.”

Tears stung my eyes as I leaned closer, cupping his face in my hands. “You’re not losing, Gabriel. You’re fighting. And that’s all anyone can ask of you. You’re not alone in this. We’re in this together.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by the quiet intimacy between us.

The next morning, the house buzzed with renewed energy. Laura and Gabriel’s team were already working to act on the intel from the shipment logs. As I helped Miguel with breakfast, I couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. For the first time in weeks, it felt like we had the upper hand.

Gabriel entered the kitchen, his expression lighter than it had been the night before. He kissed the top of Miguel’s head, then turned to me with a small smile.

“We’re making progress,” he said. “André’s losing his footing. It’s only a matter of time now.”

I nodded, clinging to his optimism. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the fear that André wasn’t done fighting. And neither were we.