Chapter 141

Chapter 141
Isabella's POV

Evening settled over the estate in shades of gray-blue, the garden lamps lighting up one by one, as if making a final stand against the approaching night. I sat on the couch, hands wrapped around a glass of warm water, my fingertips pale with tension. Gabriel sat in the deep leather chair, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest—the only sound left in the study.

Quincy pushed through the door, and I instinctively moved to shield my slightly rounded belly. His shirt cuffs bore traces of blood—probably remnants from today's "performance"—but his expression was unusually calm, even carrying a hint of restrained excitement.

"He took the bait." Quincy got straight to the point, no pleasantries. "Marcus agreed to meet, and he's desperate. Douglas's pressure is worse than we anticipated."

He walked to the map, pointing at several red marks. "Marcus's three main overseas accounts were all frozen yesterday. Valencia's stock opened this morning in free fall—someone's aggressively shorting it. The liquid assets he can actually move won't last two weeks."

I listened to their exchange as a distinct flutter came from my lower abdomen. My hand moved instinctively to my belly, feeling the small life inside me rolling restlessly. She seemed able to sense the tension in the air, expressing her own unease in her way.

Gabriel immediately noticed my movement, his brow furrowing slightly. "Not feeling well?"

"No." I shook my head, working to keep my voice steady. "Just the baby moving. She's been particularly active these past couple days."

Quincy tactfully continued his report, his pace noticeably quickening. "Marcus's only chance to turn this around is taking our territory and resources. Even if he suspects it's a trap, he has no choice. A bankrupt gang boss is a lamb waiting for slaughter in the underground world."

Gabriel's voice carried absolute confidence. "He thinks he's gambling, but he's really just walking into the grave I've prepared for him."

Quincy nodded, pulling an encrypted phone from his pocket and placing it on the table. "I've already followed the plan—showed even more greed in our last call. Told his intermediary that besides territory and weapons, I want him to eliminate the old guard in the family, give me complete control."

"What did he say?"

"He agreed." A sardonic smile appeared on Quincy's lips. "Didn't hesitate at all. His head's so full of 'buying me off' that he hasn't realized a real traitor wouldn't make such excessive demands at the last moment."

"The meeting location he chose?"

"Saint Anthony's Church," Quincy answered. "The abandoned place in the west suburbs—his father used to 'handle problems' there. He says it's isolated enough, secure enough."

"Secure?" Gabriel let out a cold laugh. "For him, it's the perfect trap location." He stood, walking to the city map on the wall, his finger landing on the church's position. "He'll have snipers covering every approach to that church. Probably at least two ambush teams positioned in advance. Marcus has never trusted anyone, not even someone he thinks has 'turned traitor.'"

"So we won't just bring the fifty men we agreed on either." A cruel arc curved Quincy's lips. "Aiden's already had people infiltrating the abandoned buildings around the church, and three sniper teams are on standby at the high points. Douglas also agreed—he'll cut Marcus's backup communication lines before the operation starts."

Gabriel nodded, his gaze returning to the map. "Marcus is like a cornered beast right now—at his most dangerous. He'll do anything to survive, including sacrificing anyone."

"That's exactly what we want." Quincy's voice held a certain brutal certainty. "An enemy who's lost his reason is easier to handle than a calm opponent."

The air grew heavier and heavier. I knew Gabriel was making final confirmations, ensuring every link would hold. But I also understood that even the most perfect plan could have accidents.

"Isabella." Gabriel suddenly called my name, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked up to find him watching me, his eyes holding the familiar tenderness along with something complex and difficult to read.

"Go upstairs and rest." His tone softened. "You've been on your feet too long today. It's not good for the baby."

I shook my head, standing my ground stubbornly. "I want to hear the rest."

Gabriel was silent for several seconds before finally sighing in what seemed like compromise. "Quincy, go back and prepare. Leave on schedule tomorrow."

Quincy nodded and left, glancing at me before he went. After the door closed, only Gabriel and I remained in the study, along with the deepening night outside the windows.

Gabriel came to sit beside me on the couch, reaching out to take my hand. His palm was warm and dry, carrying a strength that could set a person at ease.

I rested my head against his shoulder, saying quietly, "You must be careful."

Gabriel gently patted the back of my hand. He didn't use absolute phrases like "nothing will happen," but instead spoke in a more tender tone. "I'll do everything I can to come back, because you and the baby are waiting for me."

The baby in my belly kicked again, making me softly gasp. Gabriel immediately tensed, his palm gently massaging my stomach, his movements careful as if afraid to disturb the little one inside.

As night deepened, we stayed like this quietly together, neither of us saying much, just feeling each other's presence and warmth.

By the time we went upstairs, night had fallen deep. The estate's lights went out one by one, leaving only the warm wall sconces in the bedroom still glowing.

I lay in bed on my side, a pregnancy pillow Gabriel had carefully adjusted supporting my back. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding a bottle of massage oil, working on my calves that ached from swelling.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.

"No." I shook my head. "Just a bit swollen."

He said nothing, just continued massaging, his fingertips applying exactly the right amount of pressure. Moonlight filtered through gaps in the curtains, casting soft shadows across his profile.

Watching him, I suddenly felt a sense of unreality—this man who made life-and-death decisions in the gang world was now gently massaging my legs, his movements as meticulous as if handling the world's most precious treasure.