GABRIEL’S POV
The drive to the safe house was silent except for Elise's quiet sobbing in the back seat. Ava held her sister close, whispering comforting words, but her eyes kept finding mine in the rearview mirror. There was something in her gaze I'd never seen before – not fear, not anger, but a kind of calculating assessment.
She was putting pieces together. I could see it happening.
The safe house was a nondescript townhouse in Georgetown, one of several properties I maintained for situations exactly like this. My men had swept it earlier, confirming it was clean and secure.
"Stay close," I told them as we got out of the SUV. "We're not out of danger yet."
Inside, the house was spartanly furnished but comfortable. I directed Elise to the living room while one of my men brought her water and a blanket.
"Is she going to be okay?" I asked Ava quietly.
"Physically, maybe. Emotionally?" Ava shook her head. "I don't know how long it'll take her to recover from this."
"She's stronger than you think. You both are."
Ava looked at me then, really looked at me. "Who are you, Gabriel? And don't give me some bullshit answer about being a literature professor."
I'd been dreading this conversation, but I knew it was inevitable. After what she'd seen tonight, there was no going back to the careful fiction I'd constructed.
"We should sit down for this."
"I don't want to sit down. I want answers." Her voice was steady despite everything she'd been through. "Everything about you screams that you're not just a college professor. The way you handled those men, the weapons, the backup that showed up like you were running some kind of operation."
"Ava—"
"No." She stepped closer to me. "I've had enough lies. I need to know who I've been living with. Who I've been..." She trailed off, color rising in her cheeks.
"Who you've been what?"
"It doesn't matter. Just tell me the truth."
I looked at this woman who had turned my carefully ordered world upside down in a matter of weeks. She deserved honesty, even if it destroyed whatever was building between us.
"I'm not just a professor," I said finally.
"I knew it." She moved closer, her eyes sharp with accusation. "You're something else entirely, aren't you?"
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated!" Her voice rose slightly, then she seemed to remember her sister was in the next room and lowered it again. "Just once, can you give me a straight answer?"
"What do you want me to say, Ava?"
"I want you to tell me what you really are." She reached out suddenly and grabbed my wrist, yanking at my sleeve. "Because I think I already know."
The fabric pulled back, exposing the small tattoo on the inside of my wrist. It was barely noticeable – a small bird in black ink, no bigger than a quarter. Most people would dismiss it as decorative, meaningless.
But Ava wasn't most people.
"I saw this when we were..." She stopped, her cheeks flushing. "When we were intimate. I didn't think much of it at first, but then tonight, one of those men had the exact same tattoo."
My blood ran cold. "Which man?"
"The one with the scar on his neck. Right before your people shot him." Her eyes never left mine. "I saw it when he was reaching for his gun. Same bird, same placement."
I should have known she'd notice. Ava had always been observant, always catching details others missed.
"That tattoo," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "it means something, doesn't it? It's like a mark, a sign of membership."
"Ava—"
"They're in the Mafia, aren't they? And so are you."
The words hung between us like a death sentence. I could see the fear creeping into her eyes now, the realization of what she'd gotten herself involved with.
When I didn't respond immediately, she stepped back toward the living room where her sister was.
"We're leaving," she said, her voice hollow. "Come on, Elise. We need to go."
"Go where?" Elise looked up from the couch, confused. "Ava, what's wrong?"
"We're not safe here either." Ava was helping her sister to her feet. "These people, they're all dangerous."
"Ava, wait." I couldn't let her leave. Not like this. "You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly." She was moving toward the door now, supporting Elise. "You're one of them. You're part of whatever world those men came from."
"I was," I said quickly. "But not anymore."
She halted, her hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"I was part of that life, yes. But I left it behind years ago."
"People don't just leave the Mafia, Gabriel."
"Some do. With the right circumstances, the right arrangements."
She turned around slowly, her sister leaning against her. "What kind of arrangements?"
"The kind that let me become a literature professor instead of what I used to be."
"And what were you?"
I met her eyes, knowing this answer would change everything between us. "I was an enforcer. Someone who solved problems that couldn't be solved through normal channels."
The color drained from her face. "You killed people."
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
I was quiet for a long moment, thinking about all the lives I'd taken, all the blood on my hands that no amount of respectability could wash clean.
"Enough that I stopped counting," I said finally.
Ava's hand tightened on the door handle. "We're leaving."
"You can't." I took two long strides across the room and grabbed her arm, turning her around to face me. "It's not safe out there. Those men had connections, people who will come looking for you."
"Then I'll take my chances."
"I won't let you."
"You don't get to make that choice for me anymore." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I can't trust anything you've ever told me."
"You can trust this," I said, my voice rough with emotion I'd been holding back for weeks. "I love you."
The words hung in the air between us, raw and honest and terrifying. Ava's eyes went wide with shock.
"Gabriel—"
Before she could finish the thought, before she could reject what I'd just confessed, I pulled her against me and kissed her.