Past midnight, the club still throbs beneath us. Logan shows us the suite on the residential floor. Simple but good. A bedroom, bathroom, small sitting area. Real. Comfortable. A window overlooking the Miami skyline.
Gabriel puts our bags down. The collar is still in his pocket. I know because I watched his hand go to his jacket and stop. He's carrying it the way I carry Julian's ring against my chest. Weights from former lives.
I go to the window and take in Miami at night, where the Brickell towers glitter in the distance against the dark expanse of the bay. Lights shimmer across the water like scattered jewels on black velvet.
Those towers hold secrets I'm still chasing. Meetings I haven't told Gabriel about, a trail that leads to Julian's vault. From this window I can see both worlds: the one I'm investigating in secret and the one welcoming me with open arms. The proximity makes my stomach twist. They're close enough to collide.
Gabriel stands behind me at the window, his hand finding the small of my back.
"Okay?" he asks.
I think about Gunner's nod. Logan's olive oil. Adrian's "you're already family." The whiskey, the laughter, the hug that made Gabriel's shoulders release.
"Okay," I say.
We go to bed together in La Sirena. In his world. The collar on the nightstand and the ring against my chest and the city glittering outside and the music still pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat.
In the darkness of the suite, we come together with the quiet intensity that has been building since the car ride. Gabriel's hands move over me with reverence, his lips against my neck, my collarbone, lower.
The weight of his body pressing me into the mattress feels like shelter. Every touch is deliberate, unhurried, as if he wants to memorize each curve and hollow of my body. When he enters me, I watch his face change, watch restraint give way to something raw and desperate. We move together without speaking, finding a rhythm that feels like coming home.
His breath quickens against my ear, my name a prayer on his lips as he shudders against me. Afterward, he holds me close, his heartbeat slowing beneath my palm, our bodies sticky with sweat in the Miami heat.
I'm almost asleep when I hear it. A voice drifting through the walls. Not just any voice but something extraordinary, a singer who makes the club go silent when she performs. The sound stops me mid-breath, pulls me back from the edge of sleep.
Gabriel's arms tighten around me. His heartbeat drums against my back.
The voice keeps coming through the walls. I've never heard anything like it — not trained, not performed, something rawerthan either of those things. A sound that knows what it is and doesn't apologize for it.
I lie still and listen and don't sleep.
19 - Gabriel
The collar sits heavy in my palm, Sunday morning light streaming through the window making the white fabric glow. My body knows it’s almost time for mass. Internal clock set to liturgical time after three years. In two hours, Mrs.Alvarez will be settling into the third pew. The sanctuary lamp will be burning. Someone will ring the bells.
I won't be there.
The thought brings a strange lightness.
I dial Tomás before I can think too hard about it.
"Gabriel." His voice carries a Sunday morning quality. Already caffeinated, already prepared. "Everything all right?"
"I need you to cover mass." The words come out steady. "I'm in Miami. At La Sirena."
Silence. Not surprised silence. The kind where someone is choosing words carefully.
Tomás is between churches at the moment. His last parish closed six months ago—too small, too rural, not enough parishioners to justify the expense—and the diocese hasn't reassigned him yet. He's been helping out where needed, filling in gaps.
"I wouldn't ask if I had another option," I say, staring at the collar in my hand.
"I know." Another pause. "Just for today?"
"I don't know."
"All right." No judgment, no questions about why. Just logistics, which is why I called him instead of anyone else. "I'll handle it. Tell them you had a family emergency."
"Tomás…"
