Page 52 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Gabrielle sat cross-legged, a little smile playing on her lips. I watched her change the tone without changing her posture. No more playing. No more testing the room.

“Twenty grand,” Gabrielle said.

“What?”

“My price is twenty grand.”

I didn’t react immediately. She kept her eyes on me. “I’ll give you what you want for twenty,” she added.

I let the silence sit long enough for her to feel it. “Say it properly.”

Her mouth curved up slightly, but there was nothing playful in it now. “Twenty thousand,” she repeated. “And I’ll tell you everything I know about Anton.”

Money was never the point. Information was. I didn’t look away from her. “Start talking.”

She exhaled like she’d expected more resistance. Then she stopped performing.

“Anton’s not moving like before,” she said. “He’s building a new structure now. Not like the operations you know, not isolated hits. Something wider and bigger.”

I stayed still. She watched me register her words without acknowledging them. “He’s not working alone,” she continued. “He’s with Rusev, the Russian.”

That name tightened something in the back of my focus, but I kept my expression flat.

“They’ve been in contact longer than most people think. Months, maybe longer.” She stepped closer to the edge of the table, not invading my space this time, just refusing to stay distant. “He’s building something that will survive interference,” she said. “If you move too late, you won’t be reacting tohim anymore. You’ll be reacting to what he’s already finished building.”

I didn’t respond, because she wasn’t wrong. And that made it worse. My phone was still on the table, face down. Maeve’s name popped into my head without invitation.

I pushed it down. Gabrielle studied me for a moment. Then her tone shifted again, subtle. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“I’m listening,” I answered.

She tilted her head slightly. “No,” she said. “You’re calculating.”

I didn’t correct her, because I was. But not just Anton. Maeve sat on the edge of every calculation I’d made in the last few days, and I hadn’t been able to remove her from my mind.

Gabrielle noticed the pause that followed her words. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer her immediately. I didn’t want to talk about Maeve with her.

“You’re slipping,” she said.

My eyes lifted to her again. She didn’t soften her voice. “You’re not as sharp as you used to be, Sean.” Then she added, quieter, like she was testing how I’d react, “It’s her.”

I kept my face still. “You came here to talk about Anton,” I said.

“I am,” she replied. “I threw myself at you earlier,” she added calmly, “not for you. Not for any history between us or whatever you think I wanted.” Her gaze stayed fixed on mine, but I didn’t react. “I wanted to see what would happen,” she continued. “To see if there was anything still there between you and me. Or if it had all gone cold, like you pretend it has, because of what I saw between you and your little wife.” A pause. “And I got my answer.”

“What did you see?” I asked, even though I knew she wouldn’t make this easy.

Her lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “I’m not telling you that,” she said.

Silence stretched between us again, heavier this time. Then she shifted back, like she was done with that conversation.

“If you want to stop Anton, you need more than your own structure,” she said. “He’s not operating like before. He won’t be giving you clean entry points anymore. You’ll need external pressure,” she continued. “Other hands.”

I already knew where this was going. “No.”

She didn’t hesitate. “You’re going to lose time if you insist on handling this alone.”