They Poured Coca-Cola Over a Waitress and Laughed—Then Chicago’s Most Feared Man Walked In and Said, “I’m Here for My Wife.”

I woke the next morning in our apartment with the taste of old soda still somewhere in the back of my throat.

I had showered twice.

My hair smelled like Gabriel's cedar shampoo because mine had been left in my locker at the restaurant.

The bruise around my wrist looked darker in daylight.

Gabriel was already awake.

He was sitting at the kitchen island in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, a cup of coffee untouched beside him and three phones arranged faceup on the marble.

None of them were ringing.

That frightened me more than if they had been.

"You turned them off," I said.

"I told everyone not to call unless somebody was bleeding."

"That seems dramatic."

"I revised it from dead."

I stared at him.

He looked tired enough to make the joke fail.

On the television behind him, muted captions rolled beneath footage of The Imperial Room.

My wet hair.

Preston's face.

Gabriel walking through the door.

Someone had already given the video a title.

CHICAGO POWER BROKER CONFRONTS HEIR AFTER WIFE HUMILIATED.

I reached for the remote and turned it off.

"They got exactly what they wanted," Gabriel said.

"No."

"Anna."

"They wanted you throwing Preston across a dining room. They got me asking for a police report. Those are not the same thing."

He looked at his hands.

"The redevelopment vote is at noon."

I knew.

Roland Hale had wanted one explosive video before that vote.

A reason to argue Gabriel was unstable.

A reason to make the city afraid of awarding a multibillion-dollar project to Kane Urban Development.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Win."

The answer came too quickly.

I pulled out the chair opposite him.

"How?"

His eyes lifted.

That was the question he had not expected.

"My board has counsel preparing an emergency filing. Roland's company will be disqualified once the payment trail is verified."

"That isn't what I asked."

His jaw moved.

"Then ask it differently."

"Are you going to use what happened to me as leverage to win the project?"

Silence.

Not defensive silence.

Thinking silence.

"If the evidence is relevant to procurement integrity, yes," he said at last.

I appreciated the honesty and hated the answer.

"Then recuse yourself."

His head lifted.

"Anna."

"You heard me."

"The project is worth four point six billion dollars."

"I know."

"We spent three years on it."

"I know."

"Six hundred people worked on that bid."

"And if you stand in front of the city today waving what Preston did to your wife, the story becomes exactly what Roland planned. Powerful men using me as a weapon against each other."

Gabriel went still.

I hated that my voice shook next.

"I don't want to be evidence you own."

His expression changed.

"I don't own you."

"Then prove it when it costs you something."

The room became so quiet I could hear the refrigerator compressor turn on.

Gabriel looked at the three silent phones.

Then at the bruise on my wrist.

Then back at me.

He picked up the center phone and called his general counsel.

"Mara."

A pause.

"I'm recusing from today's presentation and every internal decision touching the Hale evidence. Create a special committee. Independent counsel. No one on my personal security team touches their data."

Another pause.

"Because my wife asked me to prove I know the difference between protecting her and using her."

I looked away before he saw my eyes fill.

He ended the call.

"There."

"That was fast."

"It was expensive."

I laughed despite myself.

His face softened for the first time since the restaurant.

Then one of the supposedly silent phones began vibrating.

Gabriel looked at the screen.

The softness disappeared.