Page 34 of Ruthless Enforcer

I don’t flinch. “He’s rather dramatic, isn’t he?”

“Gabriel. This isn’t a fucking threat. He’s already striking!”

Alessandro’s shout is so loud I have to pull the phone half an inch from my ear. In the passenger seat, Clara’s eyes narrow, but she stays quiet, watching me like a hawk.

He continues his rant, because that’s what Alessandro does. “Pacific Timber stock is in a free fall because three Whitlock-backed funds just dumped their positions in a coordinated hit. State agricultural inspectors just showed up at our processing plant in Billings with a surprise audit and orders to padlock the gates. And Whitlock has men with scoped rifles actively deploying along our eastern timber line.”

I tap my index finger against the steering wheel. That was fast.

“Did you take her?” Alessandro demands, his voice shaking with pure outrage. “Did you actually go to that museum gala, shoot two men in an alley, and force Clara Whitlock into your car?”

“There was no forcing,” I say reasonably, passing a slower car. “Although I can see how some people might miss the nuance.”

“There is no nuance in a full-scale corporate and physical assault, Gabriel!” he snaps. “Where is she?”

“With me.”

“What the fuck, Gabriel? Take her back to Helena.”

“No.”

“Gabriel—”

“No.” I tap the console screen, switching the mic to cabin audio. “Clara, say hello to my brother Alessandro. Alessandro, Clara Whitlock.”

Clara doesn’t blink. She sits up straight, her emerald eyes meeting mine in the dim amber glow of the dashboard before she speaks toward the mic. “It’s nice to meet you, Alessandro.”

“You can congratulate us, Alex,” I cut in. “We’re on our way to get married.”

The silence that follows is absolute. It’s not often my brother is caught without something to say, especially to me.

Five seconds.

Ten.

The heavy slap of the wipers against the windshield is the only sound inside the cab.

“Gabriel…” Alessandro’s voice drops into stunned, lethal disbelief. “What the hell did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Clara says clearly. “I proposed to him.”

I glance at her.

She shrugs. “I did. I don’t want your brother blaming you when it’s my fault.”

Alessandro ignores her, of course. “You’re marrying a Whitlock?”

“I’m marrying a beautiful, compelling woman,” I correct. “Listen, we’ve got a bunch of errands to run before the ceremony. Let’s chat later.”

“Gabriel, don’t you dare hang up⁠—”

I end the call. I thumb the power button, kill the burner device completely, and drop it into the empty cupholder.

The cab falls into quiet. Rain drums hard against the roof of the Ford, gray water spraying off the asphalt as the highway cuts deep through the pines.

“He took that better than I expected,” Clara finally says.

I cough a laugh. “Uh-huh.”