Bleeding on White Marble: How the Devil of Beacon Hill Became My Sanctuary

The ballroom of the Grand Regency Hotel was a masterpiece of gilded mirrors, velvet drapes, and towering crystal chandeliers.

At 11:30 PM, the massive mahogany doors swung open.

Don Salvatore Moretti—an elderly, silver-haired man in a tailor-made pinstripe suit—stepped inside, flanked by six heavily armed bodyguards. Walking beside him, clad in a tactical vest with an unmarked black cap pulled low, was Derek Lawson.

Derek’s eyes were bloodshot, erratic, and full of a maniacal excitement.

Gabriel sat alone at a long dining table at the far end of the ballroom, sipping red wine from a crystal goblet. He wore an immaculate black suit, looking entirely unbothered by the heavy artillery entering his room.

"Ashford," Moretti rasped, walking toward the table with a heavy cane. "You look remarkably relaxed for a man whose empire is crumbling."

"My empire is thriving, Salvatore," Gabriel said smoothly, setting his glass down. "I invited you here to give you one final opportunity to retire to Florida before I eliminate your entire bloodline."

Moretti laughed, a dry, coughing sound. "You're outnumbered, boy. My men have secured the lobby, the elevators, and the roof. And I brought a friend who has a personal debt to settle with you."

Derek stepped forward, pulling a silenced pistol from his holster, his face twisted in a ugly sneer.

"Where is she, Ashford?" Derek spat, stepping toward the table. "Where is Harper? I know you have her hidden somewhere in this damn hotel!"

Gabriel slowly lifted his eyes to Derek. The look was so cold, so utterly devoid of fear, that Derek instinctively took a step back.

"She is somewhere you will never see again, Lawson," Gabriel said quietly.

"You ruined my life!" Derek roared, raising the gun. "I was a detective! I had a career! You took my wife, you took my badge, and you gave them to that little bitch—"

CLICK.

The sound of heavy iron deadbolts sliding into place echoed through the ballroom walls.