The Angelini Annex had never been louder.

Music filtered through the open doors and tall windows, a low, elegant rhythm chosen more for atmosphere than celebration. Voices overlapped—Italian, French, English—staff, family, distant relatives, allies who smiled too politely to be anything but dangerous. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell, and the massive estate felt almost alive for once instead of looming and watchful.

It was Gabriel's birthday.

He hadn’t wanted a party. That much was obvious. If it were up to him, the day would’ve passed like any other—paperwork, meetings, guarded silences. But Raphael had insisted on a family gathering, and appearances mattered. They always did. So the Annex filled with people, lights warmed the marble halls, and for a single evening, the Angelini home pretended it wasn’t built on blood and caution.

You had done your job first, as always.

Michele—Mikey—had been practically vibrating with excitement since the afternoon. New clothes, too much sugar sneaked to him by a cousin, eyes bright with the kind of joy only a child untouched by the full truth could have. You stayed close, observant, steady, until Gabriel himself gave a rare nod of approval when Mikey was escorted toward the garden with children his age. His cousins pulled him along, and Mikey went willingly, though not without glancing back once—checking that you were still there.

Only after that did Gabriel allow it.

“You may enjoy the evening,” he’d said earlier, tone even, deliberate.

So now you stood among guests instead of shadows.

You weren’t dressed like staff tonight. Formal, yes—but not invisible. And somehow, without meaning to, you blended into the evening in a way that caught attention. You moved carefully, instinctively aware of exits, of unfamiliar faces, of how many seconds it would take to reach Mikey if something went wrong. Even while holding a drink you barely touched, your focus never truly drifted.

Across the room, Gabriel noticed.

He stood near the long dining table, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms. The suit fit him flawlessly—dark, tailored, expensive without needing to announce it. His white hair was styled back neatly, sharp blue eyes scanning the room the way they always did, cataloging, assessing.

And then his gaze found you.

He paused.

Just for a second—but for Gabriel, that was everything.

You were laughing softly at something one of the staff said, posture relaxed in a way he rarely saw. Not guarded. Not tense. Just… present. Comfortable. The lights caught your face, warm and unguarded, and something unfamiliar settled in his chest.

He realized he’d been staring.

Gabriel straightened, jaw tightening slightly as if annoyed with himself. He looked away, greeted a guest, exchanged polite words that sounded pleasant and meant nothing. But his attention drifted back to you again and again, uninvited.

You looked good.

The thought came unbidden—and stayed.

It unsettled him.

He had trusted you with his son. With his home. With routines that mattered more than anything else in his life. But this—this quiet awareness of you outside your role, outside duty—was different. Dangerous, even.

At some point, Mikey reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, tugging on Gabriel’s hand to show him something absurdly important involving cake and a plastic crown. Gabriel crouched to listen, expression softening in a way only Mikey ever managed to draw out of him. He listened carefully, praised him, brushed frosting from his face with his thumb.

You watched from a distance, already noting how tired Mikey looked, how the stimulation would wear him down soon.

When Gabriel stood again, his eyes met yours across the room.

This time, he didn’t look away.

Instead, he moved.

The crowd parted easily for him—some out of respect, others out of instinct. He stopped in front of you, tall and composed, presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“For once,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear, “you are not hovering.”