“Patrick,” Miller said, referring to the man. “Your butler.”
Smiling, Gabriel walked over the threshold and into the foyer of the home. Gabriel had only seen grandeur of this scale in the Catholic churches around Boston. In the cathedrals.
Miller and Patrick proceeded to give Gabriel a tour of the home. Patrick left them alone to prepare supper as Miller led Gabriel to the study. Gabriel stood in the doorway of the impressive room, all cherry wood furniture and green carpets and walls. Behind the desk was a large picture of Christ on the cross. Gabriel swallowed. Around Jesus were the seven archangels. The seven archangels holding swords, fending off demons, their white wings stretched wide.
A cold chill stabbed Gabriel’s heart.
“Gabriel?”
“Why did he leave us in that fucking place?” Gabriel asked crudely, never taking his eyes off the painting. “Why didn’t he take us into his home? Why leave us without family? Without protection?” Gabriel fought to control the anger in his voice.
Miller was quiet. When Gabriel turned around, Miller looked conflicted. “Gabriel . . . your grandfather wasn’t exactly normal.” Gabriel frowned in confusion. “When he discovered he had a child, your mother, he knew he could never be in her life. Your mother was conceived as a result of a one-night stand. She believed her father didn’t want her. But that wasn’t true. He did. But he battled . . . personal demons.” The hairs on Gabriel’s neck stood on end. He knew all about that. “With him, she would have been in danger. So he stayed out of her life. It wasn’t until he was dying that he looked for her.” Miller’s face grew sympathetic. “He found that she had died. It tore him apart. Then he discovered you. By the time we had located you at Holy Innocents, he had only days left. But he wanted you to have this estate. He wanted you to have it all.”
“Why was he dangerous?” Gabriel asked. Stirrings of genuine interest began to clear his mind.
“You’re young, Gabriel. There are things in life you have not been exposed to, dark things. It’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. You are now a rich man, a protected one; your grandfather made sure of that. You can live a good life.”
Gabriel laughed at Miller’s words. His laughter quickly fell, as did any trace of humor. “Believe me, Mr. Miller. I understand the darker side of life just fine.” Gabriel didn’t give Miller a chance to respond. “I’m going to bed,” Gabriel said. “Please tell Patrick I’m not hungry.” Gabriel pushed past Miller and climbed the stairs to his room, the one Patrick had shown him on the tour. He locked the door and looked around the huge suite. A large four-poster bed sat in the center of the room. The mattress looked too comfortable. Gabriel wasn’t used to comfort.
Gabriel made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower, keeping the temperature on its coldest setting. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the spray. His shoulder ached from its recent dislocation. Cuts stung his skin from where Father Quinn had sliced him with a knife; scars marked where he’d been whipped as Father Quinn exorcised the demons from his soul.
Stepping out of the shower, Gabriel caught his reflection in the mirror over the vanity. He stilled. He hadn’t seen himself in three years. He couldn’t move as he studied his closely cropped platinum hair, his curls not even visible. His blue eyes looked dull, black circles underneath. He was thin, too thin. His skin was mottled with scars and redness from lashes and whips and burning coals . . . but it was the brand that was center stage on his chest and torso that he was drawn to, like a magnet. The reminder of the Brethren’s wrath. The upturned cross, telling the world of his sins.
This is what they had done.
This was Gabriel.
Turning from the bathroom in disgust, he walked to the bed. He pulled the sheet from the large mattress, lay on the wooden floor, and pulled the blanket over him. But he didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t sleep until his brothers were by his side.
It was his vow.
He had made them a promise.
One he wouldn’t break.
Chapter Eight
Four weeks had passed. Night had just fallen, and Gabriel walked the halls of the manor like a ghost. Letting himself into his grandfather’s study, he moved around the desk and sat in his grandfather’s seat. Gabriel’s head fell forward into his hands. He was failing. He didn’t know how to get them out. Miller had started adoption proceedings, but there was no trace of his brothers on any record. They were vanished. Cast from the earth by the Brethren. Gabriel was sure Miller believed he was inventing his brothers. Believed that Gabriel was mentally scarred from his time in Holy Innocents and had made up his brothers as a way to cope with loneliness, with abandonment.