Gabriel the 4 seats, p.1
Gabriel : The 4 Seats, page 1
Gabriel
The 4 Seats
Cassandra Doon
Contents
1. Gabriel Gallo
2. Alba Baker
3. Gabriel Gallo
4. Alba Baker
5. Gabriel Gallo
6. Alba Baker
7. Gabriel Gallo
8. Alba Baker
9. Gabriel Gallo
10. Alba Baker
11. Gabriel Gallo
12. Alba Baker
13. Gabriel Gallo
14. Alba Baker
15. Gabriel Gallo
16. Alba Baker
17. Gabriel Gallo
18. Alba Baker
19. Gabriel Gallo
20. Alba Baker
21. Gabriel Gallo
22. Alba Baker
23. Gabriel Gallo
24. Alba Baker
25. Gabriel Gallo
26. Alba Baker
27. Gabriel Gallo
28. Alba Baker
29. Gabriel Gallo
30. Alba Baker
31. Gabriel Gallo
32. Alba Baker
33. Gabriel Gallo
34. Alba Baker
35. Gabriel Gallo
36. Alba Baker
37. Gabriel Gallo
38. Alba Baker
About Cassandra Doon
Also by Cassandra Doon
Gabriel - The Four Seats Copyright 2024 by Cassandra Doon
All Rights Reserved. Printed in Australia. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied or critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition 2024
Translations provided by Michael Calazis
“She burned too bright for this world.”
― Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
Chapter 1
Gabriel Gallo
The moment I saw Alba's rickety gate from the lofty perch of my bike, my heart kicked up a notch, like it was trying to match the jackhammer drilling into concrete at a nearby construction sight. Adrenaline had me pedalling harder, faster, even though I knew I'd be drenched in sweat when I reached her. Didn't matter. Today was the day I’d lay everything out for her, no more circling around how I felt.
I skidded to a stop, gravel crunching under the tyres like the rubber was being torn off. I dropped the bike on the ground, unbothered if it got scratched or damaged. My feet pounded the path to her door, hands shaky and palms slick. Didn’t even bother knocking. That was how we did things.
"Alba!" I called out as I barged in, the screen door slamming behind me with a bang that echoed through the small and cramped house, the silence palpable.
With every step deeper into her house, the knot in my stomach twisted tighter. I swallowed down the nerves, my throat suddenly parched but my fist of determination still clenched. Now or never, Gabe. Don't chicken out now, you coward.
My mind was a chaotic mess, thoughts spinning like a vortex, but the plan was crystal clear. Tell her. Just freaking tell her you like her. Simple, right? Yeah, about as simple as disarming a bomb with a blindfold on.
"Alba!" I yelled again, more insistent this time as I headed for her room. She had to know I was here.
It was Saturday, the one day Dad cut me some slack. Let me breathe outside the crushing weight of family expectations. "Be back by lunch for work," he'd said in that gruff voice that brooked no argument. But until then, I had these precious hours that ticked away faster than science could explain.
I was sixteen and full of this raw, jagged emotion that I couldn't contain anymore. It bubbled inside me, on the verge of spilling over, and Alba... she was the only one who made it feel right. As if, maybe, there was a place for someone like me, caught between duty and desire.
"Alba," I whispered now, softer, as I reached her door. It stood ajar, and I nudged it open with the tip of my shoe. My breath hitched. There she was, lying on her bed, gazing at the ceiling like she was searching for answers in the plaster. And hell, maybe she was.
"Hey," I said, almost tripping over the word as it fell out of my mouth. This was it, Gabe. Now or never.
The world outside Alba's room was a cesspool of secrets and silent screams—my family's legacy etched into the dark underbelly of Melbourne. But here, in this cramped space that reeked of cheap perfume and stubborn hope, none of that mattered.
"Everyone thinks they know shit about us," I muttered, watching her eyes flit over to meet mine. She had this way of looking at you, unflinching like she could see right through all the layers of crap with her x-ray vision. "My old man's operations, the blood money... and it doesn't faze you?"
Her lips curled into a half-smile with a flicker of defiance. "Gabe, I come from two streets down where every second door is hiding something illegal or someone broken. Your mansion might as well be a castle in the clouds."
"Fuck, Alba!" I ran a hand through my hair, frustration knotting in my gut. "You deserve better than this—better than both our screwed-up worlds."
She shrugged, the motion so carefree it stung. "Don't care about 'better,' Gabe. I care about real. And you? You're the realest thing in this shithole city."
I grappled with words and feelings that were too big for my chest. My family—they were a law unto themselves, dealing in shadows and fear. Yet, they never turned Alba away. It was like they sensed she belonged to a part of me that even their filthy lucre couldn't touch.
"Doesn't bother you?" I pressed on, needing to understand. "That your dad's a deadbeat? That my family wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire?"
"Bothers me less than it should," she admitted, her voice low and steady. "Your folks feed me, Gabe. They don't have to, but they do. And not because they pity me, but because... Well, I think because of you."
A bitter laugh escaped me as I looked around her room—bare walls, worn-out carpet, and those annoying glow-in-the-dark stars that did little to brighten the compact space. It was like a punch to the senses how different our lives were, yet here we were, gravitating towards each other like a pair of doomed comets set to collide.
"Alba, I—" The words jammed in my throat, a tangled mess of fear and longing. Everything I'd planned to say vaporised in the heat of her gaze. She got it, though. She always fucking did.
"Save it, Gabe," she said softly. "We've got more important things to talk about. Like how you're gonna sneak me some of that lasagna Mrs. Marshall made, without your mum noticing it's gone."
"Christ, Alba!" I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding and managed a shaky grin. "One crisis at a time, huh?"
"Exactly." Her smile grew, lighting up the room like those damn stars never could. "Now spill, what's eating you?"
And just like that, the moment came crashing back—the reason I'd pedalled like a madman to get there, the confession that had been gnawing at my insides.
"Alba," I said, heart slamming against my ribs, "I’ve got to tell you something..."
"Sure, shoot." She shifted, her green eyes locking onto mine with that intensity that always made me nervous, like she could see right through me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my palms suddenly slick against the well-worn bedspread. "I like you, Alba. I mean, I really fucking like you."
There was a pause—a stretched-out second where the world held its breath and the only sounds were the distant hum of traffic from the rough side of town and the jackhammer a few streets away. Then her face split into a wide beam, a sunbeam that shone just for me.
"About bloody time, Gabe," she teased, her eyes serious. "I thought you were never going to ask."
"Ask what?" I played dumb because my heart was doing somersaults and I needed a moment to catch up and compose myself.
"To be your girlfriend, you idiot!" Alba launched herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck.
And then we were kissing—her lips attaching to mine, sweet and wet. It was an awkward kiss, our teeth colliding, our nerves making us clumsy as we explored each other for the first time. My first kiss. Our first kiss.
It felt like every piece of me clicked into place. Like I was complete for the first time in my life, all because of this fierce, resilient girl who'd grown up too tough, too fast, and on the wrong side of town.
"Alba," I murmured against her lips. "You're it for me, you know that?"
"Good," she said, pulling back far enough to look me in the eye. "Because you're stuck with me now, Gabriel Gallo. And not even your mobster family can scare me away."
"Forever," I said, meaning every word.
We spent the morning wrapped up in each other, forgetting the world outside her door—the one where my family ruled with an iron fist and violence was currency. For a few precious hours, it was just me and Alba against the universe.
But as the clock struck twelve, reality beckoned cruelly. I had to head home to the family business, and to a father whose expectations weighed on me more than a heavyset hitman's gun.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning at mine," I told her as I stood to leave. "Don't forget, yeah? Sunday breakfast is sacred."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Alba replied, her smile tinged with sadness. "Especially as your mom makes the best pancakes."
"See you, Alba." I leaned forward for one last kiss, savouring her sweet taste in my memory.
"See you, Gabe."
With that, I stepped out of her fibro house and back into the life I was born into—one of power, violence, and bloodshed.
As I pedalled away on my push bike, the image of her waving from the doorway became seared into my brain. No matter how deep I sank into the darkness of my family’s affairs, She was the shining star that guided me, and I would burn the whole city down to keep that star shining.
Chapter 2
Alba Baker
After Gabe left, I found myself alone, ensconced within the four walls of my room. My back pressed against the cool comfort of the duvet, but comfort was a luxury that seemed to elude me. With my gaze fixed upon the unadorned ceiling, I embarked on the all-too-familiar journey through the labyrinth of my thoughts, wondering where in the world Dad could be.
His days were typically marked by the sun's arc across the sky—rising with its ascent and returning before it bid the horizon adieu. But as the light began to wane, his usual seat at our worn kitchen table remained conspicuously empty.
He was a gambler, a chaser of fortune's elusive tail. His disappearances were not uncommon, stealthy retreats into the night where he consorted with chance and danced with destiny. Yet, the dawn always brought him back, weaving through the front door with stories etched in the lines of his weary face and the tired slump of his shoulders.
But today, the stubborn hands of the clock scorned me, ticking past the comforting boundaries of routine. The unease twisted in my gut, a gnarled vine that sprouted with every passing minute. I knew the risks of his vices, the seductive whisper of the dice and cards that beckoned him into their treacherous embrace. But never had daylight dwindled to darkness without his return.
The silence of the house clanged in my ears, a hollowness racing through my mind. Each creak of the ageing timber beneath me seemed to echo the same question: Where are you, Dad?
I wanted to believe he was simply caught up in the throes of a particularly captivating game, that any moment now he would stumble through the door with a smile and a pocketful of borrowed time… and money. But the stillness that hung heavy in the air spoke a truth my heart wasn't ready to hear.
The clock's hands inched past 4 pm, a taunting progression that held my breath hostage with each tick. That's when the front door groaned open, a sound that under normal circumstances would have been the prelude to relief. But the figure that stumbled through wasn't the self-assured gambler who left each afternoon; it was the battered shell of the man I called Dad.
"Jesus, Dad!" I sprang towards him, my feet barely touching the ground, my heart somersaulting into my throat. His face was a canvas of purples and blues, swollen and raw, a map of pain that had me clenching my fists in helpless fury.
"Are you okay?" My voice was laced with panic, the words tumbling out in a frantic cascade.
He shook his head, the movement sluggish, defeated. "No, princess," he rasped, his eyes averted in shame. "I fucked up... and now I've lost it all."
Confusion warred with concern as I tried to steady him, the unsaid horrors of his confession prickling at my skin. What did he mean? Lost what?
Before I could press for answers, the door behind him creaked wider, and three hulking figures entered the house. Each was clad in suits that screamed authority and danger, tailored to perfection over their intimidating builds. My eyes snared on one in particular, a looming presence I'd seen lurking in the shadows of Gabe's place. A cold shiver traced my spine as recognition dawned.
"Is she the one?" The question was directed at my father, but their stares bore down on me, an oppressive force that seemed to squeeze the air from my lungs.
Dad's nod was barely perceptible, a tiny betrayal that set my world tilting off its axis. What was happening? Why were these men here? And why—why was I suddenly the centre of this unfolding nightmare?
The frown on the familiar man’s face was a dark omen, etching deeper lines into a visage I'd glimpsed in passing at Gabe's—where shadows clung to corners like cobwebs. My heart stuttered as my father's voice, hoarse and laden with an unspoken apology, uttered the word that sealed my fate. "Yes."
Fingers, chunky and unyielding, wrapped around my arms before I could even gasp. The world blurred into a dizzying parade of motion as they dragged me from the safety of my home, my feet stumbling over themselves in a futile attempt to resist. The cool evening air did nothing to soothe the burning grip on my skin or the heat of panic flaring in my chest.
The black BMW loomed before us, its tinted windows reflecting back a distorted image of fear etched across my features. They shoved me inside, and I landed awkwardly against the leather seats. Sandwiched between two mountains masquerading as men, the familiar one slid behind the wheel, the engine purring to life beneath his command.
"Wh-what is going on?" My voice emerged small, quivering in the tight space of the car that suddenly felt more like a tomb than a mode of transportation.
I caught a glimpse of his eyes in the rearview mirror—those piercing blue orbs that I recognised all too well. They were a sharp contrast to the indifferent mask he wore now; the same eyes that had once offered a smirk of complicity now held a glacial detachment. His silence was an answer of its own, as impenetrable as the darkness beyond the tinted glass.
"Please," I whispered, the single word a plea for something, anything, that could make sense of the chaos ensnaring me.
The car's motion melded into a low hum, yet the world outside seemed to jolt and spin with erratic urgency. My thoughts raced, trying to latch onto any semblance of rational explanation, but they faltered, tripping over the abyss of the unknown.
"Your father owes us a lot of money," the man to my right said, his voice cutting through the silence like the final verdict of a judge. "He gambled more than he had and lost. And now..." He turned, his cold stare fixing on me, "...he put you up to pay for it."
I felt the blood drain from my face, a ghostly chill settling in its place. There was a heaviness to his words that seemed to press down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I do hope you're a virgin," he continued, his tone disturbingly casual as if discussing nothing more than a bet placed on a horse race. "That's the price he's selling you for."
Shock rooted me to the spot, a silent scream trapped within the confines of my throat. My mind rebelled against the reality they were painting—a reality where my worth could be measured, weighed, and bartered by the bad roll of dice or the wrong turn of a card.
As the vehicle glided away from the only home I'd ever known, the last vestiges of sunlight danced mockingly upon the leaves of the trees lining our street. The world outside the car continued unabated, blissfully ignorant of my life shattering within this moving prison.
My heart produced a frantic drumbeat highlighting the turmoil swirling inside me. Betrayal, fear, disbelief—they all clawed at the edges of my sanity, vying for dominance in a mind too numb to process the gravity of my situation. I was a pawn in a game played by men who saw human lives as currency, expendable and easily traded.
As my house faded into the distance along with the life I once knew, I faced forward, terribly homesick already. Each turn of the wheels was a step further from familiarity, leaving behind a hollow shell where Alba Baker used to be.
"Call Luca, call Aubrey—they'll tell you I can't be sold, call Gabe now!" The words tumbled from my lips in a desperate cascade, each name a potential lifeline thrown into the churning sea of my despair.
The man to my right pursed his lips and shook his head, his expression a grim mask. "I can't do that, sorry." His tone was flat, devoid of sympathy as if he were declining a trivial request rather than sealing my fate.
I searched their faces for a shred of humanity, for a glimmer of understanding, but found none. My plea went unheard in the car, swallowed by the hum of the engine and the soft rustle of expensive fabric as they shifted in their seats.
"Let me out!" My shout was punctuated by the pounding of my fists against the leather seat, a rather futile gesture. "Just call Luca, please! Call him! You don’t understand—Luca Gallo wouldn’t allow me to be sold!"
