Chapter 3
The air in the grand foyer grew dense, charged with a sudden, silent tension that made the bodyguards shift uncomfortably. Adrian remained crouching before the child, his intense gaze probing her bright features as if searching for a hidden truth written in her rosy skin.
"Is that so?" Adrian murmured softly, forcing his expression to remain gentle. "And what else do you have in that purse of yours, little boss?"
Nora’s eyes lit up with sudden excitement. She puffed out her chest again, eager to show off her treasures. "Important things! Boss things!"
"Show me," Adrian invited, leaning forward slightly.
Nora unzipped the tiny yellow plastic purse and rummaged around inside. She pulled out a plastic lipstick, her pink toy phone, a crumpled napkin, and then her small fingers wrapped around something heavy, metallic, and cold.
"This is the shiny box," Nora announced proudly, holding the object out in her small, open palm.
The morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows caught the surface of the item, reflecting a brilliant metallic glint across Adrian’s face.
Adrian’s smile disappeared instantly.
His entire body went rigid. The broad muscles of his back locked, his jaw clenched hard enough to flex the light stubble along his face, and his dark eyes widened in absolute, breathtaking shock.
Resting in Nora’s tiny palm was an old, antique silver flip-top lighter.
It was heavy, vintage, and worn at the edges. Etched deeply into the polished silver casing was an ornate, unmistakable emblem: the Cole family crest, depicting a striking falcon framed by a shield.
Adrian knew that lighter intimately. It was not his. Adrian carried a sleek, modern matte-black lighter. This silver lighter belonged to James Cole. It was James’s prized possession, an heirloom given to him on his twenty-first birthday. James carried it everywhere, flicking it open during conversations, tapping it against glass tables when he was deep in thought. On the night James died three years ago, his personal effects had been lost, and this lighter had vanished without a trace.
Yet here it was, resting in the hand of a three-year-old child.
Adrian reached out a large, heavily tattooed hand. His fingers trembled subtly—a micro-expression of emotion that no living person had ever seen from the Mafia boss—as he picked up the silver lighter from Nora’s hand.
The cold metal felt heavy in his palm. He turned it over slowly. Scratched crudely into the back casing near the hinge were two initials: J.C.
Directly beneath the initials was a date etched in tiny, jagged numbers: 09-12-2022.
Adrian’s mind raced through the timeline. September 12, 2022. That was precisely three weeks before James was killed. And it was roughly nine months before Nora Hayes was born.
Adrian’s breath hitched in his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer. The blond-brown curls, the blue eyes, the fearless attitude, the chin-on-fist gesture, the lighter, the date.
"Nora..." Adrian spoke, his deep baritone dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly tone that made the guards in the room stiffen. "Where did you get this?"
Nora raised her tiny arm. She pointed her small, chubby finger directly across the grand foyer toward the service corridor.
She pointed straight at Emma.
"Mommy says Daddy gave it to me," Nora said innocently, her sweet toddler voice echoing with terrifying clarity across the silent hall. "She says Daddy is in the stars, but he gave me his shiny box so I wouldn't be scared."
Emma went completely, ghostly pale.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to dissolve. She clutched the white fabric of her apron so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her delicate features twisted in pure, unadulterated terror as Adrian slowly rose from his crouch to his full, towering height.
Adrian turned his head slowly. His intense, dark eyes locked onto Emma with a gaze that could wither steel.
May you like
"Emma," Adrian said, his voice flat, icy, and carrying the weight of an impending storm. "In my office. Now."
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