Chapter 9 - The invisible timer
The revelation hit Adrian like a physical blow. Claire was alive. The woman he had loved, the mother of his child, was suffocating in a steel box somewhere on the freezing docks of the Atlantic. The frighteningly calm exterior of the billionaire boss finally cracked, exposing the raw, desperate man beneath.
Where is she? Adrian roared, his voice shaking the glass of the tall windows, his grip tightening on Victoria’s wrist until she gasped in pain.
Victoria laughed, a breathless, victorious sound. I want safe passage. I want a private jet fueled and waiting at Teterboro, and I want ten million in untraceable bearer bonds. You have nine minutes, Adrian. Or your daughter grows up an orphan.
Adrian released her, shoving her away. Victoria stumbled, smoothing her white tailored suit, her eyes glinting with toxic triumph. She had found his ultimate weakness.
Adrian turned to Lily. The little girl was crying silently, tears streaming down her fair, rosy cheeks. He knelt in front of her, holstering his weapon, and pulled her gently into his broad chest. He held her tight, feeling her tiny heartbeat against his.
Listen to me, Lily, Adrian whispered, kissing the top of her light-brown curls. I am going to bring Mommy home. Do you understand? I promise you.
Lily nodded against his shoulder, her small arms wrapping around his neck.
Adrian stood up, pulling his secure phone from his pocket. He dialed Maya’s number, putting it on speaker for Victoria to hear.
Maya, Adrian said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion, a man executing a flawless, desperate strategy. Have the Gulfstream fueled at Teterboro. Authorize the transfer of ten million in bearer bonds to Victoria’s holding account.
Maya hesitated. Adrian, you can't be serious. If she leaves the country—
Do it, Maya. Now. Adrian cut her off, terminating the call. He looked at Victoria. You have your money. You have your plane. Give me the coordinates to the container.
Victoria smirked, picking up a gold pen from the desk and writing a string of numbers on a piece of expensive stationary. She slid the paper across the mahogany wood. Pier 44. Terminal B. The container is marked with a red serpent. She looked at her luxury watch. You have seven minutes. I suggest you drive fast.
Adrian snatched the paper from the desk. He looked at Victoria one last time, a look of profound, chilling finality. If she is dead, Victoria, there is no place on this earth you can hide from me.
Adrian scooped Lily up in his strong arms, sheltering her head against his chest, and ran out of the study. He sprinted down the grand marble staircase, ignoring the incapacitated guards, his singular focus narrowing to the coordinates on the paper.
He threw Lily safely into the heavily armored backseat of his SUV, locking the doors, and jumped into the driver's seat. The massive engine roared to life, tires screaming against the pavement as the vehicle tore out of the mansion gates, rocketing through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan.
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The digital clock on the dashboard mocked him, counting down the seconds. Six minutes. Five minutes. The billionaire mafia boss drove like a madman, weaving violently through traffic, running red lights, his intense masculine presence entirely consumed by the desperate race against time. He had lost Claire once to the shadows of his world. He would not lose her again.
As the dark, freezing waters of the Atlantic came into view, Adrian slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt at the desolate edge of Pier 44. He grabbed his weapon, leaving Lily secured in the armored car, and sprinted into the labyrinth of towering metal shipping containers.
