A Little Girl Made Me Laugh by Wearing My Tie—Then the Initials on Her Pocket Watch Wiped the Smile From My Face.

The heavy study doors opened with a soft creak. Mrs. Holloway stood nervously in the threshold, her practical black shoes shuffling against the hardwood. She carried a small silver tray with a glass of warm milk and a crystal tumbler of expensive bourbon.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cole," the senior housekeeper murmured, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered. "I thought... I thought the child might be thirsty."

"Bring it here, Mrs. Holloway," Adrian commanded, stepping out from behind his desk.

Claire gently set Nora down on the leather sofa. The three-year-old rubbed her bright blue eyes, the long light-brown curls falling into her face. She spotted the warm milk and immediately reached for it with both hands.

"Thank you, nice lady," Nora said sweetly, taking a slow sip.

Adrian watched her intensely. Every micro-expression, the way her eyebrows furrowed when she concentrated, the way she held the glass—it was all James. The restrained acting of his cold mafia persona completely dissolved in the presence of the child. He took the bourbon from the tray, downing it in one smooth, burning swallow.

"Mrs. Holloway," Adrian said, his voice returning to its sharp, authoritative bark.

"Yes, sir?"

"Go down to the servant quarters," Adrian ordered. "Pack everything belonging to Claire and Nora. Every piece of clothing, every toy. Move it all into the Master East Wing. Prepare the suite next to mine."

Mrs. Holloway’s eyes widened, but she masked her shock instantly. "Right away, sir. Will they be requiring new wardrobes?"

"I will handle their wardrobes tomorrow," Adrian said, his piercing eyes shifting to Claire. "They will no longer be wearing uniforms."

"Adrian, please," Claire protested softly, her heart racing as she realized the absolute permanence of his decision. "The staff will ask questions. The guards will talk."

"Let them talk," Adrian replied, stepping closer to the sofa. He crouched down beside Nora, who was happily swinging her white-tights-covered legs. "If anyone in this house questions your presence in the East Wing, I will personally remove their tongue. You are my family now."

Nora finished her milk and handed the glass back to Mrs. Holloway. She looked at Adrian, her innocent face entirely devoid of fear. She reached out a small hand and gently touched the dark black tattoos peeking out from the collar of his white dress shirt.

"You have drawings on your neck," Nora observed.

Adrian’s breath caught in his throat. He reached up, gently covering her tiny hand with his large, scarred one. "Yes, I do, little bird."

"Daddy James had no drawings," she said simply.