Chapter 6 - the father's command
The next morning, the grand dining room of the Moretti estate was filled with the cheerful noise of three five-year-old girls eating chocolate chip pancakes.
Lily sat at the head of the long walnut table, pouring maple syrup with extreme care, while Sophie sat beside her with her pink notebook open next to her orange juice.
“Pancake rating: 10/10,” Sophie announced loudly, making a checkmark. “Chef Marco receives a gold star.”
Adrien sat at the opposite end of the table, dressed in a tailored navy suit, sipping black coffee. For thirty-eight years, his mornings had been spent reviewing financial ledgers, security reports, and territory maps in silent isolation. Now, his dining hall was filled with bright pastel ribbons and innocent laughter.
Claire walked into the room wearing a simple cream dress, her soft brown hair pinned back, looking healthy and radiant.
Adrien stood up immediately, pulling out the chair beside his own for her. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Claire flushed rosy pink, taking her seat as Adrien poured her a cup of fresh coffee.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the dining room opened. Adrien’s head of security, Marcus, stepped inside, looking unusually tense.
“Boss,” Marcus said in a low voice. “The senior family captains have arrived for the quarterly briefing. They’re waiting in the grand hall.”
Adrien’s demeanor instantly shifted back into terrifying authority. He stood up, adjusting his cuffs. “Show them into the study.”
“Adrien...” Claire called out softly, a hint of worry in her eyes.
Adrien turned to her, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Eat your breakfast, Claire. It’s just business.”
In the grand study, ten elderly mob captains and territory managers sat along the leather sofas. Standing near the fireplace was Don Carmine—the seventy-five-year-old senior advisor of the Moretti family.
Don Carmine looked at Adrien as he entered. “Adrien, rumors are spreading through the city that you brought a civilian baker and her three children into the Lake Shore estate. Marcus Valenti is claiming you threatened his son over a protection fee.”
Adrien walked behind his mahogany desk, resting his broad hands on the leather blotter. His dark eyes swept the room with lethal, unyielding intensity.
“Claire Bennett is not just a civilian baker, Carmine,” Adrien announced, his deep voice carrying an authority that silenced the entire room. “She is the mother of my children. And yesterday, I claimed her and my three daughters as the sole legal heirs to the Moretti bloodline.”
The captains gasped softly, exchanging stunned glances.
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“If Marcus Valenti or anyone else in this city touches a single hair on their heads,” Adrien growled softly, “I will burn their entire family line to the ground. Is that understood?”
Don Carmine looked into Adrien’s dark eyes, seeing a fierce, unshakeable devotion he had never seen in the young Don before. The old patriarch bowed his head respectfully. “Understood, Don Moretti.”
