Chapter 8 - The quiet siege
Adrian’s piercing blue eyes darkened into a violent, stormy shade. The betrayal was a physical blow, a cold knife sliding between his ribs. Marcus had stood beside him at James’s funeral. Marcus had poured him drinks and sworn bloody revenge on the rival families they both blamed for the explosion.
He didn't scream. He didn't break anything. The restrained acting of his grief was far more terrifying than a chaotic outburst. He calmly walked to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a heavy, matte-black handgun. He checked the magazine with a smooth, practiced motion, then slid the weapon into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back.
"Go to your quarters, Mrs. Holloway," Adrian ordered softly. "Lock the door. This ends tonight."
He stepped out of the study and walked down the long, dimly lit hallway toward the security control room. The warm lighting of the house seemed to cast longer, darker shadows now. He found his head of security sitting in front of the camera monitors.
"Boss," the guard said, standing up quickly.
"Where is Marcus?" Adrian asked, his tone casual, belying the violence brewing beneath his skin.
"He just pulled through the front gates, sir. He said you requested an urgent meeting regarding the restaurant's finances."
Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. Marcus was moving fast. He had seen the child, realized his secret was unravelling, and came directly to the estate to manage the fallout, or perhaps to finish the job he started three years ago.
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"Send him to the greenhouse," Adrian said smoothly. "Tell him I am waiting for him there. And pull all the guards back from the west wing. I want the path from the driveway to the greenhouse completely empty."
The guard nodded, confused but strictly obedient. Adrian turned and walked toward the back of the estate. He was about to handle family business, and he was going to make sure the echoes of it never reached the room where his niece was sleeping.
