Chapter 3
The silence in the foyer was no longer shocked; it was lethal. Adrian slowly released Emma’s wrist, but his dark, piercing eyes remained locked onto her face. The fair, rosy skin of her cheeks had drained to a sickly, translucent white.
"Silas," Adrian called out without looking away from Emma.
A tall, broad-shouldered guard stepped forward instantly. "Yes, Boss."
"Take the child to the kitchen. Have the chef make her whatever she wants," Adrian ordered, his voice cold and flat.
"No!" Emma gasped, stepping in front of Nora protectively. "Please, Mr. Cole. She’s just a baby. She doesn't know what she's saying."
"Mommy, I want ice cream!" Nora chirped, completely oblivious to the impending doom.
Adrian looked down at Nora, his expression softening just a fraction, though his eyes remained stormy. "Go with Silas, Nora. Eat all the ice cream you want. Your mother and I have some business to handle."
Nora smiled, adjusting her oversized black tie. "Okay! Handle it, Mommy!"
She happily took Silas’s large hand and trotted away toward the kitchen corridors. Emma watched her go, her chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs. Once the heavy oak doors swung shut, sealing Nora safely away, Adrian stood up to his full, towering height.
"My study," Adrian commanded. It wasn't a request.
Emma followed him down the long, sunlit hallway, her legs feeling like lead. She stepped into the vast, wood-paneled study, the scent of rich leather and expensive scotch filling her senses. Adrian closed the heavy doors behind them, locking them with a sharp click.
He walked around his massive mahogany desk and leaned against the edge of it, crossing his arms. He held the silver lighter in his hand, his thumb tracing the engraved lion crest.
"I buried my brother three years ago," Adrian said, his voice dangerously even. "When we found his body, his pockets were empty. This lighter was the only thing missing."
"Mr. Cole, I can explain," Emma stammered, her hands trembling as she clutched her white apron.
"You are going to do exactly that," Adrian said, his dark eyes slicing into her. "You came to work here fourteen months ago. A quiet, hardworking single mother who kept her head down. And now, I find out my housekeeper’s daughter is carrying James’s lighter."
"I found it," Emma lied desperately, her voice shaking. "I found it in the guest wing while I was cleaning. Nora just likes shiny things—"
Adrian threw the lighter onto the polished wood of the desk. It hit the surface with a loud, ringing crack that made Emma jump.
"Do not lie to me in my own house, Emma," Adrian warned, pushing off the desk and taking a slow, predatory step toward her. "You think I don't see it? I saw the way she sat. I see the shape of her eyes. She is three years old. James died three years and eight months ago."
Emma backed away until her shoulders hit the heavy oak door. There was nowhere left to run.
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"Who is her father?" Adrian demanded, his voice rising in volume, the terrifying mafia boss breaking through his controlled facade. "Look me in the eyes and tell me who her father is!"
Tears spilled over Emma’s lashes, tracking down her rosy cheeks. "You already know," she whispered brokenly. "You already know, Adrian."
