Chapter 10
The silence in the music room was profound, a sharp contrast to the violence that had just torn through it. Adrian stood still for a long moment, allowing the heavy, adrenaline-fueled tension to drain from his broad shoulders. He took a slow, deep breath, smoothing the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. The lethal Mafia Boss receded into the shadows, leaving behind only a fiercely devoted father.
He turned around and dropped to both knees on the pristine hardwood floor, utterly disregarding the scattered debris.
Emma was still wrapped tightly in his dark, tailored suit jacket, her small frame looking incredibly fragile. She looked up at him, her bright blue eyes wide and still shimmering with tears, though the immediate terror had passed.
"Are the bad people gone, Daddy?" Emma whispered, her tiny voice echoing softly in the large room.
"Yes, piccola mia," Adrian murmured warmly, a genuine, loving smile breaking through his normally cold, intimidating features. He reached out and gently brushed a stray curl from her fair, rosy cheek. "They are gone. And they are never, ever coming back. I promise you."
He carefully lifted her small, injured hand, inspecting the reddened fingers once more. The swelling was minor, but the intent behind it still made his blood boil. He brought her tiny knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against the bruised skin.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly.
"A little bit," Emma sniffled, leaning forward to wrap her arms securely around his neck. "But I'm brave, like you."
"You are the bravest girl I know," Adrian agreed, wrapping his powerful arms around her and lifting her effortlessly as he stood up. "Let's go find Maria and get some ice for this hand. And maybe a very large bowl of ice cream. How does that sound?"
Emma nodded against his shoulder, her breathing finally settling into a calm, steady rhythm.
Adrian carried his daughter out of the ruined music room, leaving the scattered flowers, broken instruments, and the shattered illusions of the Arden family behind him. He walked through the bright, sprawling corridors of his estate, the natural cinematic lighting casting long, protective shadows around them.
After leaving Emma in the secure, loving care of his head housekeeper with strict instructions not to leave her side, Adrian retreated to his private study.
The room was dark, lined with heavy mahogany bookshelves and smelling of expensive leather. Adrian poured himself two fingers of amber whiskey from a crystal decanter, the glass clinking softly in the quiet room. He walked over to his massive desk, his cold, sharp eyes narrowing as he looked at the encrypted secure phone resting on the leather blotter.
Camille and Miles were greedy, foolish opportunists, but they were not criminal masterminds. A simple bodyguard and a gold-digging socialite did not have the resources or the connections to successfully infiltrate the inner sanctum of the Bellucci syndicate without outside help. They had been planted. They had been funded.
Adrian took a slow sip of the burning whiskey, the artistic tattoos on his hand flexing around the glass.
He picked up the encrypted phone and dialed his lead enforcer.
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"Bring me the files on the Chicago syndicate," Adrian commanded, his deep voice dropping into that terrifying, measured cadence that promised a tidal wave of blood. "They sent rats into my house. Now... I am going to burn their city to the ground."
The war had officially begun.
