Chapter 5
The silence in the grand ballroom was absolute. Even the background hum of the hotel's ventilation seemed to fade away, leaving only the crisp, bright video colors and the soft elegant warmth of the lighting to frame the tragedy unfolding at the head table.
Ivy met Adrian’s cold, penetrating eyes. Her own eyes were bright with unshed tears, her lips trembling slightly as she prepared to deliver the devastating news. She looked down at Agnes, who was pressing the scorched recipe book closer to her chest, desperately struggling to hold back a fresh wave of tears.
Ivy took a slow, deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was strained and breathless, carrying the heavy, unbearable weight of the truth.
"They burned her bakery, Adrian," Ivy said, slipping past his formal title in the gravity of the moment. Her American accent was thick with sorrow. "They burned it to the ground. Tonight. With her inside."
The words struck the room like a physical blow. A collective, muffled gasp rippled through the nearby dinner tables. The bakery was a beloved local institution, but more importantly, everyone in Adrian’s inner circle knew it was untouchable territory. It was under the direct, personal protection of the Kingsley Mafia family.
Adrian became perfectly, terrifyingly still.
The loose strand of wavy hair over his forehead remained motionless. His sharply defined jaw tightened so severely that the muscles visibly pulsed beneath his extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. The small, artistic tattoo on his neck shifted as he ground his teeth together.
"With her inside," Adrian repeated. His deep voice was barely a whisper, yet it vibrated with a dark, apocalyptic fury that promised rivers of blood.
"Yes," Ivy confirmed, a single tear escaping her expressive almond-shaped eyes and tracking down her rosy cheek. "The fire department said accelerant was poured at all the exits. They wanted to ensure no one got out. Agnes only survived because she was in the basement retrieving flour. She crawled out through a coal chute. All she could save was the book."
Agnes let out a ragged, heartbroken sob. "It's all gone, Adrian," the elderly woman wept, her frail voice shaking violently. "Everything your mother loved... everything we built. It's just ashes."
Adrian knelt down, completely ignoring the expensive fabric of his tailored dark three-piece suit. He placed his large, masculine hands gently over Agnes’s trembling, soot-stained fingers.
"I swear to you, Agnes," Adrian murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble of absolute devotion. "I will rebuild it. Brick by brick. And the men who did this will beg for death long before I allow them to find it."
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He stood back up, his height and broad shoulders dominating the space. He turned his cold, calculating eyes toward the room, his mind already cycling through the list of rival syndicates and enemies who would dare cross such a sacred line.
But before he could issue his first command to his waiting bodyguards, a sharp, frantic voice shattered the silence from behind him.
