Chapter 3 - The Little Girl Called Him Daddy
The small living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The ticking of a wall clock near the kitchen sounded like a marching drum.
Adrian slowly lowered himself onto his knees, ignoring the sharp, agonizing pull of the stitches in his shoulder. He brought himself down to her eye level, removing his dark leather gloves and laying them on the carpet.
"Hi, Lily," he said, his voice dropping several octaves, stripped of the harshness that terrified men across the city.
Lily took three tentative steps forward. She didn't look afraid; she looked intensely curious. She looked at his crisp suit, at the silver watch on his wrist, and then at his face—tracing his sharp jawline, the light stubble, and the faint scar running through his left eyebrow.
She reached into her pajama pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, unfolding it with small, precise fingers. On it was a crayon drawing of three figures: a woman with yellow hair, a tiny girl, and a tall man drawn entirely in black crayon, his head completely blank.
"Are you the man from the dark?" she asked innocently.
Adrian’s breath hitched in his throat. He felt an agonizing pressure building behind his eyes. "I... I was, Lily. I stayed in the dark for a long time to keep you safe."
Lily dropped her paper. She stepped even closer, until she was standing directly in front of him. She stared into his dark brown eyes—eyes that had stared down rival bosses without flinching—and saw something she recognized instantly.
She reached out her tiny, warm hand and placed her small fingers against his cheek.
"Mommy told me my daddy was a prince who had to go away to fight monsters," Lily murmured, her voice pure and uncorrupted by the cruel world Adrian lived in. "Are you my daddy?"
The word hit Adrian like a physical blow. Daddy.
Not "Boss." Not "Don Moretti." Not the ghost of New York.
"Yes, sweetheart," Adrian choked out, his voice cracking. "I'm your daddy."
Lily smiled—a bright, radiant smile that illuminated the dimly lit apartment—and wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his expensive wool suit.
Adrian’s arms trembled as he gently folded them around her tiny frame, holding her close to his chest. He could feel her warmth, her small heart beating rapidly against his own damaged, failing heart.
"Daddy," she whispered softly into his ear, "can I hold your hand just once? Like the girls at daycare do with their daddies?"
She pulled back slightly and offered her tiny right hand, her little fingers stretched wide.
Adrian looked down at her small palm. Slowly, reverently, he wrapped his large, calloused, blood-stained hand around hers. Her little fingers barely covered his knuckles.
And in that exact second, the mighty Adrian Moretti—a man who had ruled the city’s underground with an iron fist, who had never shed a tear even when buried beneath his father’s grave—broke down completely.
He rested his forehead against her tiny shoulder, his body trembling with silent, deep-chested sobs. The tears rained down onto her pink pajamas. All the guilt, all the isolation, all the brutal sins of his past came crashing down on him in a single, devastating wave.
Sarah turned away, pressing her palm to her mouth as tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
"I've got you," Lily whispered sweetly, patting the back of his head with her free hand. "Don't be sad, Daddy. I'm holding your hand now."
Before Adrian could say another word, his dark leather gloves on the carpet began to vibrate.
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Vincent opened the apartment door without knocking, his face as pale as chalk. He didn't look at the touching family reunion; he looked directly at Adrian with eyes wide with sheer panic.
"Boss," Vincent said, his voice tight and urgent. "We have a massive problem. Volkov’s men... they just breached the lower lobby. They knew you were here."
