Chapter 2 - BULLETS AND BREAKFAST MEETINGSThe executive floor of Kane Enterprises was suddenly a war zone.
As alarms wailed overhead, Adrian didn't run—he moved with deadly, predatory precision. He shoved Noah deeper into his embrace, whispering something soothing into the boy's dark hair, while his free hand gripped my wrist, dragging me along with him at a blistering pace.
“Dad, are we playing hide-and-seek?” Noah asked, his voice muffled against his father's jacket.
“Yes, buddy,” Adrian muttered, scanning the glass-walled corridors. “And the bad guys are trying to find us.”
We ducked into the private executive panic room hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in Adrian’s office. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind us with a satisfying, airtight thud, plunging us into dim, amber emergency lighting.
I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. For two years, I had typed up letters, organized corporate mergers, and pretended I didn't know what kind of cargo moved through the Manhattan docks at midnight. But standing here, smelling the faint trace of cedarwood and gunpowder on Adrian’s suit, the terrifying reality of his world slammed into me.
“Are you hurt?” Adrian asked, his eyes scanning me rapidly.
“W-what?” I stammered. “Me? No! Your son is in a mafia crossfire, and you’re asking if I’m hurt?”
“If you panic, you become a liability,” Adrian said coldly, though his thumb brushed over my trembling wrist in an unconscious gesture of reassurance. “And I don't like losing my liabilities.”
“I am not a liability, Mr. Kane,” I snapped, adrenaline finally overriding my terror. “I am the only reason your schedule isn't a complete disaster, and right now, I am regretting every single day I didn't ask for a dental plan!”
A low, unexpected chuckle rumbled in Adrian’s chest. Even in the middle of an active siege, the man found a way to look infuriatingly composed.
“A dental plan,” he repeated, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Noted. When we get out of here, I’ll double your benefits.”
“If we get out of here!” I hissed, walking over to the reinforced control panel. Through the high-tech security monitors, we could see three armed men in black tactical gear sweeping into Adrian’s main office, smashing the glass coffee table and tearing apart the desk.
“They’re looking for the ledger,” Adrian murmured, his expression hardening.
“What ledger?” I gasped.
“The one you spent three hours cross-referencing yesterday, believing it was just shipping logistics for imported marble,” Adrian replied smoothly.
I stared at him in horror. “You used me to audit cartel accounts?!”
“I used your unmatched accounting genius to find the mole skimming from my overseas ports,” Adrian corrected without a trace of remorse. “And you balanced the books perfectly. Outstanding work, by the way.”
Before I could yell at him for weaponizing my spreadsheet skills, Noah tugged on Adrian's sleeve.
“Dad. The red light on the wall is blinking. Does that mean the microwave is done?”
Adrian sighed, kneeling down to look his son in the eye. “No, buddy. It means we have visitors trying to break through the steel door. Elena, hold this.”
He handed me a heavy, cold Glock pistol.
My hands flew up as if it were a venomous snake. “I don't shoot guns! I type! I type 115 words per minute, I don't fire rounds!”
“It’s simple,” Adrian said, pressing my fingers around the grip. His warm hand covered mine, steadying my shaking fingers. His face was inches from mine, his gray-blue eyes burning with an intense, hypnotic focus. “Point. Pull the trigger. Do not think. Just protect what’s mine.”
May you like
What’s mine.
The words echoed in the enclosed space, and for a terrifying second, I wasn't sure if he meant his son, or the ledger, or... me.
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