Chapter 5 - THE AFTERMATH AND THE ULTIMATUMBy noon, the executive floor looked like a crime scene investigator's fever dream. Federal agents—who were conveniently on Adrian’s payroll or terrified of his influence—were quietly escorting the bodies out through the service elevators, while damage control teams replaced the shattered glass and warped steel doors.
Noah was sitting in the executive lounge eating a grilled cheese sandwich and watching cartoons with headphones, entirely unfazed by the fact that a gunfight had just occurred twenty feet away.
Meanwhile, I was sitting at my desk, frantically trying to type an expense report while my hands still shook.
Adrian walked out of his private office, his suit jacket removed, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, corded muscle and a faint scar across his left wrist. He stopped by my desk, placing a steaming cup of caramel macchiato down beside my keyboard.
I looked up, blinking. “I didn't order this.”
“I know,” Adrian said, leaning his hip against the edge of my desk. “You’ve been drinking black coffee for two years because you think it makes you look more professional. It doesn't. It just makes you look stressed and irritable. Drink the sugar.”
I stared at the cup, then up at him. “Your men just shot three syndicate assassins in your office, your security system is destroyed, and you’re bringing me artisanal coffee?”
“My priorities are in order,” Adrian replied smoothly. He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of my keyboard. “Which brings us to the elephant in the room. Or rather, the six-year-old in the lounge.”
My stomach dropped. “Adrian... about what Noah said—”
“Noah was right,” Adrian interrupted quietly.
I froze. “Mr. Kane—”
“Adrian,” he corrected gently. “And don't give me the corporate policy speech. We just survived a hit together. You fired a weapon in defense of my son. You balanced my ledgers, you manage my empire, and you look at me like you want to yell at me and kiss me at the same time.”
“I do not want to kiss you!” I lied so unconvincingly that even the potted plant in the corner seemed to scoff.
Adrian smirked, a devastating, wicked expression that made him look less like a mafia kingpin and more like a dangerous temptation. “Your pulse rate spiked the second I leaned in. I can hear it from here.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I’m observant. Just like my son.” Adrian pushed off the desk, his expression turning serious once more. “The Morosco syndicate thinks they can strike at my heart by targeting my office. That means you aren't safe here anymore, Elena. And you certainly aren't safe going back to your Brooklyn apartment tonight.”
“Wait. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re moving into my Manhattan estate tonight,” Adrian said with absolute, non-negotiable finality. “As my guest. Or, if Noah gets his way, something much more permanent.”
Before I could object, the private elevator chimed, and a sharp, elegant voice echoed across the quiet office.
“Adrian Kane! What on earth is going on here? I heard gunshots all the way down on Madison Avenue!”
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We both turned to see a stunning, impeccably dressed older woman stepping out of the elevator—Adrian’s mother, Isabella Kane, glaring daggers at her son.
And behind her walked a towering, terrifying man with a silver scar across his jaw—Victor Morosco himself, holding a gun directly to Isabella’s temple.
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