Chapter 6 - Adrian’s Realization
Across town, in the cavernous, silent expanse of the Lake Shore Drive mansion, Adrian Moretti was sitting in his leather wingback chair in the dark.
The house had never felt so vast. Or so empty.
The scent of Claire’s lavender room spray had begun to fade, replaced by the heavy, cloying perfume of tuberose that Sophia sprayed incessantly.
In the corner of the living room, Lily’s toy wooden kitchen set stood silent. A small pink sock lay near the base of the grand piano, forgotten during the chaotic departure four days ago. Adrian stared at that sock with a dull, hollow ache that made it difficult to swallow.
The double doors of the study burst open, shattering the quiet.
Sophia walked in, wearing an emerald silk kimono, holding an ice pack against her wrist. Her face was flushed, her voice vibrating with hysterical outrage.
“Adrian! Did you see what they did to me?” she wailed, collapsing onto the leather sofa across from him. “Your brother-in-law had me paraded out of that school in handcuffs! The police humiliated me! The other mothers were taking videos! My reputation in this city is completely destroyed!”
Adrian didn't move. He didn't offer her a drink. He didn't reach out to comfort her.
He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes fixing upon her with a cold, dead intensity that made her voice die in her throat.
“Why were you at Lily’s school, Sophia?” Adrian asked. His voice was dangerously low, the quiet rumble of an idling engine.
“I—I was trying to help!” she stammered, her eyes darting toward the doorway. “You were so miserable! You were sitting here moping about that little brat, and I thought if I brought her home to you, you would see that we could be a family! I was trying to save you from Claire’s games!”
“Did you take a photographer with you?” Adrian asked.
Sophia went pale. “What? No! That was just—he was a friend from a lifestyle blog—”
“Marco showed me the footage,” Adrian interrupted, his voice dropping another octave. “Forty different social media accounts have videos of you screaming like a lunatic on the steps of the most exclusive elementary school in Illinois. The board of St. Bartholomew’s called me an hour ago. They are considering revoking Lily’s enrollment because of the public scandal.”
“Well, she can go to public school!” Sophia spat, her mask slipping completely. “Why do you care so much about that spoiled little girl? She looked me in the eyes and insulted me, Adrian! And Claire is trying to ruin you! She sent auditors into the docks today! She’s trying to steal your company, and you’re sitting here worrying about a five-year-old’s school!”
Adrian stood up slowly.
He towered over her, six feet two inches of solid muscle and coiled violence. In all the months they had spent sneaking around luxury hotel suites and private dining rooms, Sophia had only seen the generous, infatuated lover who bought her vintage jewelry and whispered promises of power.
She had never seen the Adrian Moretti who put men in concrete foundations.
“Do not,” Adrian whispered, leaning down until his face was inches from hers, “ever call my daughter a spoiled brat again. If you speak Lily’s name with that mouth one more time, Sophia, I will have Marco put you in the trunk of a car and dump you at the Indiana state line.”
Sophia began to tremble. Real, unfeigned fear flickered in her wide eyes.
“Adrian... baby, please,” she whimpered, reaching out to touch his chest. “I love you. Everything I did, I did for us. Claire never appreciated you. She was cold. She was boring. I’m the one who stands by you.”
Adrian looked down at her hand on his shirt.
For the first time in three years, the sight of her touch didn't ignite his desire. It made his skin crawl.
He remembered Claire standing at the kitchen island, her grey eyes steady, holding Lily’s hand. He remembered the dignity with which she had spoken, the absolute absence of screaming or hysterics. Claire had built this home with quiet grace. She had endured his late nights, his violent world, his cold silences, and she had never once asked for a single share of his business or a headline in the paper.
She had only asked for his honesty.
And he had broken that honesty into tiny, pathetic pieces and left them in a walnut box for his daughter to find.
“Go to your room, Sophia,” Adrian said, turning his back on her. “The deposition is tomorrow morning. If I lose custody of my daughter because of your stunt at that school, you won't need to worry about your reputation in Chicago. You won't have a life here at all.”
Sophia scrambled off the sofa, clutching her kimono, and fled the study, the click of her heels sounding frantic against the parquet floor.
Adrian walked over to the desk, picked up the small pink sock from the floor, and pressed it against his face.
He had conquered the city of Chicago. He had hundreds of millions of dollars, a fleet of ships, and hundreds of men who jumped at his command.
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And he was the loneliest, most pathetic bastard on the face of the earth.
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