Chapter 5 - The Price of LoyaltyBANG.
The gunshot echoed like thunder through the enclosed ballroom.
Before Frank could pull the trigger a second time, Marcus fired a single, lethal shot straight through Frank's chest.
Frank collapsed backward over his chair, the silver pistol clattering across the marble floor.
Panic erupted for a fraction of a second, but my tactical team instantly moved, disarming Dominic and Frank’s remaining guards before they could even draw their weapons.
I didn't care about Frank. I didn't care about the Commission.
My eyes were locked on Claire.
She was standing frozen, her hand pressed against her left side. Blood was rapidly staining the emerald silk of her gown dark red.
"CLAIRE!" I roared.
I didn't care that my legs didn't work. I practically threw myself forward out of my wheelchair, catching her with my arms as her knees gave out. We slammed onto the marble floor together, my body cushioning her fall.
"Claire! Look at me!" I panicked, pressing my hands tightly over the wound on her side. "Marcus! Call an ambulance! NOW!"
"Adrian..." Claire gasped, her breathing short and ragged. Her face was rapidly turning pale, but her green eyes remained locked onto mine. "I... I found him. I got justice for my dad..."
"Shut up! Don't talk!" tears were streaming down my face—tears I hadn't cried in twenty-two years. "You stupid, brilliant, incredible woman! Why didn't you tell me who you were?!"
"Because..." she offered a tiny, weak smile, her hand reaching up to touch my cheek, leaving a smear of red blood on my skin. "Because you were already carrying... too much weight..."
Her eyes fluttered closed, and her hand fell limp against the cold marble floor.
"Claire! CLAIRE! STAY WITH ME!" I screamed, pulling her frail body tightly against my chest, rocking her back and forth as the room blurred around me into a nightmare of shouting, flashing lights, and sirens echoing from the street below.
The private ICU on the eighth floor of Northwestern Memorial Hospital was quiet, save for the rhythmic, steady beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor.
It had been thirty-six hours since the shooting.
I hadn't slept. I hadn't left her side. I sat in my wheelchair beside her bed, holding her left hand in both of mine, resting my forehead against her knuckles just as she had done for me three weeks ago when I had been sick.
Marcus stood by the door, watching me with quiet respect.
"Boss," Marcus said softly. "The Commission has finalized everything. Frank's lieutenants have surrendered. Salieri confirmed that Moretti Logistics is now entirely under your control. The city is quiet."
"I don't care about the city, Marcus," I said, my voice raw and raspy. "Is the surgeon sure?"
"The bullet missed her heart by less than an inch," Marcus repeated for the tenth time. "She lost a lot of blood, but the surgery was successful. She's strong, Adrian. She's going to wake up."
As if responding to his words, the fingers resting inside mine twitched slightly.
I looked up instantly.
Claire’s long eyelashes fluttered. She let out a soft groan, her head turning slowly on the white pillow.
"Claire?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Her eyes opened slowly, squinting against the soft hospital light. She looked around the room, confused, before her gaze finally settled on me.
"Adrian?" she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.
"I'm here," I said, kissing her knuckles, tears springing to my eyes once again. "I'm right here. You're safe. Owen is safe—he's at the estate with a private nanny. Frank is dead. It's over, Claire. It's all over."
Claire looked at me for a long moment, taking in my disheveled hair, my wrinkled clothes, and the dark circles under my eyes.
"You look terrible," she whispered, a tiny, faint smirk spreading across her lips.
A laugh burst out of my chest—a real, loud, breathless laugh that surprised even Marcus.
"You almost died in my arms, Claire Bennett," I said, smiling through my tears. "You don't get to critique my appearance."
"Is Owen... really okay?" she asked, her tone softening with motherly concern.
"He's perfect," I assured her. "He spent all morning playing with Marcus's tactical helmet. I think he's planning to recruit my security detail."
Claire let out a small, soft laugh, though she winced slightly as it pulled at her stitches.
I reached out, gently cupping her face in my hand, my thumb stroking her soft cheek.
"Why didn't you tell me, Claire?" I asked softly, my voice filled with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me you were Thomas Bennett's daughter?"
Claire looked up at me, her eyes deep and full of emotion. "When I took the job at your house, I thought you were just like Frank. I thought you were a cold, heartless mobster who helped cover up my father's death."
"And then?"
"And then I saw you," she whispered. "I saw a man who was trapped in a cage built out of his own guilt. I saw how you looked at your father's books. I saw the way you treated your staff with quiet respect, even when you were trying to pretend to be scary. I realized... you were just as much a victim of Frank as my family was."
May you like
She placed her hand over mine, pressing her cheek against my palm.
"I didn't want to use you for revenge, Adrian," she said softly. "I wanted to set you free."
