Chapter 6 - The Siege EndsTwo days later, the storm finally broke.
The morning sun rose over the Chicago suburbs, casting a brilliant, blinding glare across endless fields of pristine white snow.
At 9:00 AM, the heavy rumble of snowplows clearing the private lane echoed up to the estate. Moments later, a convoy of black SUVs bearing the insignia of Adrian’s security detail tore up the drive, piling out dozens of armed guards led by Marcus, Adrian’s fiercely loyal second-in-command.
When Marcus and his men breached the front doors expecting a massacre, they instead found the foyer cleaned of broken glass, the dead hitmen secured in the basement cold room, and their feared boss sitting calmly at the head of the dining table in a fresh black suit, eating a cup of oatmeal.
Standing beside him, pouring fresh coffee into a porcelain mug, was me.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping as he stared from Adrian’s bandaged shoulder to my calm, unbothered expression.
“Boss...” Marcus stammered, looking around the pristine room. “What... what happened here?”
“Morales sent a hit squad,” Adrian said, his voice flat, commanding, and entirely back to its chilling, authoritative baseline. “They’re dead in the basement. Clear them out, secure the perimeter, and execute Protocol Nine on Morales’s shipping lanes in the harbor.”
“Protocol Nine?” Marcus’s eyes widened. “Sir, that’s an all-out war.”
“Then let it be a war,” Adrian replied coldly. He looked up at me, softening just fractionally before returning his attention to Marcus. “And listen to me very carefully, Marcus. If anyone in this organization ever disrespects Mrs. Cross again, you won't need to execute them—I will do it myself.”
Marcus blinked, choking on his own saliva as his brain tried to process the title Adrian had just assigned me.
Mrs. Cross.
I set the coffee pot down, crossing my arms over my chest, looking down at Adrian with a raised eyebrow. “Mrs. Cross? I don't recall accepting a proposal, Mr. Cross.”
May you like
Adrian leaned back in his leather chair, a slow, dark, predatory smile touching his lips—the first genuine, unburdened smile I had ever seen on his face.
“Consider it a preliminary offer,” he murmured, his gray eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unwavering possession. “And knowing my track record, sweetheart, you know I always get what I want.”
