Chapter 2 - The Secret Behind the GlassI stood up, smoothed my blazer, and pushed open the heavy oak-and-glass door to Adrian’s office.
Noah was no longer sitting in the executive chair. Instead, he was curled up on the oversized leather sofa in the corner, fast asleep, clutching Gerald the elephant tightly against his chest with his thumb resting gently near his mouth. The frantic energy of the morning had finally caught up to him, leaving him looking impossibly small and vulnerable in the cavernous room.
Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling Manhattan streets below. His back was to me, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders tense. He didn't turn around immediately as I walked in.
“Is he asleep?” I asked softly, keeping my voice down so as not to wake the boy.
“Out like a light,” Adrian replied, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. He turned around slowly. The amusement from the hallway was completely gone. In its place was a heavy, guarded expression that made him look exhausted. He walked over to his desk, picked up a silver pen, and rolled it between his fingers. “Children have a way of running on pure adrenaline until they hit a brick wall. Once they stop, they crash hard.”
“He’s a wonderful boy, Mr. Kane,” I said carefully, standing a few feet from his desk. “Very observant. Maybe a little too observant.”
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Adrian’s lips. He looked up, his gray-blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel thin. “He’s smart. Too smart for his own good. And he doesn't filter things the way adults do. When Noah wants something—or thinks something—he says it out loud, regardless of how inconvenient or dangerous it might be.”
“Dangerous?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “It was an innocent comment from a six-year-old, sir. Nobody is in danger.”
Adrian walked around the desk, stopping just an arm’s length away from me. Up close, the sheer physical presence of the head of the Kane family was overwhelming. He towered over me, radiating a quiet, dangerous authority that made every instinct I possessed scream to take a step back. Yet, I stood my ground, refusing to look away.
“You don't understand, Elena,” Adrian said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. “Noah doesn't say things like that by accident. He hasn't mentioned a mother—or asked for one—in over two years. Not since Sarah left.”
The name Sarah hung in the air like smoke. Everyone in New York’s high-society and underworld circles knew the tragedy of Sarah Kane. She had vanished mysteriously three years ago, leaving behind a grieving husband and a toddler, with whispers of mob vendettas, betrayal, and a midnight disappearance trailing her name like a ghost. Adrian never spoke of her. In the two years I had worked for him, her name had never once crossed his lips.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, genuinely struck by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. “I didn't mean to pry into your personal life—”
“You aren't prying,” Adrian interrupted, his gaze softening as he looked down at me. “That’s why I brought you in here. Before Noah fell asleep, I asked him what he meant out in the hallway. Why he picked you.”
My breath hitched. “And... what did he say?”
Adrian walked back to his desk, picked up a small, leather-bound notebook, and handed it to me. It was Noah’s drawing pad. “He didn't just pick a random face from the office, Elena. Look at the last page.”
I took the notebook with trembling fingers and flipped it open.
There, drawn in clumsy crayon strokes, was a picture of the grand staircase at the Kane estate. Standing at the top of the stairs was a faceless woman in a long dress, holding a suitcase. And standing at the bottom was a tiny stick-figure boy looking up, crying.
Beneath the drawing, in messy, half-formed first-grade handwriting, Noah had printed: SHE IS COMING BACK TO MAKE US SMILE.
I looked up from the pad, my chest tightening. “What does this mean, Adrian?”
Before Adrian could answer, the secure phone on his desk blared a harsh, urgent ringtone—a private line reserved exclusively for capos and high-level syndicate emergencies.
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Adrian’s face hardened instantly. The vulnerable father vanished, replaced in a microsecond by the ruthless mafia boss. He snatched up the receiver, listened for three seconds, and said only four words that made my blood run cold:
“Lock down the building.”
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