A three-year-old knocked on a mob boss's bedroom door after midnight and whispered four words that made his blood run cold: "Mommy won't wake up."

Julian took half a step backward, his hand hovering near his jacket lapel. “Adrien, be rational. You’re taking the word of a frightened, half-asleep toddler over a man who has managed your financial empire for a decade?”

“I said,” Adrien repeated, each syllable heavy with impending death, “take off the watch.”

Julian’s eyes darted toward the heavy wooden door. Outside stood two armed sentries loyal to Adrien. There was nowhere to run. Slowly, with trembling fingers, Julian unclasped the vintage Patek Philippe from his wrist and set it on the side table.

The leather band was damp with sweat. But what caught Adrien’s eye was the small scratch along the inner clasp—and the fact that the ticking mechanism made a distinct, audible rhythm in the quiet room.

“Mia,” Adrien asked softly without looking away from Julian. “Is that the watch?”

Mia nodded once, pulling the blankets up to her nose. “He told Mommy she had to forget the papers in the box. Mommy said no. She said Mr. Adrien would know.”

Julian’s facade cracked. The aristocratic composure peeled away, revealing the raw, frantic desperation beneath.

“You don’t understand the scope of what’s happening, Adrien!” Julian hissed, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “The Luciano family didn’t just encroach on our territory—they bought the entire banking syndicate in New York! Our legitimate fronts are being frozen by the SEC by noon tomorrow. Everything you built is turning to dust!”

“And your solution was to sell me out?” Adrien said, stepping forward.

“My solution was survival!” Julian snapped. “Luciano offered us a merger. A transition of power! You were never going to accept it. You’re too stubborn, too trapped in your archaic codes of honor. But Elena—that stupid, nosy girl—she was cataloging the offshore courier receipts in the library safe yesterday morning. She saw the transfer manifests to Luciano’s shell accounts!”

“So you tried to murder her,” Adrien said.

“She wouldn’t take the money!” Julian snarled, his face contorting. “I offered her two million dollars to take her kid and disappear to Mexico! She threw it back in my face. She said you protected her, that she owed you her life. She was going to tell you tonight!”

Before Julian could draw the snub-nosed revolver concealed in his inner pocket, Adrien’s fist slammed into the side of his jaw.

The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting wet wood. Julian crashed across the mahogany coffee table, shattering it into splinters. His gun skittered across the floor.

Adrien didn’t draw his weapon. He simply walked over to the groaning lawyer, planted his heavy boot on Julian’s chest, and leaned down until their eyes met.

“You brought poison into my house,” Adrien whispered. “You threatened a mother in front of her child.”

“Adrien... please...” Julian choked out, blood leaking from his split lip.

The door flew open. Caleb Rourke burst in, his weapon drawn, taking in the scene instantly.

“Boss?”

“Take this garbage to the holding cells in the sub-basement,” Adrien ordered, never breaking eye contact with Julian. “Strip him. Check his teeth for cyanide capsules. If he dies before I give the order, Caleb, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Understood,” Caleb said grimly. He grabbed Julian by the collar and hauled him out like a sack of butchered meat.

Adrien stood alone in the wreckage of his sitting room for a long moment, breathing heavily. He wiped a drop of blood from his cuff, then turned back to the bed.

Mia was watching him, her eyes wide, but she wasn’t screaming.

Adrien walked over, knelt beside the mattress, and pulled the soft blanket over her shoulders. “He won’t ever hurt your mommy again, Mia. I swear to you.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Dr. Charles.