Chapter 3 - An Unwelcome Guest
Emma moved into the east wing of the penthouse that very evening. Her room was bigger than any apartment she had ever seen, with a king-sized bed wrapped in Egyptian cotton and a marble bathroom with heated floors.
Yet she couldn’t sleep.
At 2:00 AM, wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt and leggings, she crept into the penthouse kitchen. She needed to inspect the tools. If she was responsible for keeping the king of Chicago alive, she wasn't taking chances.
She was boiling a fresh pot of herbal tea when the heavy double doors swung open.
A man walked in. He was in his late forties, dressed in a sharp three-piece suit with an expensive silk tie, his silvering hair slicked back. He had Adrian’s sharp jawline, but his eyes were narrow, cold, and arrogant.
“Well, well,” the man sneered, sizing Emma up with blatant disgust. “The stray cat from the lobby.”
Emma gripped the handle of the kettle. “Who are you?”
“Marco Vale. Adrian’s cousin. And senior managing director of Vale Logistics.” Marco walked up to the counter, leaning in close enough for Emma to smell expensive bourbon on his breath. “I heard about the circus this afternoon. A little peasant girl playing doctor with coffee pots.”
“The coffee pot had poison in it, Mr. Vale,” Emma said evenly. “If you cared about your cousin, you’d be glad I found it.”
Marco’s eyes flashed with venom. “My cousin is paranoid. His mind is rotting from stress, and now he’s letting a chubby little nobody sleep in his penthouse. Let me give you some advice, sweetheart.”
He reached out to pinch her chin.
Before his fingers could touch her, a massive hand clamped around Marco’s wrist like a bear trap.
Adrian appeared from the shadows of the hallway. He wore black silk trousers and a loose black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His dark eyes burned with lethal intensity.
“Touch her,” Adrian purred, twisting Marco’s wrist until the older man gasped and dropped to his knees, “and I will feed your fingers to the furnace in the basement.”
“Adrian! Dammit, let go!” Marco hissed in agony. “I came to check on you! The board is asking questions about the disruption!”
“The board answers to me,” Adrian whispered into his cousin's ear. “And Emma answers only to me. If you speak to her again without my permission, Marco, family or not, I will bury you under the new pier.”
Adrian shoved Marco backward. The older man stumbled, clutching his bruised wrist, his face red with humiliation. He shot Emma a look of pure hatred before storming out into the night.
Emma let out a shaky breath. “He hates me.”
Adrian turned to her, his gaze softening in the dim kitchen light. “He hates that you ruined his plans.”
Emma looked up, shocked. “You think Marco poisoned the machine?”
“I know Peter didn’t act alone,” Adrian said grimly. “Marco has been waiting for my seat for five years. But until I have undeniable proof to show the syndicate heads, I cannot strike. Until then, you are in danger just by standing beside me.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Emma said softly.
Adrian looked at her—really looked at her—taking in the stubborn tilt of her chin and the warmth in her eyes. For the first time, a genuine, gentle smile touched his lips.
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“I know you aren't,” he said. “Now make me something that won't kill me, barista. I have a long night ahead.”
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