Chapter 7 - Secrets Beneath the Stone
The temperature in the penthouse seemed to drop ten degrees.
Adrien’s dark eyes locked onto his aunt’s face, a cold, dangerous stillness settling over his broad frame. “What did you say?”
Isabella turned her back to him, walking slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the stormy lake. Lightning flashed across the dark water, illuminating her stern, lined face.
“You think your father’s old syndicate life died with him, Adrien?” Isabella asked bitterly. “You think the Moretti fortune was built on imported wine and real estate? My brother—your father—held the keys to the Archive. Decades of financial extortion, political leverage, and underworld contracts involving every major crime family from New York to Marseille.”
“The Archive was destroyed twenty years ago,” Adrien said flatly. “In the fire.”
“That was the lie we fed the world so the wolves would stop hunting us,” Isabella countered, turning back to face him. “The physical vault was never burned. It was sealed beneath the foundation of this very estate—accessible only through a biological trigger tied directly to the direct bloodline of the Moretti name. Your children.”
Marcus, who had followed Adrien up from the war room, stepped into the doorway, his hand resting on his weapon. “Boss... the perimeter sensors just tripped on the northern access road. Three unmarked vehicles. No transponders. They’re bypassing the gate security.”
Adrien didn't hesitate. He turned to Elena, his voice absolute. “Take Sophie. Get into the reinforced panic shelter behind the master walk-in closet. Do not open it for anyone except me or Marcus. Understood?”
Elena nodded frantically, grabbing Sophie’s hand and scooping up her ragdoll as she practically sprinted toward the master suite.
Sophie looked back over her shoulder as she was pulled away, her amber-flecked eyes meeting Adrien’s one last time. “Guardian will help,” she whispered.
May you like
Adrien didn't smile. He turned to his aunt and his head of security.
“Aunt Isabella,” Adrien said, pulling a heavy-caliber firearm from his shoulder holster and checking the magazine with a sharp clack. “It looks like our guests arrived early.”
