Chapter 2 - The Yellow Room
The safehouse was located in a working-class neighborhood in the South Suburbs.
It was a small, unassuming brick bungalow with faded white trim and a chain-link fence.
Adrian parked a block away.
He didn’t trust his own shadow anymore, let alone the empty streets.
He stepped out into the freezing rain, retrieving Emma from the backseat. He held the little girl tightly against his chest, shielding her from the downpour with his coat.
Grace led the way, fumbling with a ring of keys before unlocking the heavy steel door at the back of the house.
They stepped inside.
The air was warm, smelling of baby powder and warm milk.
“My cousin owns the place,” Grace whispered, locking three deadbolts behind them. “She’s a neonatal nurse. She’s been helping me. We bought supplies in cash. We never used our real names.”
Adrian didn’t hear her.
He was staring down the narrow hallway.
At the end of the hall, a door was slightly ajar.
Warm, golden light spilled out onto the hardwood floor.
The yellow room.
He handed Emma to her mother.
His legs felt heavy. Every step required a conscious command from his brain. The man who ordered hits, commanded empires, and terrified the underworld was suddenly terrified of a wooden door.
He pushed it open.
The walls were painted a soft, cheerful yellow.
In the center of the room sat a white wooden crib.
Beside it, a mobile of small stuffed animals spun slowly, casting faint shadows across the ceiling.
Adrian walked to the edge of the crib.
He looked down.
Sleeping on her back, with her tiny fists curled near her face, was an eight-month-old girl.
She had dark wisps of hair.
She was breathing softly, her little chest rising and falling in a steady, perfect rhythm.
Adrian fell to his knees.
He gripped the wooden bars of the crib so tightly the wood groaned. He buried his face in his arms, and for the first time since the day Evelyn died, Adrian Vale wept.
It was a silent, violent shattering.
His chest heaved. The sound of his quiet sobs filled the yellow room.
He reached through the bars, his large, scarred hand trembling as he gently traced the outline of the baby’s cheek.
Her skin was warm.
She stirred, opening her eyes.
They were Evelyn’s eyes.
Bright, solemn, and full of a quiet understanding.
The baby didn’t cry. She reached out and wrapped her tiny fingers around Adrian’s thumb.
“Lily,” he breathed, the word choking in his throat. “My beautiful Lily.”
Grace stood in the doorway, wiping her eyes.
“She’s a quiet baby, Mr. Vale. Just like her mother was a quiet woman.”
Adrian carefully lifted his daughter from the crib.
He pressed her against his chest, feeling the frantic, beautiful beat of her tiny heart against his own. He buried his face in her soft hair, breathing in the scent of her.
She was real.
She was alive.
She had survived the winter.
He held her for a long time, rocking her back and forth, whispering promises into the empty room.
When he finally turned around, his eyes were dry.
The sorrow was gone.
The man who stood in the yellow room was the ruler of a criminal empire, and someone had tried to murder his world.
“Grace,” Adrian said.
“Yes, Mr. Vale?”
“Does Marcus know about this house?”
“No. Nobody knows. Just me, Emma, and my cousin.”
“Good.”
Adrian walked over to the window and peered through the blinds. The rain was coming down harder now.
“You kept my daughter safe when I couldn’t,” Adrian said, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion. “I will never forget that. You and Emma will never want for anything for the rest of your lives. But right now, you are in danger.”
Grace nodded, pulling Emma closer.
“What do we do?”
Adrian reached into his coat and pulled out a burner phone he always carried for absolute emergencies.
“We disappear.”
He dialed a number that wasn’t saved in the contacts.
It rang twice.
“Yeah,” a gruff voice answered.
“Elias,” Adrian said. “It’s me.”
Silence on the other end.
Elias Thorne was a ghost. He was the man Adrian’s father had used when things needed to vanish entirely. He wasn’t part of the new organization. Marcus didn’t know how to reach him.
“I thought you were at a memorial, kid.”
“The memorial is over. I need a ghost protocol. Full extraction.”
“How many packages?”
“Two women, a toddler, and an infant.”
Elias paused. “An infant?”
“Lily is alive.”
The line went dead quiet for a long five seconds.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Elias said. “Heavily armed.”
Adrian hung up the phone.
He looked down at his daughter, who was now babbling softly, reaching for the lapels of his black suit.
May you like
He kissed her forehead.
“Daddy has to go to work now, little one,” he whispered. “Daddy has to burn a city to the ground.”
