Chapter 6 - Morning Light and Shadows
At 6:30 AM, sunlight broke over the lake, flooding the master bedroom with golden light.
Emily woke up slowly, feeling the heavy, solid weight of an arm draped possessively over her waist.
She turned her head on the pillow. Adrian was still asleep beside her. Without the harsh, commanding expression he wore during the day, his face looked strikingly handsome, relaxed, almost peaceful. Dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw, and his dark hair was a wild, messy mop over his forehead.
Emily smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch a small scar near his eyebrow.
Adrian’s eyes snapped open instantly—the trained instinct of a man who lived in high-hazard environments. But the moment his gaze landed on Emily, the sharp tension in his muscles dissolved completely.
"Morning," he rasped, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep.
"Good morning," Emily whispered.
Adrian pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. "I could get used to waking up like this."
"You have a 9:00 AM meeting with the dock union representatives," Emily noted automatically, a soft giggle escaping her throat as his stubble tickled her neck.
Adrian groaned into her skin. "Cancel it."
"I thought you said you were the boss."
"I am the boss," Adrian said, turning onto his side and looking down at her with a lazy, smoldering grin. "And as the boss, I decree that Mondays are now canceled."
"It's Saturday," Emily reminded him, smiling brightly.
"Even better."
Before Adrian could lean down to kiss her again, the sharp, distinctive chime of his secure satellite phone shattered the quiet room. It was ringing on the nightstand—a ringtone reserved exclusively for high-priority emergencies.
Adrian’s playful expression vanished instantly. He sat up, reaching for the phone.
"Kane," he said, pressing the speaker button.
"Boss, we have a situation," Frank's voice boomed through the speaker, tight with urgency. "It's about Daniel Moretti."
Adrian’s eyes flicked to Emily, his body tensing. "What about him? Did he not cross the state line?"
"He didn't make it to the highway, boss," Frank reported. "Someone picked him up two blocks from the penthouse right after Lev and I dropped him at his car. A black SUV with Detroit plates."
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Adrian’s jaw set into an iron line. "Who was in the SUV?"
"Salvatore Marcone," Frank answered quietly. "The head of the Detroit crew himself. He's in Chicago, Mr. Kane. And he just called our central warehouse. He wants a sit-down with you at noon."
