Chapter 7 - The New Normal
Life in a safehouse disguised as a suburban craftsman cottage required a very specific kind of adjustment.
For Sarah, it meant learning to check the locks twice, accepting that the unassuming guy mowing the lawn across the street was packing a submachine gun under his windbreaker, and realizing that the man she had loved and resented in equal measure was actually the center of a very dark, very dangerous universe.
Yet, sitting around the kitchen table on a crisp Saturday morning, watching Adrian expertly flip pancakes while Lily chattered away about her kindergarten art project, none of the danger felt real.
“And then Mr. Buttons got his own chair at the tea party,” Lily announced, waving a maple-syrup-drenched fork in the air. “Right next to Daddy’s. Because he’s part of the family now.”
“Naturally,” Adrian said gravely, plating a stack of pancakes with the precision of a surgeon. “A gentleman of Mr. Buttons’ stature cannot be expected to sit on the floor.”
Sarah leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee and watching the two of them with a soft, complex smile that held years of unspoken forgiveness.
“You know,” Sarah said quietly when Lily bounded off toward the living room to retrieve her crayons, “you’re taking the domestic life surprisingly well for a terrifying mafia boss.”
Adrian turned from the stove, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his gray eyes catching the morning light. “I spent three years calculating every risk in the world, Sarah. Turns out the only risk that ever mattered was missing breakfast.”
She walked over, stopping just inches from him, her hand coming up to rest gently against his chest, right over the steady, mechanical rhythm of the pacemaker beneath his skin.
“The doctor said less stress, Adrian,” she reminded him softly.
“Having you and Lily is the only thing keeping my heart beating,” he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against hers.
The front door chimed, and Vincent stepped into the hallway, looking around the kitchen with an expression of polite disapproval.
“Sorry to interrupt domestic bliss, boss,” Vincent said, holding up a secure tablet. “But we’ve got word from New York. Volkov’s backers have officially pulled his funding. He’s retreating back to Brighton Beach to lick his wounds. The Red Hook contract is ours, and more importantly... your backyard is officially clean.”
May you like
Adrian looked down at Sarah, then toward the living room where Lily was singing a nonsense song to her teddy bear.
“Good,” Adrian said, his voice steady and absolute. “Tell them I’m retired.”
