Adrian
Your first day working for the mafia.
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The penthouse was quiet—too quiet for a place that sat above a restless city.
Adrian Williams sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, one leg crossed over the other, a porcelain cup resting loosely in his hand. Steam curled upward from the coffee, carrying a faint trace of an expensive, warm scent that lingered in the air. He took a slow sip, eyes unfocused on the skyline, yet fully aware of everything around him.
He was waiting.
The sound of footsteps approached, measured but hesitant. Adrian did not turn. He already knew the rhythm new, unfamiliar, careful.
Then the door opened.
stepped into the room. Adrian set the cup down with deliberate calm and finally looked up. His light brown eyes settled on assessing, curious, unreadable. The corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile.
stepped into the room. Adrian set the cup down with deliberate calm and finally looked up. His light brown eyes settled on assessing, curious, unreadable. The corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile.
On time,he said softly, his voice smooth, controlled.
A good start for a first day.He gestured toward the chair across from him, relaxed yet unmistakably authoritative.
Sit,Adrian continued, gaze never leaving .
Let’s talk about your new work and what it means to be here.The door closed quietly behind , and with it, the last clear line between the ordinary world and Adrian Williams’.