The silence in the study was suffocating, thick with Cole’s rage and fear. His men had just filed out, heads bowed, leaving behind only the faint smell of sweat and dread. Cole leaned forward, elbows digging into the desk, glass of whiskey untouched at his side.
The door creaked open without a knock.
Adrian walked in.
He moved with that careless stride that grated Cole’s nerves—a mix of defiance and calm, as if the weight of this house, of Cole himself, meant nothing. Dressed in black, Adrian looked every bit the man the underworld whispered about, yet Cole saw only insolence in his son’s eyes.
“You’re drinking early,” Adrian muttered, letting the door fall shut behind him. His gaze flicked briefly to the untouched whiskey glass, then to his father. “That’s not like you.”
Cole’s lip c
