Chapter 10 - Blood in the Atlantic: The King Crawls to the Queen He Betrayed
Six weeks later.
The icy winter had begun to thaw along the rugged coast of Camden, Maine.
Claire Cole lived in a secluded, solar-powered cedar estate overlooking a quiet harbor where fishing boats bobbed gently on the cold, blue water.
The property was completely private, protected by high stone walls and a permanent security detail managed by Marcus Vance’s elite private firm.
Claire sat on the sun-drenched wrap-around porch, rocking a wooden cradle with her foot while she reviewed investment portfolios on her tablet.
Grace was now almost two months old, thriving, chubby-cheeked, and sleeping peacefully in a pink woolen blanket.
A black town car pulled up to the security gate at the end of the private drive.
Marcus Vance walked up the porch steps, leaning down toward Claire.
“He’s here,” Vance said quietly. “He came alone. Unarmed. He signed the perimeter search authorization without objection.”
Claire paused, setting her tablet aside. She looked down at Grace, whose tiny chest rose and fell in steady, rhythmic sleep.
“Let him up,” Claire said calmly.
Two minutes later, Adrian Cole walked up the gravel path toward the porch.
Claire barely recognized the man walking toward her.
The arrogant, sharp-suited mafia kingpin in the tailored Brioni suits was gone. Adrian wore a simple navy wool coat and dark jeans. He had lost weight, his face was lean and lined with exhaustion, and his slate-gray eyes were stripped of every shred of cruelty.
He carried no weapons. He had no entourage. He looked like a man who had walked through hell and left his soul on the other side.
Adrian stopped at the base of the porch steps, ten feet away from Claire. He did not dare take another step without her permission.
“Claire,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion so raw it made his chest heave.
Claire looked at him from her wicker chair, her expression cool, dignified, and serene.
“Adrian.”
Adrian’s gaze dropped to the wooden cradle sitting beside Claire’s chair.
His breath caught in his throat. His hands began to shake uncontrollably. He took a half-step forward, then froze, looking at Claire with pleading, desperate eyes.
“May I... may I look at her?” Adrian choked out, tears finally spilling over his eyelashes and running down his rough cheeks. “Just once, Claire. Please. You can have me arrested for violating the perimeter order right after. Just let me see my daughter.”
Claire studied him in silence for a long, agonizing moment.
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She saw no threat in him. She saw no mafia boss. She saw a broken, hollow man who had realized the true value of what he had destroyed only after it was permanently out of his reach.
“Come up,” Claire said softly.
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