Chapter 73

Chapter 72
The instant Adrian stepped through the glass doors of the Di Santi Empire conference hall, his security team tightened their formation around him. Reporters tried to push in after him, calling his name, asking rapid-fire questions that bounced off the walls. Security blocked them off with practiced precision, guiding Adrian into the hallway with firm shoulders and curt instructions. Flashing cameras exploded behind him like tiny storms, but inside the building, the noise dulled into a distant hum.

Adrian still managed a small wave before the doors fully shut—polite, quick, unbothered. The same toned-down version of the signature smile the media adored. Then, once the doors locked, all traces of public charm disappeared from his face.

Lucia watched the shift happen in real-time.

A few minutes ago in the car, he looked almost boyish—soft around the edges, stealing shy glances at her after that kiss neither of them had expected. But the moment he walked into this building, he snapped right back into the Adrian people wrote articles about. Cold. Focused. Untouchable.

Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was thick—tense in a quiet, simmering way. Men and women in expensive suits sat around an oval table that could have passed for a courtroom bench. The moment Adrian entered, they all stood, bowing their heads slightly. It wasn’t about respect as much as it was about hierarchy. He was the face of Di Santi Empire. The youngest of them. But still the one with the most power.

Adrian walked to the head of the table and sat, his posture straight, and hands clasped lazily as if he had all the time in the world.

Lucia slipped into the seat by the wall, then her notebook open, and pen ready. She wasn’t supposed to be nervous, yet she was. Not because of these people—but because of him. The version of Adrian she knew in private wasn’t the version sitting before her now. This one was too composed. Too unreadable. The other was the man who touched her chin gently and kissed her like he’d been starving for it.

She shook the thought out of her head and focused.

An older man cleared his throat loudly. Heavy-set, sunken eyes, grey hair combed sharply back. His voice carried like someone used to giving orders.

“There have been cases of valuables going missing,” he said straight to Adrian, no introduction, no buildup. “A lot of valuables.”

Lucia froze mid-writing. The room shifted.

Another investor leaned forward with a folder thick enough to look incriminating. “Funds. Bonds. Certain products in the warehouse. All gone,” he added. “And since our investments are tied directly to your company, Mr. Di Santi, you’re the one with the access.”

The older woman beside him clicked her tongue softly. She had the look of someone who had watched fortunes rise and fall too many times to be easily impressed.

“What he’s saying,” she added, “is that we require an explanation. Before this situation escalates. We cannot afford losses, Adrian. Not at this level.”

Adrian didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Not a single muscle twitched.

To anyone else, he looked like he wasn’t even listening. But Lucia knew better. She had started learning the small signs—how his jaw tightened half a millimeter when he was irritated. How his eyelids lowered just a touch when someone insulted his intelligence. How he kept his hands perfectly still when people questioned his integrity.

Right now, all three signs were there.

The room continued filling with murmurs as one investor after another added their complaints, each voice layering on top of the previous one. A storm building.

Lucia’s pen moved quickly, capturing each detail, though her eyes kept drifting to Adrian’s face.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t respond. Didn’t defend himself. He simply watched them—quiet, calculating, patient in a way that felt more dangerous than anger.

Finally, when the room settled, he inhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“First of all,” he said, his voice smooth and low, “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”

The apology alone silenced those who still had their lips parted to speak.

“I take responsibility for the losses,” Adrian continued. “All of it. Whether or not it was directly my doing, it’s under my company, so it’s under my name.”

Lucia watched, and something in her chest warmed without her permission. He wasn’t a saint, not even close. But when it came to business and the people attached to it, Adrian carried his burdens like armor.

“But,” he added, leaning forward slightly, “I’m working to understand what went wrong. And how to fix it permanently.”

An older man across the table raised a hand sharply. “This is unusual, Adrian. For you. For Di Santi Empire. We’ve never had incidents like this. Never.”

Another voice joined, sharper. “Which is exactly why we’re concerned. Something is happening behind the scenes. Something big.”

“I know,” Adrian said simply. “And I’m as surprised as you are. But I promise you—I’ll get to the root of it.”

He wasn’t lying. Lucia could tell. His voice was too steady, too grounded. But there was something else under it. Something darker. Like he wasn’t just trying to fix the problem—he was hunting whoever caused it.

The meeting continued with more questions and tense glances, the air heavy with distrust and impatience. Lucia documented everything, though occasionally she felt Adrian’s gaze flick toward her briefly, as if making sure she was still there.

They were ten minutes into another investor’s complaint when Adrian’s phone buzzed loudly against the polished table.

Matteo

Lucia recognized the name instantly. Adrian trusted him more than almost anyone.

Even though he hated interruptions, Adrian picked the call on the first ring. He stood from his chair without a word, stepping aside slightly as he placed the phone to his ear.

The entire room watched him, waiting for his reaction.

What they heard instead wasMatteor’s voice—loud, strained, panicked—leaking through the speaker.

“Boss—boss, a fire broke out—at the warehouse! Di Santi Empire’s central warehouse is burning—”

Lucia’s breath hitched. The room exploded into chaotic murmurs. Chairs shifted. Papers rustled. Someone cursed under their breath.

Adrian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened, just barely.

Matteo kept speaking, breathless. “It’s bad. Real bad. We’re trying—but it’s not accidental. I swear it’s not. Someone did this.”

Adrian closed his eyes for two seconds.

Two seconds that felt like a silent earthquake.

Inside his chest, something tightened, but outwardly he remained calm.

Lucia watched him closely, and for the first time that morning, she saw not the CEO or the feared businessman—but the mafia-bred man who had grown up in shadows: calculating, deadly, and terrifyingly calm.

“Where exactly?” Adrian asked quietly.

“The north wing first… then it spread,” Matter replied. “I don’t know how long we can hold it off.”

Adrian’s jaw flexed.

His voice dropped to something colder. “I’ll be there.”

The moment he ended the call, he turned toward the door.

“Mr. Adrian!” one investor barked, slamming a palm on the table. “We are not finished here!”

Another woman snapped, “With all due respect, walking out now is unacceptable—”

Adrian didn’t even turn back to face them.

“I’m sorry,” he said calmly. “But I have an emergency that supersedes this meeting.”

The room erupted instantly.

“Unbelievable—” “We waited weeks for this!” “You owe us answers!”

Lucia barely had time to stand before Adrian was already halfway to the door.

She rushed forward, bowing slightly and speaking quickly, “Please accept our apologies. My boss will update everyone as soon as possible. We appreciate your patience.”

Some of them glared at her as if she were personally responsible for the crisis. She ignored it and ran after Adrian.

By the time she reached the hallway, he was already at the exit, pushing the doors open with a force that made them slam against the walls.

Outside, the air hit her like a wave. Reporters swarmed again, shouting questions, cameras flashing. Security pushed them back, but they were persistent, hungry for chaos.

Lucia pushed through until she reached the front steps.

“Mr Adrian!” she called, breathless, her heart pounding not from the run but from the strange fear curling in her stomach. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer her.

Not at first.

He walked straight to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and reached inside.

Lucia’s steps faltered.

Because he didn’t pull out a file or briefcase.

He pulled out a gun.

Black. Familiar in a way that told her he’d used it more than once in his life.

Her breath caught.

Adrian didn’t look at her. Not even for a second. He checked the weapon, chambered a round with a practiced flick of his wrist, then got into the back seat of the car.

The driver scrambled in front, starting the engine almost immediately.

Lucia stood frozen for half a heartbeat—then she opened the other back door and climbed inside beside him, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.

Adrian didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed forward, like, a storm was brewing behind them.

Lucia swallowed. “Mr Adrian… what are you—”

“Drive to the company,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Now.”

The driver slammed his foot on the pedal.

The car lurched forward.

Lucia’s fingers shook as she grabbed the seat for balance, her heart trapped somewhere between fear and the unsettling realization that whatever was coming next… she wasn’t ready.

Not even close.

The tires screeched against the pavement as the car tore down the road.