Chapter 361 Poison
ELIJAH
Adriana's heels clicked against the marble floor with the rhythm of a ticking time bomb, each sharp strike echoing through the hallway like gunfire. I lengthened my stride, my dress shoes slipping slightly on the polished surface as I scrambled to close the distance between us. She moved with a fury that seemed to fuel her muscles, her dark hair swinging behind her like a banner of war.
"Adriana, stop!" I reached for her hand, my fingers brushing against her wrist before she violently yanked away. The rejection stung more than the physical withdrawal. It was the way she recoiled, as if my touch had burned her.
She didn't break stride. If anything, she walked faster.
"Adriana, please." My voice cracked, desperation creeping in. "Just give me sixty seconds. Let me explain."
She spun around so suddenly that I nearly collided with her. Her eyes blazed with a fury I'd seen only a handful of times in our years together, and her chest heaved with controlled, dangerous breaths.
"Explain? Again?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "We've been explaining things to each other for years, Elijah. Words are cheap. Words are the currency of cowards." She jabbed her finger toward my chest, and I saw the tremor in her hand, from rage barely contained. "I don't want your explanations anymore. I want action. I want justice."
I opened my mouth to respond, but movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Hazel emerged from her doorway, her silk robe pulled tight against the chill of the air-conditioned hallway. She'd clearly been preparing for bed, her face bare of makeup and her hair falling in a loose braid over one shoulder. But her eyes were alert, scanning the scene with the precision of someone who'd spent decades reading volatile situations.
"What the hell is happening out here?" Hazel's gaze darted between us, reading the tension in an instant. Her eyes landed on Adriana's hand, and her expression shifted from concern to alarm.
I followed her line of sight and felt my blood turn to ice.
Adriana held a gun. Not a small pistol suitable for a purse, but a full-sized Glock, her grip professional and terrifyingly steady. The black metal gleamed under the recessed lighting, a stark contrast to her cream-colored blouse and the delicate gold bracelet I'd given her for our anniversary.
"Jesus Christ." Hazel's hand flew to her mouth, then dropped just as quickly. "Where did you get that?"
I stepped forward, my hands raised in a placating gesture. "Adriana, put the gun down. Now."
She didn't even glance at it. The weapon hung at her side, casual and obscene, as if she were carrying a handbag rather than an instrument of death. "Don't tell me what to do with my own protection," she snapped. "Not after everything."
Hazel moved with surprising speed for a woman her age, positioning herself between us—not as a shield, but as a mediator. "Adriana, look at me." Her voice dropped to that maternal register that had calmed countless storms in this family. "I understand you're upset. Anyone would be. But this isn't the way. This has never been the way we handle things."
Adriana's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath her skin. For a moment, I thought she might raise the weapon, might actually escalate this nightmare beyond the point of no return. But then her shoulders sagged, just fractionally, and some of the wildness left her eyes.
"Give it to me." Hazel extended her palm, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. "Please. Let me hold onto it for now. We'll talk. We'll figure this out. But not with that in the room."
The silence stretched between them, taut as piano wire. Then, with a movement that seemed to cost her everything, she placed the gun in Hazel's waiting hand. The transfer was gentle, almost reverent, and I realized with a sickening lurch that this weapon represented something sacred to her, the illusion of control in a world that kept spinning beyond her grasp.
"Come on." Hazel tucked the gun into the pocket of her robe, the weight pulling the fabric down on one side. "Office. Now. All of us."
Adriana didn't argue, but she didn't agree either. She simply turned and resumed walking, her spine rigid as steel. I exchanged a look with Hazel—gratitude mixed with worry—and followed.
Adriana remained standing near the window, her arms crossed over her chest in a posture that screamed defensiveness, refusing to acknowledge the two chairs I'd pulled up for us. Hazel settled into the leather armchair by the fireplace, the gun now resting on the side table within her reach but not threatening.
"Sit down," I said softly to Adriana.
She didn't move. "I'm fine where I am."
"Adriana—"
"Don't." The word whipped through the air like a blade. She finally turned, and I saw the tears she'd been fighting, shimmering unshed in her eyes. "Don't use that tone with me. Don't pretend this is just another disagreement we can solve with a conversation and a glass of wine." She stepped toward me, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "That boy should never have crossed our threshold. I knew it the moment I saw him. I felt it in my bones, Elijah. But I stayed silent because I didn't want to be the villain. I didn't want to be the wicked stepmother who turned away a child in need."
My chest ached with the truth of her words. I sank into my desk chair, suddenly exhausted. "I know."
"No, you don't know." She laughed again, that same broken sound. "You asked for my opinion, yes. You consulted me. But you were going to do what you wanted regardless. Just like you always do when it comes to your father's messes."
Hazel shifted in her chair, the leather creaking. "Adriana has a point, Elijah. Your father kept his other children away from this house for a reason. There was wisdom in that."
I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache bloom behind my eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought keeping him close would give us answers."
"And has it?" Adriana demanded. "Has he given you any answers? Or has he just poisoned everything he touched?"