“Can you be my daughter for one day?” Adrian Moretti asked the three-year-old standing between the wheels of his wheelchair. The most feared crime boss in New York had survived bullets, betrayal, and the explosion that killed his wife and daughter, but when little Lily Carter climbed into his lap and whispered, “I don’t want to be your daughter for only one day,” he broke down in tears, unaware that the man slowly killing him was already inside his own house.

Ten minutes later, the library door opened, and Marcus walked back into the room.

He carried a small silver tray. On it sat a single glass filled with clear, tasteless liquid.

His face was smooth, professional, and entirely devoid of the panic he had shown earlier. He had retrieved his composure, stepping into the role of the loyal right hand he had played for fourteen years.

“I checked the eastern perimeter wall, Adrian,” Marcus said smoothly, setting the tray on the side table beside my wheelchair. “The child’s mother was sitting in an old sedan outside the gate. She appears to be a local woman suffering from financial hardship. Security is escorting them off the property now.”

I looked at Marcus, keeping my face completely deadpan, masking the roaring inferno of hatred burning in my chest.

Lily was no longer in the room. I had hidden her ten minutes earlier inside the walk-in storage closet behind the heavy oak bookshelves, giving her a picture book and telling her to stay as quiet as a little mouse until I came for her.

“Thank you, Marcus,” I rasped, forcing my voice to sound weak, foggy, and exhausted. “I... I think I had a strange hallucination. I thought the child looked like... like someone I knew.”

Marcus offered a sad, comforting smile that made my stomach turn with pure revulsion. “It’s the fatigue, boss. Your body is under immense strain. The doctor said the neuro-degenerative damage from the explosion is spreading.”

He picked up the glass of clear liquid from the silver tray and held it out toward me.

“Drink your medicine, Adrian,” Marcus said gently, his dark eyes watching my face like a hawk. “It’s eight o’clock. You need your rest.”

I looked at the glass.

For three years, I had swallowed this poison every single morning and evening. It had ruined my kidneys, clouded my mind, and rendered me a helpless invalid while he stole my life, my wife, and my daughter.

My hand trembled as I reached out to take the glass from his fingers.

“Marcus,” I said softly, staring into the clear liquid.

“Yes, boss?”

“Eleven years ago, I pulled you out of that alley near the Brooklyn docks,” I murmured, my voice flat and low. “I gave you a home. I gave you a name. I treated you like my own blood.”

Marcus’s jaw twitched slightly, but his smile remained firmly in place. “And I’ve been loyal to you every day since, Adrian. You’re the brother I never had.”

“Brother,” I repeated the word, feeling its bitter, toxic weight on my tongue.

I raised the glass toward my lips.

Marcus leaned in half an inch, his eyes dilating slightly with eager anticipation—waiting for his daily dose of death to enter my system.

Just as the rim of the glass touched my bottom lip, I let my hand shake violently—a fake muscle spasm brought on by my supposed nervous condition.

The glass slipped from my fingers.

It struck the marble corner of the side table and shattered into a dozen jagged pieces, spilling the clear liquid across the dark mahogany floorboards and soaking into the hem of Marcus’s polished leather shoes.

“Damn it!” I gasped, sinking back into my wheelchair, clutching my trembling right wrist with my left hand. “My hands... I can't control them today, Marcus!”

Marcus stared down at the spilled poison on his shoes, a flash of pure, violent frustration flickering across his features before he quickly buried it.

“It’s alright, boss,” Marcus said smoothly, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his shoes. “I’ll have the kitchen prepare another dose immediately.”

“No,” I said, closing my eyes and feigning deep, overwhelming exhaustion. “No, Marcus. My stomach is turned. I need to sleep for an hour. Bring it to me later.”

Marcus stared at me for three long, agonizing seconds. He was calculating the risks, wondering if the dropped glass was an accident or a move.

“Of course, Adrian,” Marcus said softly. “Rest now. I’ll be right outside.”

He turned around, stepped over the shattered glass, and walked out of the library, locking the heavy double doors from the outside with a sharp, metallic CLICK.

He had locked me in.

The moment the lock engaged, I opened my eyes. The foggy, exhausted expression vanished from my face, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus.

Skipping a single dose of the toxin had already cleared a fraction of the heavy fog from my mind. The adrenaline surging through my veins was burning away the remaining lethargy.

I wheeled my chair rapidly toward the oak bookshelf at the back of the room.

“Lily,” I called out softly. “Come out, sweetie.”

The hidden closet door creaked open, and Lily popped her head out, still holding the bear picture book in her small hands.

“Is the bad man gone?” she asked quietly.

“He’s gone for now, princess,” I said, extending my arms toward her.

She ran out of the closet and climbed directly into my lap, her small, light body resting against my chest.

I held her tight, feeling her warm heartbeat against my ribs.

I looked at the window overlooking the gardens. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, dark shadows across the property.

Marcus was going to realize the truth soon. When he returned with the second glass of poison and saw that I refused to drink it, or when he discovered the child was gone from the estate, he would finish the job with a bullet.