Chapter 2 - The Son Who Never Forgave
Isabella looked down at the untouched tea.
For the first time since leaving the boutique, the elderly woman seemed to forget her embarrassment. Something more complicated crossed her face—affection, sorrow, and a fear that had grown familiar over many years.
“Both,” she finally answered. “And neither, depending on the day.”
Amelia laughed softly. “That sounds like a mother’s answer.”
“It is.”
A black sedan pulled up outside Brooks and Bloom.
Amelia noticed it through the window but assumed it was another customer. Then the rear door opened, and a tall man stepped onto the sidewalk.
He wore a charcoal overcoat over a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was combed back, his expression unreadable, and a thin scar disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Two men emerged from the front seats and positioned themselves on either side of him.
The florist's smile faded when she saw the way pedestrians moved aside without being asked.
The man entered the shop.
“Mother.”
One word. Quiet, almost tender.
Isabella stood so quickly that her chair scraped against the floor.
“Adrian.”
He crossed the room and took her hands. His eyes immediately dropped to the bruises around her wrists.
Then he saw Amelia’s cheek.
The tenderness vanished.
“What happened?”
“Nothing that requires you to frighten half the city,” Isabella replied.
Adrian did not smile.
“Who touched you?”
“Nobody worth discussing.”
He looked at the dark marks on her wrists again. “Mother.”
Isabella sighed. “A boutique manager accused me of stealing a bracelet. Security grabbed me. Amelia intervened.”
Adrian turned toward the florist.
For a moment, Amelia wondered whether she should explain herself. She had seen men like him in newspaper photographs, though never this close. He carried the peculiar stillness of someone accustomed to other people becoming nervous before he spoke.
“You stepped between my mother and the people hurting her?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Amelia set down the cloth. “Your mother already answered that question for you.”
His gaze narrowed slightly.
“You know who I am?”
“Not until you walked in.”
“And now?”
“Now I know your name is Adrian.”
One of his men shifted near the door. Adrian raised a finger without looking at him, and the man immediately went still.
“Most people would have called the police and left,” Adrian said.
“I did call the police.”
“After you were slapped.”
“I was busy.”
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement touched his face.
Then his eyes returned to her swollen cheek.
“Did she strike you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you strike her back?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was trying to stop her, not become her.”
The room went silent.
Isabella looked at her son with an expression Amelia couldn't interpret.
Adrian removed his gloves.
“Tell me the manager’s name.”
“Vanessa Clark,” Amelia answered. “But if you're thinking about threatening her, don't.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Don't?”
“You heard me.”
His two men exchanged glances.
Adrian took one slow step closer. “You don't know what you're asking.”
“Neither do you. You weren't there.”
For several seconds, he simply studied her.
Then he looked at his mother. “We’re leaving.”
“Not yet,” Isabella said.
She turned to Amelia. “Would you mind if we returned tomorrow? I'd like to buy some flowers.”
“Of course.”
“And perhaps you could help me choose something for my home.”
Amelia smiled. “I'd be happy to.”
Adrian looked as though his mother had just announced plans to move into the shop.
“Mother, you have a florist.”
“I have several,” Isabella replied. “None of them make tea as well as Amelia.”
Amelia laughed, surprised by the warmth spreading through her chest.
Adrian did not laugh.
He reached into his coat, took out a business card, and placed it on the counter.
“My personal number. If anyone bothers you, call me.”
Amelia glanced at the card without touching it.
“I can handle myself.”
“I noticed.”
“Then why give me this?”
“Because you shouldn't have to handle everything alone.”
The words were unexpectedly gentle.
For an instant, she saw something behind his cold expression that looked less like arrogance and more like exhaustion.
Then he turned toward the door.
“Adrian,” Amelia called.
He stopped.
“Your mother is a person, not a possession. You don't need to put the whole city on alert every time someone upsets her.”
His men looked horrified.
Isabella covered her mouth, hiding a smile.
Adrian stared at Amelia as though no one had spoken to him that way in years.
“Be careful, Miss Brooks.”
“Of what?”
“People who believe kindness is weakness.”
Amelia folded her arms. “Then they should be more careful than I am.”
He left without answering.
Isabella lingered long enough to hug Amelia gently.
“He hasn't smiled like that in a long time,” she whispered.
“He didn't smile.”
“Oh, my dear. You have a great deal to learn about my son.”
Outside, Adrian climbed into the sedan and shut the door.
His driver waited for instructions.
“Find out everything about Amelia Brooks,” Adrian said. “Her business, her family, her debts. Everything.”
Then he looked back through the window at the little flower shop.
“And find out why Vanessa Clark was so certain my mother was an easy target.”
May you like
Because Adrian Moretti had not built an empire by believing in coincidences.
And somewhere inside Bellamy & Hart, someone had known exactly where his mother would be that afternoon.
