Chapter 2 - The Gesture at the Drawer
Emily grabbed Lily gently by the shoulder, attempting to pull her back into the hallway, her lips moving frantically in hushed, unheard pleas. But Lily did not budge. The eight-year-old broke free from her mother’s grip and took three deliberate, unhurried steps into the study, approaching the edge of the walnut desk.
Vincent’s posture shifted instantly. His hand, heavy and scarred, moved with fluid, terrifying speed under the edge of the desk, his fingers coming to rest against the cool steel handle of the top drawer—where a loaded 9mm pistol lay resting on top of leather-bound files. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing into cold slits as he assessed the potential threat, conditioned by years of assassination attempts and family betrayals.
Emily froze in absolute terror, her hands clasped over her mouth, her body trembling so violently she nearly collapsed against a leather armchair.
Lily, completely unbothered by the deadly tension in the air, stopped two feet from the desk. She raised both of her small, bare hands in front of her chest, palms facing forward—a universal sign that she carried no weapon and meant no harm.
Then, with incredible gentleness, Lily raised her right index finger and pointed toward the back of Vincent’s right ear.
She looked directly into the feared crime boss’s dark eyes, her lips moving with extreme clarity as she mouthed two simple words:
“May I?”
May you like
Vincent studied her face for one agonizing, breathless second. He saw no fear in her eyes, no deceit, no hidden agenda—only pure, childlike curiosity. Slowly, deliberately, Vincent removed his hand from the desk drawer and leaned back into his leather chair.
He gave a tiny, nearly imperceptible nod.
