THE MAFIA LORD'S LOST HEIR

The papers came in the morning.

Adrian didn’t look up when his guard stepped into the office. He only raised his eyes when the man placed a brown envelope on his desk, his hands stiff, his face pale. There was something in the air, something tight and heavy.

Adrian slid a finger under the seal and opened it.

Inside was a single sheet. Thin. Cold. Final.

He stared at it for a long time without speaking.

Death Certificate.

Name: Klara Hale.

Cause: Drowning.

Location: Lake Marrow.

His jaw didn’t tighten. His hands didn’t shake. Nothing moved in him. He read every line twice, then once more, his face empty.

Dead.

Drowned.

Klara.

He lifted the page and held it against the light. His silver eyes did not change. His chest did not rise faster. Only his fingers pressed harder into the paper until it bent slightly at the corner.

She had run, and in the past six month, he had spent a lot of resources finding her. She had walked out on him with no word, no call, nothing left behind except faint memories and the glimpse of her last look.

He had searched quietly, because quiet was the only way he moved.

And now.

He lowered the paper. His men waited for orders, for rage, for violence, but Adrian only breathed in once.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

They left.

He stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was gray, the kind of soft gray that made everything look washed out. He rested a hand on the glass, staring into the distance.

No grief showed on his face.

No shock.

No pain.

Just silence.

The world behind him kept moving, papers rustling, guards whispering, the door clicking shut but Adrian Volkov stood still, the death certificate hanging loose at his side, his eyes fixed on nothing.

And for the first time in his life, no one could read him at all.

The world shifted. Now in her world. Six month after leaving Adrian Volkov.

Bright white lights. The smell of disinfectant. The sharp cry of a newborn.

“Klara Hale,” a nurse called out, voice warm and tired. “You did it. She’s here.”

Klara lay back on the hospital bed, her caramel hair sticking to her forehead, her breathing uneven. Sweat clung to her skin, but her eyes were open, wide, wet with something she couldn’t hide.

The nurse placed the tiny baby in her arms.

Klara felt her heart lift and stop all at once.

The baby was small. Wrapped in a thin pink blanket. Cheeks soft and round. A faint tuft of caramel hair just like hers.

“Hi,” Klara whispered, her voice shaking. “Hi, sweetheart.”

The nurses moved around the room, but Klara didn’t see any of it. Her eyes were only on the little girl pressed against her chest.

Her daughter.

Her child.

Her whole reason to breathe.

The room emptied slowly, leaving a quiet stillness behind. Klara sat upright, weak but steady, holding her