Chapter 3 - The Colors of the Empire
The red paint on my chin was still tacky when the heavy oak doors of the study creaked open wider. Luke, my chief enforcer and shadow of fifteen years, stepped across the threshold with his hand instinctively resting near the custom Glock beneath his tailored suit jacket. His eyes scanned the room, darting from Elena’s terrified posture to Lily holding the dripping paintbrush, and finally landing on my brightly decorated face.
For three terrifying seconds, the deadliest man in Chicago stood frozen in absolute silence. Luke’s jaw twitched. His eyes blinked once, twice, struggling to reconcile the ruthless syndicate boss who had executed a dock traitor with a cold stare just three mornings ago with a man wearing a finger-paint rainbow across his nose.
“Boss,” Luke finally choked out, his voice cracking on the single syllable. “Do you… do you need me to secure the perimeter against… the art supplies?”
Elena let out a muffled sob, pressing her forehead against the Persian rug, bracing herself for the inevitable execution of her career—or worse.
I looked at Luke through the blue butterfly wings painted across my forehead. The old Adrian Romano would have had Luke flogged just for letting his surprise show on his face. The current Adrian Romano—the one whose chest felt strangely light for the first time in a decade—simply raised a hand.
“Leave us, Luke,” I said, my voice carrying its usual deep resonance, made infinitely more absurd by the yellow sun on my cheek.
“Boss?”
“I said leave us. And if a single word of this leaves this study, you won’t need to worry about the dock patrols because you’ll be scrubbing them with a toothbrush for the rest of your natural life.”
Luke swallowed hard, gave a stiff, mechanical nod, and backed out of the room, gently pulling the heavy doors shut behind him. I could hear his muffled, hysterical laughter echoing down the hallway the second the latch clicked.
I turned back to Lily, who was still holding the red brush inches from my chin, completely unfazed by the tension that had just filled the room.
“Can I do the dot?” she asked, tilting her head. “Every good rainbow needs a red dot at the end.”
“Proceed,” I murmured, lowering my head another inch.
She carefully applied a bright red dot to the tip of my nose. When she was finished, she stepped back, wiped her hands on her stained denim overalls, and nodded with profound professional satisfaction.
“There. Now you’re ready for the party.”
“What party, Lily?” I asked, walking over to my desk and picking up a silk handkerchief, though I made no move to wipe the paint away.
“The one in your heart,” she said simply, picking up her battered stuffed rabbit and tucking him under her arm. “Mommy says when your heart is dark, you have to paint it bright so the sun can find you.”
Elena slowly rose to her feet, her face still pale as paper. She reached out, grabbing Lily’s hand with trembling urgency. “Mr. Romano… I am resigning effective immediately. I’ll clear out my locker in the staff wing. Please, don’t take your anger out on us. We’ll leave Chicago tonight.”
I stared at the young mother. For months, I had watched her work herself to exhaustion, hiding her financial struggles behind a mask of quiet dignity, terrified of the monster everyone said I was.
“You are not resigning, Mrs. Morales,” I said, my tone flattening into absolute, undeniable authority.
Elena flinched. “Sir?”
“If you leave, who is going to make sure Lily doesn’t turn my Persian rugs into an impressionist gallery?” I walked over to the wet bar, grabbed a fresh glass of sparkling water, and looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall. The butterfly was starting to dry, pulling slightly at the skin near my left eyebrow. “Your salary is doubled, effective today. And you will stop apologizing for your daughter bringing color into a very dull, very gray house.”
Elena stared at me, her mouth slightly open, as if she had just watched me turn lead into gold.
“Mr. Romano… I don't know what to say.”
“Say nothing,” I replied, turning back to my desk and sitting down in my leather chair. “Just pick up your paints. And Lily?”
The little girl stopped at the door, looking back over her shoulder.
May you like
“Next time,” I said, maintaining a completely straight face, “you check with me before adding the butterfly. My forehead prefers geometric patterns.”
Lily giggled—a bright, chiming sound that chased the last lingering shadows out of the corners of the massive study. “Okay, Mister Big House! Next time, squares!”
