Chapter 4 - The Upper Suite
The private family suite smelled of old cedar, expensive wool, and lemon wax. It was massive—three bedrooms, a private sitting area with a limestone fireplace, and tall windows draped in heavy velvet curtains that blocked out the Chicago wind.
Daniel set Zuri down on the edge of a velvet-upholstered sofa. The little girl immediately dropped her stuffed rabbit and ran her fingers over the intricately carved armrests, fascinated by the sudden upgrade from the tiny, windowless room beside the laundry wing where she and her mother had lived in secret for over a year.
Amara stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron, refusing to sit on the furniture.
Daniel walked over to the mahogany desk, dropped his suit jacket over the back of the chair, and turned to face her. His sleeves were still rolled up, revealing the lean, corded muscle of his forearms and the faded, jagged scar running across his left wrist—a souvenir from a knife fight in Incheon a decade ago.
“Sit, Amara,” Daniel said.
“I prefer to stand, Mr. Kang.”
“Sit,” he repeated, his voice leaving no room for debate.
Amara hesitated, then gingerly took the edge of a tufted armchair near the door.
Daniel leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes swept over her—taking in the faded gray uniform, the slight dark circles under her eyes, the posture of a woman who had spent years making herself as small as possible so the world would forget she existed.
“Four years ago,” Daniel began, his voice dropping into a quiet, intense timbre, “after the fire at the South Side docks, my men searched every inch of that building. They told me everyone was out. They told me there were no survivors.”
“Your men didn't look in the basement cold-storage locker,” Amara said, her voice trembling slightly as the memory rose unbidden. “I was working the late shift cleaning the offices above the warehouse when the men with guns came in. I heard the shouting. I heard the shots. I locked myself and the supply cart in the sub-basement. When the fire started, I managed to crawl out through the drainage pipe just as the roof collapsed.”
“And you didn't come to me,” Daniel stated. It wasn't a question.
“Come to you?” Amara let out a dry, bitter laugh that held no humor. “Mr. Kang, you were the target! Half the syndicates in the Midwest were trying to put a bullet in your head that night. I was a nineteen-year-old girl working a cleaning job to pay for my mother’s hospital bills. If I had walked up to you and said, ‘By the way, I think I’m carrying your child,’ I wouldn't have lasted five minutes before your rivals used me to get to you—or worse, before your own inner circle decided I was a liability.”
Daniel pushed off the desk. He walked slowly toward her, his footsteps making no sound on the thick Persian rug. He stopped just two feet away, towering over her chair.
“You think my inner circle would have harmed you?”
“I know what men in your world do to loose ends,” Amara snapped, her fear momentarily overridden by a sudden, fierce maternal flash. She stood up to face him, her chin lifting despite the height difference. “I protected her, Mr. Kang. For four years, I worked three jobs, hid in basements, changed our names three times, and finally took a job scrubbing toilets in your mansion just so we could eat. I didn't come here to blackmail you. I didn't come here to ruin your engagement to Miss Yoon. We were supposed to leave next month. We were invisible.”
Daniel stared down at her.
Most people—politicians, rival bosses, corrupt cops—shrank when Daniel Kang leaned in. They sweated, they stammered, they offered bribes.
Amara Johnson stood her ground, her hazel eyes blazing with defiance and exhaustion, shaking like a leaf yet refusing to break.
Before Daniel could answer, a soft voice interrupted from across the room.
“Daddy?”
Both adults froze.
Daniel turned his head slowly. Zuri was sitting on the rug near the sofa, holding her stuffed rabbit by one ear, looking up at him with those exact, unmistakable dark eyes.
“Daddy,” Zuri repeated, testing the word as if it were a new toy she had just discovered in the toy box. “Are you staying with us now?”
Daniel looked at the child. Then he looked at Amara.
May you like
The cold, calculated armor of the King of the North Side cracked just a little bit more.
“Yes, bug,” Daniel said softly, kneeling down on one knee so he was eye-level with the little girl. “I’m staying right here.”
