Julian looked down.

Emma looked up, completely unafraid of the man who ruled the Chicago underworld.

She reached up and touched the cold brass buttons of his coat.

“Cold,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Julian did not call for security.

He did not yell.

Slowly, he knelt down on the cold marble floor until he was eye-level with her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver pocket watch.

He clicked it open, and a soft, tinny melody filled the silent foyer.

Emma’s eyes lit up.

“My daughter loved music,” Julian said, his voice surprisingly soft, though his eyes remained sad.

He closed the watch and placed it gently in Emma’s tiny hand.

“Keep it,” he whispered, before standing up and walking away without another word.

Now, standing in the bright light of the dining room, that silver pocket watch was tucked safely inside my apron pocket.

Julian’s phone buzzed again, breaking the heavy silence of the room.

He slowly raised the phone to his ear, his gaze still fixed on Vanessa.

“Speak,” Julian said.