Chapter 5 – The Man at the Door
Lorenzo's hand flexed on his phone but he did not lift it to his ear. He was still, watching. His iced grey eyes studied the man as though he could strip away the smile and see the weapon beneath it.
"Good evening," the man said, his voice smooth, trained, the voice of someone who had spoken lies often enough to make them sound like truth. He held up the badge with two fingers. "Detective Hale. I am here on official business."
Kira had seen that face before. Not in the light of day but in her nightmares. She remembered the raid on her parents' house, the chaos, the shots, the smoke. She remembered a man stepping forward, a badge glinting in his hand as if it could justify the violence that followed. She had been twelve. He had been one of them. She had never forgotten.
Now he stood only a few feet away, his hair streaked with silver, his jaw sharper with age, but the eyes were the same. Cold. Empty.
Leonardo Windsor appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his presence filling the hall without a word. The years had not dulled his authority; if anything, they had sharpened it. He leaned against the polished rail as though the entire house bowed to him.
"What warrant brings you here, Detective?" Leonardo's voice carried like a gunshot, calm but commanding.
Detective Hale flicked his gaze up, then down again, his smile tight. "A search warrant concerning recent business dealings. There are whispers of arms shipments routed through Windsor channels. I have a duty to investigate."
A murmur stirred among the servants hiding in the shadows of the hall. Kira's fingers dug into the lamp. Arms shipments. She knew this family's empire was built on more than legitimate trade, but hearing it spoken aloud—hearing the accusation—sharpened everything.
Leonardo's eyes narrowed but his voice remained cool. "You walk into my house in the middle of the night without prior notice, with armed men outside, and you expect me to believe this is procedure?"
Hale's smile grew. "When danger looms, procedure bends."
Kira felt Lorenzo's gaze flick toward her. Brief. Barely a second. Yet she understood it. Stay quiet. Watch. Learn. Do not act.
Hale's footsteps echoed as he wandered farther into the foyer, his eyes scanning the gold-framed portraits, the heavy rugs, the chandelier wreckage still half-cleared from the banquet. His expression was not admiration. It was hunger.
"I will need access to the study," Hale said casually, as though he were asking for a glass of water. "And the west wing. Unless you would prefer my men to enter."
Leonardo descended one step, then another, his shadow stretching across the marble. "You will not search my house without proof."
Hale tapped the badge against his palm. "This is proof enough."
The tension was so thick Kira thought she could choke on it. Every nerve in her body screamed to move, to run, to scream, to fight but she stayed rooted. Her disguise was her shield. If she broke it now, everything would unravel.
And yet, when Hale's gaze swept across the room and landed on her, her blood ran cold.
He tilted his head, studying her the way a wolf studies prey. Recognition flickered in his eyes. Just for an instant.
Kira forced herself to lower her eyes, to play the role. Just a maid. Just another shadow in the Windsor house. But she felt the tremor crawl through her fingers. Did he know? Could he know? After all these years?
Lorenzo stepped forward, intercepting the line of sight. He positioned himself between Hale and Kira, deliberate, protective, as though he had sensed the danger. "If you want to search, then search," Lorenzo said flatly."But you will not do it alone. I will accompany you."
Hale smirked. "Of course. The dutiful son."
Leonardo's jaw tightened. He gave the faintest nod, and Lorenzo gestured for Hale to follow him toward the west wing. The detective's polished shoes clicked against the marble as they disappeared down the corridor, shadows swallowing them both.
The hall exhaled, but Kira could not breathe. She turned away, hands shaking, and nearly collided with Mr. Gray. The butler's skeletal face was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her too long, as if he had noticed what she had tried so hard to hide.
"Back to your quarters, Isabel," he said softly. "Now."
She obeyed because to disobey would draw questions. She obeyed because her heart was beating too loud, her disguise threatening to rip apart.
But she could not sleep.
She sat on the narrow bed in the servant's
wing, her suitcase at her feet, her aunt's rosary tangled in her hand. She remembered Hale's face under the porch light, the same face from her childhood nightmares. If he recognized her, if he suspected, her mission was already collapsing.
And worse, Lorenzo had stood between them. He had shielded her without knowing the truth. That was not supposed to happen. She was supposed to use him, not lean on him. He was supposed to be the weapon, not the shield.
Hours later, when the house was silent again, a soft knock rattled her door. She froze, every muscle tense. Slowly, she rose and opened it a crack.
Lorenzo stood there, a shadow against the dim light.
His shirt lay rumpled against his chest, tie abandoned somewhere in the chaos, dark hair falling loosely across his forehead. A thin crimson line traced his jaw where something sharp had grazed the skin. His eyes, usually guarded, now burned with intensity in the darkness, revealing a raw emotion she rarely witnessed.
"Come," he said. His voice carried the weight of the night—low, rough, commanding yet tinged with vulnerability. "We need to talk."
She hesitated, her mind racing through consequences and possibilities, but only for a moment. Then, drawing a steadying breath, she stepped into the corridor and followed his tall figure.
He led her not to the familiar warmth of the library, not to the formal dining room where they'd shared countless meals, but outside. It was not a question but a revelation hanging between them.
Kira kept her expression blank, though her heart hammered against her ribs. A cold sweat broke out along her spine, but she refused to let her anxiety show. "He was a detective," she replied, her fingers unconsciously tightening around her glass. The amber liquid inside trembled slightly, betraying the tension she fought to conceal. She took a slow breath, wondering how much Lorenzo already knew and how much she dared reveal. The weight of their shared history hung in the air between them like an unspoken accusation.
Lorenzo shook his head, disappointment etching lines around his mouth. "Do not insult me. I saw the way you looked at him. You recognized him. And he recognized you." His voice remained low but carried an unmistakable edge of suspicion.
Her breath caught in her throat. The carefully constructed façade she had maintained for months—her disguise, her lies, her intricate web of deception—all threatened to tear apart in a single moment. A cold sensation spread through her chest as she considered the implications.
She forced a calmness she did not feel, summoning every ounce of training she had endured. "You imagine too much," she countered, meeting his gaze with practiced indifference while her mind raced through possible escape routes.
His eyes narrowed. "No. I see too much. I always have. You are not who you say you are, Isabel. And if you are going to survive in this house, you had better decide whether you will tell me the truth… or whether I should find it myself."
A breeze stirred the air, carrying the distant murmurs of the city and whispered memories of gunshots from years past. Kira clenched her fists at her sides, feeling her nails dig crescents into her palms as tension coiled through her body like a spring.
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. If she confessed now, everything would crumble to dust. If she crafted a lie, she risked igniting his formidable wrath—a prospect that made her throat constrict. But maintaining silence might squander this singular opportunity to transform his suspicion into a weapon she could wield herself. Her mind raced through scenarios, calculating risks against slim chances of survival.
Drawing a shallow breath that barely filled her lungs, Kira lifted her eyes to meet his iced grey gaze. Those eyes reminded her of winter storms—beautiful, merciless, and utterly devoid of warmth. "The truth is dangerous, sir," she said, her voice steadier than she felt inside where fear churned like a tempest. "And sometimes," she added with a subtle shift in her stance, "it kills faster than bullets."
His expression flickered. For the first time, Lorenzo Windsor looked at her not with suspicion, not with command, but with something darker. Curiosity.
The silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap, taut with unspoken accusations and lingering resentment. She clenched her fists at her sides, fighting the urge to break first, while he stared past her shoulder, jaw muscles working beneath his skin.
Then, in the distance, a gunshot cracked the night, shattering the stillness like glass breaking on concrete. The sound echoed across the grounds, sending a chill down her spine.
Both of them turned toward the sound, instinct overriding their quarrel. Her breath caught in her throat as his hand moved protectively toward her arm, an old habit neither time nor anger had erased.
And the mansion behind them roared awake, lights blazing to life in every window. Shouts erupted from within, followed by the thunder of footsteps and slamming doors. Whatever fragile moment they'd shared dissolved instantly, replaced by the cold grip of dread that squeezed her heart.
Gunfire in the distance shatters the fragile stillness. Kira and Lorenzo stand in the garden, secrets and suspici
ons hanging between them. The Windsor mansion is no longer just a cage of power; it is under attack.