“Legacy doesn’t walk through the door.
It arrives in a black car, wearing mirrored sunglasses.”
The eggs were over-seasoned.
At least, that’s what May told herself—staring down at her untouched plate as another forkful of food went ignored. She wasn’t really hungry. Not because of nausea, but because something was off.
She felt it in the base of her neck. The tightening in her chest. A shift in the atmosphere like a storm building just out of frame.
And she wasn’t wrong.
For the past week, the manor had changed.
New security patterns. Advanced facial scans at the East Wing entrances. Silent guards who spoke only in coded language and moved with the efficiency of trained killers.
And now?
A new addition.
One of them stood behind her chair. Always.
“Too attached to my hip,” she muttered into her juice, low enough to avoid his smug response.
She’d tried arguing with Joe.
“If you just gave me my pistols back, I’d protect myself and my baby.”
Joe, of course, had remained firm. Stoic. Frustratingly hot when he was unyielding.
“No.”
No reasons. No compromise. Just no.
Now she sat in the grand dining hall, shoulders tense, lips tight, as she felt the vibration of something new pulling up the long drive.
May slowly stood, walking with practiced calm to the heavy curtains that lined the massive arched window. She tugged one back just enough to peer through.
A sleek black car had pulled into the circle.
Not just sleek. Ominous.
The kind of car you didn’t buy off a lot. You earned it through bloodlines, blackmail, or battles won in silence.
Two men stepped out.
Both removed their sunglasses in unison—eerily coordinated, sharp as blades.
They had green eyes. Just like Joe.
Brothers.
One had blond hair, styled with surgical neatness. The other had light brown waves and a streak of gray at the temples, face sharper than bone. The eldest, May guessed, just from the way the air seemed to pause around him.
They were tall. Broad. Moved like they’d killed men with fewer steps than it took to cross the drive.
Her pulse kicked.
Joe emerged from the manor seconds later, buttoning the front of his jacket. He didn’t hesitate. Walked out like he’d been waiting for them. Which he had.
May’s eyes narrowed. She watched his expression carefully.
No surprise.
No nerves.
He’d called them here.
“Ms. Evers.”
A tap on her shoulder.
She jumped.
Her new handler—her sarcastic name for the bodyguard assigned to her—stood expressionless behind her.
“That’s the fourth time I’ve said your name.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked one more time through the curtain at the reunion happening below.
“Your security detail has been given instructions,” the handler said. “You’re to return to your suite.”
Her jaw clenched. “Why doesn’t Joe want me to meet them?”
The guard said nothing.
And that silence?
Told her everything.
Still, she turned without protest and let herself be escorted away, heels clicking across marble like a retreating queen.
——
Meanwhile — The Front Entrance
Joe hugged the younger of the two brothers first.
“Laurent,” the blond one teased. “Nice suit. You running for office now?”
Joe gave a icy shirk. “Hardly.”
The eldest offered a nod instead of an embrace.
“Gideon,” Joe said, with quiet acknowledgment. “I appreciate you both coming.”
Gideon—stern, unreadable—didn’t offer a smile. Just scanned the manor like it was a war room waiting to erupt.
“You’ve expanded the perimeter,” he said.
“There’s a reason for that,” Joe replied, already turning toward the doors. “Come inside. We’ve got a lot to go over.”
As they walked into the vaulted foyer, Laurent—the youngest—lifted his nose and sniffed theatrically.
“god,” he said. “I smell perfume. Please tell me it’s not your cologne again.”
Joe didn’t miss a step. “No. There’s a woman here.”
That brought both brothers to a halt.
He turned, slow and calm, facing them.
“You’ll meet her—after we handle business in the office.”
Neither brother argued. But both looked at him differently now.
Because the last time Joe had shared a space with a woman?
She hadn’t lasted long.
And this one?
Was already changing the shape of his war.
-----
© 2025 L
This is a work of fiction written by L. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be copied, reproduced, translated, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author.
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Revving Engines
RandomMay was raised in the roar of biker engines and shadows of violence, but New York taught her how to hide her scars. Joe was supposed to be nothing more than a phantom at the edges of her world. Watch. Report. Disappear. But May doesn't look past him...
