Chapter 5 - Shadows at the Gate
The midnight wind howling off Lake Erie rattled the reinforced storm glass of the manor, carrying with it the stinging bite of an early November blizzard.
I stood at the second-floor landing of the grand staircase, wrapping my woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders as I watched the swirling snow obscure the security cameras outside. Inside the manor, the children were fast asleep in their warm, cozy rooms down the eastern hall, completely shielded from the violent weather raging outside.
A soft click sounded behind me.
I turned to see Roman walking out of the master suite—the room he had casually commandeered earlier that evening despite my protests. He had stripped off his suit jacket, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the faint scars shadowing his broad chest.
“You should be in bed,” Roman said quietly, his voice cutting through the hum of the hallway heater.
“I could say the exact same thing to you,” I replied, not breaking my stride as I walked toward the downstairs kitchen to brew a cup of herbal tea.
To my mild annoyance, Roman followed me down the stairs, trailing a few paces behind like a silent shadow. When I flicked on the kitchen light and reached for the kettle, he stepped past me, taking the heavy metal pot out of my hands and filling it himself at the sink.
“I didn't ask for your help,” I muttered, leaning against the marble counter.
“I know,” Roman replied smoothly, placing the kettle on the stove and turning the burner on. He leaned against the counter beside me, staring out the dark kitchen window into the blizzard. “Caleb spotted three unmarked black SUVs sitting about two miles down the lake road an hour ago. They’ve been idling out there in the snow without headlights.”
My posture stiffened instantly. The warmth of the kitchen seemed to vanish.
“Enforcers from the Detroit syndicate?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“Likely,” Roman answered, his face hardening into a lethal mask. “They must have tracked my movements from Michigan. They know I’m here, and they’re probing the perimeter to see if Grayhaven is still an abandoned shell or a fortified compound.”
“They’ll find out it’s the latter,” I said coldly. “Caleb and his team have motion sensors and thermal cameras covering every square inch of the acreage.”
“Technology is great, Emily,” Roman said, turning his head to look directly at me, his dark eyes intense. “But lead and steel are what these bastards understand. If they breach the gates, this isn't a corporate boardroom battle anymore. It’s a war.”
Before I could reply, the harsh, blaring wail of an electronic security alarm tore through the quiet night.
Red emergency lights began flashing silently along the corridors upstairs.
Roman moved with terrifying speed. In less than a second, he had grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward the reinforced pantry just as the heavy oak kitchen door rattled under the impact of heavy boots hitting the rear patio.
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“Stay here,” Roman commanded, his voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding order.
Before I could argue, he reached inside his leather shoulder holster—which he had kept concealed beneath his vest—and pulled out a heavy Beretta pistol, checking the magazine with a practiced, lethal click before slipping out into the darkened hallway.
