Page 53 of Second Chance Daddy

“Handle what, right? There’s just some creep outside! It could be a mistake, it could be?—”

“It’s not a mistake,” I cut her off again. “That’s not how mistakes look. That’s how threats look.”

Cassie hovers, torn between arguing and freezing. Her hands curl at her sides like she wants to hold me back, but she doesn’t.

“I’ve got this,” I say, softer now. “But I need you to stay inside. Stay with Aria.”

She nods.

I slip out the back door. The motion lights kick on as I step onto the porch, flooding the driveway with harsh white light. I scan the yard for shadows that don’t match the trees.

Nothing.

My boots eat up the distance to the driveway. The night stays quiet around me.

Too quiet.

But by the time I get there? Gone.

Like smoke. Just empty fucking air and the hum of crickets under the porch light.

My gut knots, rage simmering low beneath my ribs. I circle the property twice, my pulse steady, scanning every shadow, every sound. I check the spots where he stood, finding only damp grass and, near the tree line, the butt of a cigarette. Still warm. Fresh.

Son of a bitch.

He ran the second I stepped outside. As if he were just here to send a message, not to engage. It’s the calling card of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. And exactly who they’re dealing with.

Fucking coward.

I pocket the cigarette butt, thinking of prints. DNA. Any leads to trace this back to the source.

Back inside, I find Cassie exactly where I left her, hovering in the kitchen over the camera footage like she’s afraid to even breathe. Her eyes widen when I walk in, scanning me like she’s expecting to see blood.

Who does she think I am? John Wick?

“He’s gone,” I tell her, moving back to the security feeds. “Disappeared before I could have our... chat.”

Her shoulders slump with relief. “Thank God.”

I check each camera feed again, making sure he hasn’t circled back. The property looks clear, but that doesn’t mean it is. There are blind spots. Weak points in the security that I never bothered to fix because this was supposed to be our retreat.

My phone’s in my hand before I’ve made the conscious decision to call. Muscle memory.

“Viktor,” I say when he answers. “Need you to run surveillance on the Romano property. Someone just paid us a visit.”

“What kind of visit?”

“The kind that stalks and doesn’t stay for introductions.”

I send the security footage directly to his phone, hearing the ping as it arrives.

“I’ll have someone run facial recognition and try to see who the plates belong to,” he says. “We’ll hack into street cameras and see if we can find a destination. We’ll find something.”

“I want everything. Where did he come from? Where he went.”

“On it. You want a team there?”

I glance at Cassie, who’s watching me with those wide, fearful eyes. Having a security detail show up would raise too many questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer.