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Her smile gets wider as she moves toward the door. “No, honey. I’m accusin’ you of lookin’ like a man who would deny it with a straight face.”

She opens the door before I can answer, and Ivy nearly falls into the room with Winston tucked under one arm like evidence. My daughter wears her dance leggings, one sock, and the sparkly headband she has decided must be worn several hours before rehearsal. Winston’s fur sticks up on one side, and he looks entirely pleased with himself.

Ivy points at him. “He has no regrets.”

Maggie crouches and scratches beneath Winston’s chin. “Most hardened criminals don’t.”

Ivy nods, taking this seriously. “Agatha said pancakes are ready.”

“Then we shouldn’t keep Agatha waitin’,” I tell her.

Maggie pauses in the doorway and sends me one last teasing smile before disappearing into the hall. It is a small thing, but I memorize it anyway. Everything about this morning should feel ordinary. A child demanding breakfast. A dog stealing food. A woman laughing in my bedroom. Instead, mornings like this have become rare enough that I want to hold on to them.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. The sound echoes in the room.

I reach for the phone and read Luka’s name on the screen. “What is it?” I answer.

Luka doesn’t waste words. “Roman is waiting in the guest house.”

I look toward the window, where the east lawn stretches beneath the morning sun. The guest house sits beyond the garden path, half-hidden by oaks and armed men that most guests never realize are there.

“Why?”

“Enzo DeLuca decided to cooperate.”

For one measured breath, I say nothing. Enzo is arrogant, greedy, and controlled by self-preservation. A man like him cooperates only when silence becomes more dangerous than betrayal.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I end the call and dress quickly, choosing dark slacks and a navy shirt. Years of training have reduced preparation to routine. I button the cuffs, fasten my belt, secure my watch and weapon, and think about Luka's words.

Enzo DeLuca decided to cooperate.

I don’t trust sudden cooperation. I trust fear. I trust pressure. I trust a man realizing the people he has served are now more likely to kill him than I am. If Enzo is speaking, something’s changed.

Downstairs, the kitchen is warm with the smell of pancakes, coffee, bacon, and syrup. Mrs. Bennett stands at the stove, one hand on her hip, while Winston sits beside the island pretending innocence. Daisy watches from beneath the breakfast table, unimpressed by all of us.

“There he is,” Mrs. Bennett says without turning around. “The man who owns every security system known to mankind and still can’t stop a dog from stealing breakfast.”

Maggie laughs into her coffee. “I was just thinkin’ that.”

I take my place at the island beside Ivy. “Winston is unpredictable.”

“He’s six pounds,” Maggie says.

“Still unpredictable.”

Ivy pushes a fork through her pancakes. “He’s sneaky.”

Mrs. Bennett points the spatula toward the dog. “He’s shameless.”

Winston thumps his tail against the floor.

For a little while, I let the room exist around me. Ivy tells Maggie about the rehearsal schedule for the third time. Maggie listens as though she hasn’t already heard every detail, asking questions about Sophie, sparkles, turns, and whether Miss Hannah will be disappointed if someone forgets where to stand.

I should leave. Roman is waiting, and Enzo DeLuca is sitting in the guest house with answers I’ve spent weeks chasing. Yet I remain where I am. Once I leave this kitchen, questions begin, and I’m not prepared to answer them. Maggie notices too much. If I rush out now, she’ll know something is wrong, and I have no intention of telling her Enzo is on my property until I know exactly what he has to say.

For now, I allow myself this. Breakfast. Laughter. Family.