CHAPTER THREE

The lights were on. That was the first clue. The second was the broken vase, it's shards glittering on the hallway floor. Harry didn't need a third. He was already reaching down – fingers brushing the loose edge of his pantaloons, where the cold steel waited. A smaller, softer hand covered his, halting his movement. Harry's gaze bored into the owner, sharp and unyielding. 

"What are you doing?" He whispered, careful not to alert the intruder. His eyes were alert, scanning the hallway like an eagle sizing up his prey. 

Maria hiccupped. "Have you ever come home to crime? Why are you pulling out your gun?" 

Harry's eyes met María's, then swept the hallway, lingering on the mess for emphasis. "This is the private wing, there —" Another hiccup. "— is no way anyone would have..."

Harry nudged her hand away, and his came back up with black steel in it. "Never say never." 

María followed behind him, lips turned down. When they walked in at first, she was a little tipsy, clinging to Harry's arm with a sleepy grin. Now, her eyes were all but clear. "You said you brought Isa..." 

"Shut it, María." 

Ugh. Until Isa sees you with a gun. We will have a word then.

Maria glanced at her wristwatch, and her chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "It's past 4 a.m, Harry, and all I want to do right now is get to my bed and-" 

Harry threw a glance at her from over his shoulder, successfully shutting her up. Then they saw it. María's eyes widened in fear and she moved to hide behind Harry, like he had taught her to in this situation. Her hands gripped his shoulders. The living room was in chaos.

Cushions flung across the floor. A broken lamp. Empty bottles knocked over. A pair of glittery heels on the coffee table. And a bottle of wine broken on the white plush rug at the center of the sitting area. Someone had raided the kitchen: remnants of snacks were scattered across the rug, alongside a tub of half-melted ice cream and a light pink feather boa that definitely didn't belong to anyone in the Danvers household. Harry's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. 

A thief?

María peeked from over his shoulders, her eyes lighting up with understanding once it landed on the light pink boa. María groaned. "Oh no... Isa." She moved around Harry, picking up the boa and the glittery heels on the coffee table. She glared at the pistol still in Harry's hands. "Put that away, I don't want Isa seeing it." 

Harry tucked the gun back under the loose end of his pantaloons, his eyes scanning the mess once again. "She did this?" 

Actually. Now that I think of it, yes, she's perfectly capable of doing this in her drunk haze. Kitty cat. 

His eyes narrowed on the wine bottle on the plush rug, his jaw tightening. Just then, the knight in shining armor from the party descended from the stairs leading to the floor above. Harry's eyes zeroed in on him. "What the fuck happened here?" 

"My apologies, Don. I left her on the couch while I informed the others of her presence. When I returned, the place was like this – a mess everywhere. I found her in the kitchen, rambling about 'kingdoms and cosmic pole dancing'. She —"

"Where is she?" María interrupted. 

"She passed out about twenty minutes ago in your bed, Señorita."

"Twenty minutes ago?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you making your way down just now?" 

" Um. I- She..."

María's eyes widened. "You didn't do anything to her, did you?" Harry's eyes narrowed, the corner of his right eyes twitching. 

The Knight's eyes widened in panic, his hands wagging in denial. "No. No. No. No. She made a mess in your room, so I tried to arrange it a bit. 

Jamás agrediría a una mujer!" He explained, his eyes the size of a soccer ball. (I would never assault a woman!)

He knew what would happen, the consequences of such unruly behavior. More so to a friend of the Don's sister. If there was one thing he had learnt this few months here, it was this; THE DON NEVER MESSED WITH WOMEN.

Well. Except the ones he slept with. Consensually. 

María gave him a skeptical look, gauging the truth in his words. He could be lying, but then, Harry didn't take perverts under him. She wouldn't admit it openly to him, but his men had come to become family to her and they definitely did treat her like one. Except this one was still wet behind the ear. Not yet vetted for. Not yet family. Still being tested. She was pretty sure his presence at the party was part of the test. And frankly, her blood boiled at the thought that Harry had assigned him to Isabella. 

What if he couldn't be trusted?!

"Go to bed, Germana." 

Harry's voice brought María's judging eyes to him. He gestured to the stairs with his eyes. María understood: he was telling her to go rest her tipsy ass while he handled his man, and also check on Isabella. He didn't trust the newbie yet either. Her feet moved towards the stairs on their own accord, dragging on the tiled floor. 

God. I'm tired. Tomorrow. We will talk tomorrow. 

Harry moved to the refrigerator in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from it, swiping a water glass off the cabinet. He poured a glass for himself, chugged it all, before he turned to the newbie. "What's the word on the rules for residence stay?" 

The newbie's posture straightened – spine straight, legs together – but his head hung low. "My apologies, Don. I-" 

"I asked a question." 

The newbie swallowed hard. His voice, though low, was steady – trained, rehearsed, but the fear beneath it was real. "Rule One: Your mother's and sister's rooms are off-limits. No knocking, no stepping close, no exceptions, except in grave dangers."

He lifted his head just slightly, eyes flicking up to meet Harry's for a beat before darting away again. "Rule Two: No weapons in the house unless you say so. The residence is sacred. It's not a battleground."

A breath. He braced himself for the next part. "Rule Three: Speak only when spoken to. No small talk. No unnecessary words. Respect the silence."

His hands were stiff at his sides now, fingers curled. "Rule Four: Clean up after yourself. Live here, you carry your weight. No one waits on you."

His eyes flitted to the mess. A brief flash of shame. "Rule Five: All loyalty belongs to you, Don. No side deals. No second allegiances. One line. One voice. Yours."

He dropped his gaze again, jaw clenched. "I broke Rule One. I didn't secure the girl's placement. I broke Rule Four. I didn't prevent the mess."

A pause.

"And I nearly broke Rule Five-by making excuses."

Harry said nothing for a long moment. He stood, his eyes fixed on the kid like he was reading something in him – something that had nothing to do with the mess or the wine or the chaos in his living room. He exhaled, slowly, walked over to the kitchen counter and lowered the empty glass down, the sound soft but final. "She made the mess. Not you."

The newbie blinked, glancing up at Harry with a surprised look. 

"You should've handled it better. Yes. But you didn't lay a hand on her, you didn't leave her alone out there, and you didn't lie to cover your ass. That's more than I can say for most fresh blood."

The newbie's shoulders lowered just a little. Relief? Maybe.

Harry stepped closer, not threatening – just present. "Don't ever think loyalty is about being perfect. It's about being honest, even when it hurts. And knowing whose name you're wearing like armor."

He opened the buttons of his cuffs, his tone softening – barely. "You're not family yet. But you're not out either." Then he turned away, walking a few steps before pausing again. "Clean the place. And next time, don't let anyone - not even a drunk heiress - run the show on your watch." A brief glance over his shoulder. "Get some sleep after. You'll need it."

Then he was gone, already halfway up the stairs, leaving behind a stunned and smiling newbie. 

*****

Isabella moaned into the soft pillow cushioning her head. She turned onto her back, her face scrunched up. She brought a hand up to her face, rubbing the space between her brows. She tried to pry her eyes open, only to shut them immediately against the sunlight streaming into the room. It burned behind her eyes. She lay still, listening to the soft sounds of birds chirping, her head pounding like a war drum. Her mouth tasted like regret, and her entire body ached.

Groaning, she sat up. Slowly, she opened her eyes, the hood only several inches away from her lower lash - only to realize she wasn't in her own bed. Her eyes flew open and she scanned the room frantically, her pounding head, crampy muscles and bitter mouth forgotten. 

Did I go home with a guy yester night? 

Her eyes landed on the outline of a figure under the duvet beside her. The duvet was pulled all the way to the neck. All she could see was a mope of black hair. She leaned over slowly, quietly, trying to catch a glimpse of the face. The figure moved and she pulled back immediately, hands curling into fists protectively in front of her. She watched as the head turned to her, the facial features bare for her to see. 

María. 

She scoffed. 

Silly me. Of course, Mar would have brought me home. 

Her shoulders lowered, her hands coming to her sides. Few seconds later, they flew up to cushion her head. "Coffee... I need... Coffee..." 

She stumbled out of the room, finding herself in the hallway of a very unfamiliar house. She made it to the stairs, following the smell of cooking food. 

There is only one place a coffee machine would be in a home. 

Just like she thought, she descended the stairs and was greeted by a open plan kitchen. There was a woman standing at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot. The smell filled the whole space, calling unto whoever was interested. 

"Buenos días, Señora," Isabella greeted, stepping into the kitchen space cautiously. (Good morning, Ma)

The woman turned to her and she smiled."Buenas días, Ma'am. You're awake." 

Oops. Not Spaniard. My bad. And seems to... No. I can't think right now. Café, por favor! (Coffee, please!)

Isabella gave the woman her best save me look - eyes shining, almost glistening with tears, lips pouted - leaning on the counter for support. "Yes. And I need a cup of coffee, or I just might drop dead right now." 

The woman chuckled, and moved away from the stove towards the kitchen counter. Isabella realized what she was about to do and stepped in. "No. No. I will fix a cup for myself. I was just asking for permission to invade your space," she smiled brightly at the woman, wincing when the sides of her head protested at the movement. "A cup, please." 

The woman handed her a cup from one of the cabinets in the kitchen. With a shaky hand, she placed the cup under the spout and pressed the button for a strong brew. The machine whirred to life, dispensing a rich, dark liquid into the cup. As the coffee flowed, the aroma wafted up, tantalizing her senses. She winced at the noise, bringing a hand to rub at her forehead, but the promise of caffeine was too enticing to resist. When the machine beeped, signaling her coffee was ready, she grasped the cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep into her palms.

She took a tentative sip, the bitter flavors jolting her system awake. For a moment, she just breathed, letting the coffee's warmth spread through her body. She took another sip. And another. And another. A smile slowly turned up her face. 

Alright. I'm not going to die just yet. Glory! What the hell exactly did that bartender put in that glass? A death potion? By God.

A low voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Buenos días, Birthday Queen."

She turned slowly to the voice and her mouth dropped slightly open, the hand bringing the cup of coffee to her lips stilling. Every thought running through her head moments ago wiped clean.