Diana Mirabella Kaiser
The knocking was loud, too loud.
I jolted upright, my heart thudding in my chest like I'd just been yanked out of a nightmare. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. But No. The noise came again, three hard, deliberate pounds against my apartment door.
I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the clock on my nightstand.
7:56p.m
What the hell? Who knocks on someone's door like that at nearly eight at night?
I moved on instinct. I slid out of bed, shoved the old dresser away from the door, heavy as hell, but I'd learned to make it work and approached slowly. My eyes flicked to the locks. Four in total. I undid the first one, then the middle and the third one.
I hesitated at the last.
Silence now. But not the safe kind. It felt like someone dangerous was breathing just beyond the threshold. Like the air itself thickened.
I cracked the door open, just enough to see.
Two men.
The first one looked older , maybe late forties, early fifties. Black hair, with streaks of grey at the temples. His eyes were what stopped me, green and a cold grey. Sharp eyes. The kind that see more than they should. He was tall. Built. Masculine in that quiet, commanding way that screams power without trying.
The second guy was even taller. Blond hair, kind of tousled, like he didn't care how it looked. His eyes were brown, but not warm, more like stone. Observing. Measuring. He stood like someone who knew how to fight and wasn't worried about needing to.
I gripped the door a little tighter.
"...Who the hell are you?" I asked, voice low and steady.
They didn't answer right away. Just stood there, looking at me. Like they were the ones trying to figure me out.
Then the older one finally spoke. His voice was calm, deep, confident.
"Diana Mirabella kaiser?"
I felt my breath hitch in my throat.
No one calls me that. Not the full name. Not ever.
My fingers tightened on the door. My full name on a stranger's lips sent a jolt through me like a bucket of ice water.
"Yeah?" I said slowly, heart pounding now, but I didn't let it show. "Who's asking?"
The older man looked me dead in the eyes." My name is Marcello Mariano." He kept going, eyes unreadable." I believe ... I'm your father."
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The world tilted a little. Like the floor just dropped out from underneath me and no one bothered to warn me. My father? This man?
"And this," he added, gesturing to the tall blonde beside him," is Killian. Your half brother."
Killian.
The blond guy nodded once, stiff. His eyes were still studying me, not with cruelty, just ... calculation. Like I was a threat. Or a puzzle he hadn't quite solved.
I didn't say a word.
Not to him. Not to Killian. Not to the man who had the audacity to show up at my door after seventeen years and say, "I believe I'm your father."
Instead, I slammed the door shut.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in my apartment.
My name. My real name. He knew it. He knew me.
No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to finde me.
But they did.
And it send me straight back to that cold office, age twelve, sitting stiffly across from the social worker, with the bun too tight and the pity too heavy in her eyes.
"You will find another family, Diana." She'd said gently, like I wouldn't understand. Family's always adopted me and then always sent me back.
Back then, it was the day i decided to runaway.
Constantly being adopted, but then always sent back like I was clothes that you could always return.
My whole body shook, but i didn't let myself fall apart. I backed away from the door like it might explode, like he might break it down and force the truth into my apartment, into me.
Marcello Mariano.
I knew that name.
Everyone did.
He was the CEO of some global import-export company. Big in logistics, luxury goods, I don't know, I'd seen his name in the news, once or twice. Charity gala. Business expos. The kind of man who gave speeches in glass buildings and wore ten- thousand- dollar watches. Nothing shady. Just rich. Just powerful.
He wasn't supposed to be my anything.
And now he was at my door saying he was my father.
"Diana!" His voice cut through the door, low, but urgent. "Please — just give me five minutes. I'm not here to hurt you."
I didn't care.
I turned on my heel and moved fast, the way I always did when survival kicked in. I dropped to my knees, yanked out the duffel bag from under my bed. Emergency pack. Always ready. Clothes. Money. Gloves. Burner phone. Knife. All there.
Then a second voice, Killian, probably. "Diana, don't do this. We're not here to hurt you!"
Right. Because nothing says harmless like showing up unannounced and dragging ancient ghosts behind you.
Another knock. "Diana, don't run!"
Too late.
I was already sliding the window open. Cold air rushed in as I climbed out onto the fire escape.
Familiar. I'd used this route more times than I could count after late fights.
I didn't look back. Just kept moving.
Then I saw them.
Three man across the street. Suits. Earpieces. Watching the building.
What the hell?
Security detail?
Who is this man really?
He said he was my father ... and he just so happened to roll up with a crew that looked like they walked out of a secret service briefing?
No. Something was off.
But I didn't have time to figure it out.
I slipped down the ladder, boots hitting the pavement hard, then disappeared into the alley, swallowed by shadows before anyone could follow.