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Chapter 28: The Black Widow Strikes
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 15:47:57 +0000 UTC
Lucas finally dragged himself out of bed and went through his morning routine at a snail’s pace.
Half an hour later, he walked into the Devil May Cry Detective Agency, only to find Skye and the real estate agent sitting on the couch with a woman he didn’t recognize. All three had steaming cups of fragrant tea in their hands.
Just from the aroma, Lucas could tell it was High Mountain Tea—and sure enough, on the coffee table were several human-shaped High Mountain Tea Biscuits.
“Good morning, Mr. Norman,” the real estate agent, John, greeted with a grin, lifting his cup. “Your tea is as wonderful as ever—can’t find anything like it anywhere else in New York.”
“Thanks,” Lucas said, smiling. “Before you leave, have Skye pack you some chestnut cakes. Take them home for little Jenny.”
Jenny was John’s four-year-old daughter, a sweet and mischievous little girl.
John had once rented an apartment in Lucas’s building before being transferred to Tusten Island to manage all real estate there. Though he’d moved out, Lucas had kept him on as his exclusive agent for all property matters.
“Thanks, Mr. Norman,” John said cheerfully. “Jenny’s been asking for your chestnut cakes for weeks.”
Then he gestured toward the woman sitting beside him. “Oh, right—this is the prospective tenant, Miss Ariana Spencer.”
At that, the woman stood up with a poised smile.
“Hello,” she said smoothly. “Please, just call me Ariana.”
The moment Lucas saw her face, his entire body tensed. His pupils dilated slightly.
No way…
He hadn’t expected them to find him already—and this fast.
Because standing right there in front of him—posing as “Ariana Spencer”—was none other than Natasha Romanoff, the world-famous Black Widow.
Lucas didn’t need anyone to tell him. That face was unmistakable to anyone who had ever seen a movie.
Of course, Natasha noticed his sudden stiffness. Years of spy training had honed her senses to razor sharpness—body language, microexpressions, even breathing patterns were all clues to her.
Did he just recognize me? Impossible, she thought.
Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but her tone stayed casual as she studied him.
Lucas’s lips curved into a friendly smile. “Well then, Miss Ariana, why don’t I show you around the property?”
He extended a hand in a polite gesture of invitation.
Natasha kept her expression neutral, matching his smile with one of her own. She didn’t believe for a second that Lucas could have identified her that easily.
“Of course, Mr. Norman,” she said smoothly. “I’ve heard this is one of the most exquisite residences in all of New York. I’m looking forward to seeing it for myself.”
More like spying on it, Lucas thought coldly but kept his smile fixed.
Once Natasha and John stepped out, Lucas turned sharply to Skye.
“Skye, sweep the place for bugs and surveillance devices. If you find anything, tell me immediately.”
Skye blinked, confused, but nodded anyway. “Uh… sure.” She opened her laptop and started typing furiously.
Lucas followed Natasha and John out of the office and into the adjoining apartment building.
Even for someone as experienced as Natasha, the sight made her pause.
“Wow,” she breathed, eyes sweeping across the high ceilings and ornate decor. “This place is like a palace.”
She ran her fingers along the railings, examined furniture, and studied details—every motion smooth and deliberate.
“Mr. Norman,” she asked, her tone casual, “are all these antiques… real?”
“They’re all genuine,” Lucas replied evenly.
Of course, he knew exactly what she was doing—planting bugs and hidden cameras while pretending to admire the decor. S.H.I.E.L.D. never changes, he thought with a smirk.
He didn’t expose her—at least not yet. He simply continued giving her the tour.
When they reached the third floor, he opened one of the doors.
“This would be your room. Please, take a look.”
Natasha stepped inside. The interior was as luxurious as the rest of the building—fully furnished with top-of-the-line appliances and imported décor.
Her eyes gleamed slightly. This place is better than the Versailles Palace.
Not to mention, S.H.I.E.L.D. was footing the bill. She was already imagining how much she could squeeze out of Fury for this one.
“This is perfect,” she declared with a dazzling smile. “Beyond my expectations! It’s like heaven. I’ll take it!”
She didn’t even bother to ask the price.
John was overjoyed—another successful deal meant another hefty commission.
Soon after, the paperwork was done. Natasha wired the deposit immediately—she wanted to move in today. The apartments were, of course, move-in ready.
John left soon after, happily carrying the chestnut cakes Lucas had promised him.
Back inside Devil May Cry, only Lucas, Natasha, and Skye remained. Skye was wandering around the room, laptop in hand, scanning frequencies.
Lucas didn’t waste time. “Agent Natasha Romanoff,” he said flatly, “let’s not play games. I’d really like to know—how exactly did you find me?”
Natasha froze for just half a second before feigning confusion.
“Excuse me? Natasha… who? You must have me confused with someone else.”
Lucas didn’t bother arguing.
Just then, Skye returned from her sweep. Without a word, she tossed a handful of tiny devices onto the coffee table—bugs, micro-cameras, and transmitters.
“These are yours, right?” she said dryly.
Natasha blinked, a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. So much for subtlety.
Her cover was completely blown. There was no point pretending anymore.
“Skye,” Lucas said calmly, “go check the apartment next. I’m sure there are plenty more of these.”
Skye nodded and grabbed her gear.
Natasha sighed and, with practiced ease, touched her earpiece. “Director, my cover’s been compromised. Lucas Norman seems to have known who I was from the start.”
From the other end came Nick Fury’s deep voice, transmitted through her bone-conduction comms.
“Interesting. I’d like to know how he figured it out.”
“So would I,” Natasha murmured.
Lucas chuckled. “You can report to your boss later. For now, why don’t we talk? I’d love to hear how you tracked me down.”
He tossed her a bottle of Golden Pineapple Juice, keeping a Honey Melon Juice for himself.
Natasha took it, twisted the cap open, and took a sip—then her eyes widened in surprise.
“Wow… this is incredible. What brand is this?”
She turned the bottle in her hands, but there were no labels. The shape was unusual too—like a smaller version of a single-handled water jug.
“You can’t buy it,” Lucas said casually. “Secret recipe.”
Natasha smiled. “Pity.”
Just as she was about to take another sip, Fury’s voice crackled in her ear again.
“Romanoff. Put me through. I want to speak with him directly.”
