Chapter 4 - The Decree of the Don
The next morning, the Marcelli kitchen was cold. The rain had stopped, leaving a grey, overcast sky that made the marble countertops look like sheets of river ice. Mrs. Granger stood by the silver coffee urn, her narrow face set in an expression of absolute authority as she held a brown paper envelope containing Elena’s final, meager wages.
Bianca Salvi sat at the small marble island, sipping an espresso, her silk morning robe perfectly draped. "Has she arrived yet, Granger? I don't want her touching the breakfast service. Her presence is a contaminant."
"She’s just checking in at the service entrance now, Miss Salvi," Mrs. Granger replied, her mouth twitching with satisfaction. "I’ll handle it quickly."
The heavy oak doors of the kitchen swung open, but it wasn't Elena who walked through.
Vincent Marcelli entered the room. He was already fully dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, his white shirt crisp, his jaw smooth and dark from a fresh shave. But the aura surrounding him was different today. The quiet, calculating calm that usually defined him had turned into something heavy and dangerous—an atmospheric pressure that made every chef and assistant drop their eyes instantly.
Bianca smiled, rising from her stool to smooth the lapel of his jacket. "Vincent, good morning. I’ve already taken care of that little unpleasantness from last night. The maid is being let go immediately."
Vincent didn't look at Bianca. He walked past her, his eyes fixing on Mrs. Granger and the brown envelope in her hand.
"Give me the envelope," Vincent said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute weight of a judicial sentence.
Mrs. Granger blinked, her confidence faltering as she handed it over. "Mr. Marcelli, she was stealing—"
"Elena Volkoff does not leave this house," Vincent interrupted, his blue eyes locking onto Mrs. Granger’s face with a lethal intensity.
"From this moment on, her position is no longer with the cleaning staff. She is the private caretaker of the second-floor library and my personal quarters. Her salary is quadrupled, effective immediately. And every afternoon at four o'clock, the kitchen will prepare a fresh, insulated basket of the highest-grade meat, vegetables, and fruit from our private pantry. It will be delivered to her station. No questions. No exceptions."
Bianca’s espresso cup struck the marble counter with a sharp, cracked sound. Her face turned an ugly, mottled red beneath her expensive makeup. "Vincent! Are you insane? She is a thief! She took from your table! You are rewarding her for disrespecting this house? For disrespecting me?"
Vincent slowly turned his head to look at Bianca. The look in his eyes was so cold, so entirely devoid of the affection she had spent months trying to cultivate, that she actually took a step back against the cabinets.
"This house belongs to me, Bianca," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, soft whisper.
"The food on that table belongs to me. If I choose to give a fraction of my wealth to keep a child from sleeping on a bare floor on 24th Street, that is my law. If you have an issue with how I run my home, the front gates are open. You can leave before the breakfast service is finished."
May you like
The room went completely dead silent. Bianca stared at him, her lips trembling with an unadulterated mixture of fury and humiliation. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen, her silk robe rustling like dry leaves behind her.
Vincent looked at Mateo, the young kitchen assistant who was still holding a tray of clean glasses. "Go to the service entrance, Mateo. Bring Miss Volkoff to my study. Tell her... tell her the king wants to discuss her new duties."
