Shadows in the Kitchen
Chapter 02 - Shadows in the Kitchen
Elena didn't blink. She stared right back into the terrifying eyes of the Black Wolf, her expression filled with a strange, steady calm that surprised even Dante.
“Your guards weren't knocked out by an intruder, Mr. Moretti,” Elena said softly. “They were poisoned.”
Dante’s jaw clenched tightly. “Poisoned?”
“I went down to the kitchen at 1:30 AM to warm up some milk for Leo,” Elena explained. “I saw Frankie and Sal sitting near the security monitors, drinking coffee from the pot that was delivered by the late-night catering staff. Within ten minutes, both of them collapsed onto the floor, seizing.”
Dante’s eyes flared with sudden, lethal intensity. “And you didn't raise the alarm?”
“I tried!” Elena insisted, her voice tight. “I ran to the wall intercom, but the wires had been cut. Then I heard heavy footsteps coming up the back stairs. Someone was inside the house, Mr. Moretti. Someone who knew the guard rotations. I didn't know who to trust, so I grabbed your boys, ran up here, and locked us inside the one room I knew had reinforced steel plating inside the door frame!”
Dante turned around sharply, looking at Carlo, who was standing in the doorway with his phone out.
“Carlo,” Dante barked. “Analyze the coffee pot in the security room right now. And bring me the roster of every catering staff member who entered the estate tonight.”
“Right away, Boss,” Carlo said, sprinting down the hallway.
Dante turned back to the bed. Leo woke up, rubbing his big brown eyes. When he saw his father standing over them, instead of flinching or hiding—as he usually did whenever Dante’s dark mafia presence filled a room—the six-year-old reached out his tiny arms.
“Daddy…” Leo murmured sleepily. “Miss Elena kept the bad men away.”
Dante felt a strange, unravelling sensation in his chest. For two long years, his house had been a cold, silent fortress of grief. He had surrounded his children with bodyguards, fortress walls, and bulletproof glass, believing that raw power was the only way to keep them safe. But last night, while he was away at a syndicate meeting down in Manhattan, an assassin had breached his inner sanctum—and a girl who had been in his house for only eight days had shielded his sons with her own body.
Dante walked over to the side of the bed, knelt down, and scooped both of his boys into his arms. Matteo stirred, holding onto his father’s neck, his tiny fingers still holding the wooden toy horse.
“Go downstairs with Carlo, boys,” Dante said gently, kissing the tops of their heads. “Let Maria make you some breakfast in the small dining room.”
“Is Miss Elena coming?” Matteo asked, looking back at her with big, pleading eyes.
“Miss Elena needs to talk to me for a moment,” Dante replied softly. “Go on.”
The twins scrambled off the bed, holding hands, and walked out the door toward Carlo, who was waiting in the corridor.
Once the door clicked shut, Dante stood up, pulling a silver cigarette case from his jacket. He didn't light one, but held it tightly between his fingers as he turned to face Elena, who was standing beside the bed, nervously smoothing down her green apron.
“Who are you really, Elena?” Dante asked, his voice low and dangerous. “A normal housekeeper doesn't recognize nerve agent poisoning in ten seconds. A normal housekeeper doesn't know which doors in this mansion are steel-reinforced.”
Elena took a deep breath, standing tall. “My father was a combat medic for the military, Mr. Moretti. I grew up learning how to spot danger before it happens. I applied for this job because I needed the money for my sister’s medical bills. But if you think I’m a threat to your children, you can shoot me right now.”
Dante stared at her. Her eyes held no deceit, no fear—only fierce, maternal protectiveness.
Before Dante could speak, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. He pulled it out and tapped the screen.
It was an encrypted text message from an unknown number. Attached was a photo taken just ten minutes ago outside his estate gates, showing a black van parked in the shadows.
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Below the photo was a single line of text:
“The Black Wolf’s sons were supposed to die last night. You’re living on borrowed time, Dante. Hand over the Moretti territories, or the next poison won't miss.”
