Chapter 3 - The Order of the Estate
By midnight, the Rossi mansion had been restored to its usual, terrifying silence, but it was the silence of a courthouse before a sentence is read.
Lily was asleep upstairs in her bedroom, a private duty physician sitting outside her door, his presence secured by a single phone call from Leo. Beatrice sat in the grand kitchen, a space that usually belonged to the head chef and the prep cooks, but tonight it was completely empty save for her and a bowl of warm water. She was gently dabbing a wet cloth against her bleeding cheek, her purple fingers resting on the marble island.
The heavy double doors of the kitchen swung open, and Leo Rossi walked in. He had removed his long coat, his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark ink of old tattoos that stretched down his wrists—remnants of a life he had lived before he became the king of the city.
He walked over to the counter, took a clean glass from the shelf, and poured two fingers of amber whiskey from a crystal decanter. He didn't sit down. He set the glass down in front of Beatrice.
“Drink it,” he said.
Beatrice looked at the liquor, then up at him. “I’m on duty, Mr. Rossi.”
“You aren't a maid tonight, Beatrice,” Leo said, his gray eyes fixing her in place with a weight that made her breath hitch. “Tonight, you’re the only reason my daughter is still breathing. Drink the whiskey.”
Slowly, using her uninjured hand, Beatrice lifted the glass and took a small sip. The liquid burned her throat, but it took the edge off the cold terror that had settled into her bones.
“The physician says Lily’s lungs are clear,” Leo said, leaning against the counter opposite her, his arms crossed over his chest. “He said if she had been in that cellar five minutes longer without the medicine, her airway would have closed permanently.”
Beatrice lowered her gaze. “Miss Victoria… she didn't like that Lily drew pictures for you. She tore up her sketchbook. Lily got scared, and when Lily gets scared, her chest closes up. Victoria thought she was being dramatic. She locked her away to teach her a lesson.”
“Victoria is currently in the lower garage with Marco,” Leo said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion, which made it ten times more frightening than a shout. “Her father, Arthur Kensington, has already called my cell line four times. He thinks this is a dispute over wedding arrangements. He thinks his port contracts give him leverage over my house.”
Leo stepped closer, his shadow falling completely over her. He reached out, his long, scarred fingers gently taking the wet cloth from her hand. Before Beatrice could pull away, he dipped the cloth into the warm water, wrung it out, and began to gently wipe the dried blood from her jaw line. His touch was surprisingly light, precise, and entirely devoid of the cruelty she had come to expect from men in power.
“Why didn't you run, Beatrice?” he asked softly, his eyes focused on the wound on her cheek. “When Victoria hit you, when she threatened your mother’s medicine… you could have walked out the front gates. Most people in this city would have left a dead child behind to save their own skin.”
“I love her, Mr. Rossi,” Beatrice said, her voice small but steady, refusing to look away from his piercing gaze. “She’s the only person in this house who looks at me and sees a human being. I don't care about the Kensington family. I don't care about your ports. I wasn't going to let her die alone in the dark.”
Leo stopped moving the cloth. He looked at her face—the broad features, the steady, unflinching brown eyes, the quiet dignity that no amount of insults had been able to strip away.
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“Arthur Kensington thinks he owns forty percent of my distribution network,” Leo whispered, his face inches from hers. “He’s about to find out that forty percent of nothing is still nothing. And as for you, Beatrice… nobody ignores you in this house again. Understood?”
Before she could answer, Santos entered the kitchen, his expression tense. “Boss. Kensington’s men just pulled up to the outer gate. Three SUVs. They aren't waiting for a meeting.”
