Chapter 5 - Eleanor’s Gambit
The morning sun cast long shadows across the formal dining room of the Romano estate. Eleanor Romano sat at the head of the mahogany table, sipping Earl Grey tea with the poise of a queen who had survived half a century in Boston’s criminal underworld.
Across from her sat Vincent and Claire, while Rosie happily spooned yogurt from a silver bowl next to her mother.
Eleanor set her teacup down with a sharp clink.
"Moving them into the master suite?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow, fixing her son with a piercing stare. "Rumor travels fast in this house, Vincent. Are you out of your mind?"
Vincent didn't flinch. He buttered a piece of toast without looking up. "The east wing was compromised. The security protocol required an upgrade."
"Don't give me security protocols," Eleanor scoffed, though a gleam of triumph danced in her aged eyes. "You haven't allowed anyone to set foot in the master suite since Madeline died. And now you’re housing a mother and child there? The commission will think you've gone soft."
"Let them think whatever they want," Vincent said coldly. "Anyone who tests me will find out very quickly whether I've gone soft."
Eleanor turned her attention to Claire, who was nervously folding her napkin. "And you, my dear? How do you feel about becoming the center of attention in a den of wolves?"
"I am grateful for the protection, Mrs. Romano," Claire answered steadily. "And I assure you, my focus is solely on caring for my daughter and performing my duties."
"Duties," Eleanor repeated with a light laugh. "My son doesn't need a housekeeper, Claire. He needs a reason to wake up in the morning."
Vincent slammed his fork onto the table. "Mother. Enough."
"You can silence your capos, Vincent, but you cannot silence me," Eleanor said smoothly, standing up from the table. She walked over, placing a wrinkled hand gently on Rosie’s head. The little girl looked up and beamed a toothy smile.
Eleanor’s stern expression softened instantly. She looked back at Vincent. "Bring them to Sunday dinner at my Beacon Hill townhouse this weekend. All of us. No bodyguards standing over our shoulders. Just family."
"I don't have time for social calls," Vincent argued.
"It wasn't a request, Vincent," Eleanor said, walking toward the double doors. "If you don't bring them, I will personally invite myself back here with a moving truck and set up camp in your office permanently."
She exited, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
Grant Keller, standing near the sideboard, cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, Boss... your mother looks serious."
Vincent rubbed his temples, feeling a headache forming behind his eyes. He looked across the table at Claire, who was trying desperately to hide a smile.
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"I am so sorry," Claire whispered. "She’s just..."
"She’s impossible," Vincent finished, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Pack your bags after breakfast, Claire. You're moving upstairs."
