Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Kitchen
The industrial kitchen beneath the grand ballroom was filled with the frantic energy of thirty chefs and prep workers preparing for the evening's international syndicate summit. Copper pots clattered, steam rose from boiling stock, and the head chef barked orders in Italian.
Near the back dishwashing station stood a woman in a plain grey apron. Her dark brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and her hands were submerged in warm, soapy water. Nora Vance kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with the security guards standing near the doors.
She had taken this temp job out of sheer desperation. Her daughter needed medicine, rent was overdue, and the cash pay from the catering agency was enough to buy them another two weeks of survival in hiding. She had told Clara to sit quietly in the side staff breakroom with her coloring books.
Suddenly, the kitchen doors burst open with a loud bang.
Salvo walked in, followed by four heavy-set men in dark suits. The kitchen fell into dead silence as the head chef immediately lowered his spoon.
"Everyone line up against the west wall," Salvo announced coldly. "Now."
Nora’s stomach plummeted. She wiped her hands on her apron, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. Had the Moretti family finally tracked her down? Had her abusive ex-fiancé, Julian Moretti, found her after three years of running?
She stepped into line near the sink, keeping her eyes fixed on the floorboards.
Salvo walked down the line, holding an iPad displaying a high-resolution portrait. He stopped directly in front of Nora.
"Look up," Salvo ordered.
Nora swallowed hard and raised her chin. Her emerald-green eyes locked with his.
Salvo let out a slow breath, nodding to his men. "It's her. Take her upstairs. The Don is waiting."
"Wait!" Nora panicked, backing against the stainless-steel counter. "I haven't done anything wrong! I was just working! Where is my daughter? Where is Clara?"
"Your daughter is currently sitting in the East Wing," Salvo replied flatly, taking her by the arm. "And she’s eating strawberry ice cream with the boss's killer dog."
Nora froze. "The... the killer dog?"
Panic turned into absolute terror. She knew about the beast that guarded the Castellano estate. Every worker in Chicago spoke of the Warden in hushed, frightened tones. She had no idea her old dog, Apollo, whom she had been forced to leave behind when she fled Julian Moretti’s men, was the very same creature.
"Please don't hurt her!" Nora begged as the guards escorted her out of the kitchen and up the grand marble staircase. "Take me, do whatever you want with me, just let my daughter go!"
The guards ignored her pleas, pulling her through double mahogany doors into the grand master study on the third floor.
The study was massive, lined with thousands of leather-bound books, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate, and a massive mahogany desk. Standing behind the desk, looking out at the gardens, was a man in a dark grey suit.
The doors clicked shut behind Nora, leaving her alone with him.
The man turned around slowly.
Nora’s breath hitched. She knew this face. Every business executive and underground kingpin in North America knew the face of Damon Castellano—the ruthless, genius architect of the Castellano empire.
Standing beside Damon’s leather armchair, resting his massive chin on Damon’s knee, was Apollo.
"Apollo?" Nora whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion.
The dog’s ears perked up instantly. With a loud, joyous bark, the massive Rottweiler broke away from Damon and bounded across the Persian rug, throwing his heavy paws right onto Nora’s shoulders, pushing her back against the door as he licked her face frantically.
Nora fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around the dog, sobbing openly into his dark fur. "Oh baby... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left you..."
Damon stood quietly behind his desk, watching the emotional reunion with an unreadable expression on his sharp, handsome face.
"He never let anyone touch him like that," Damon said quietly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room. "Not once in three years."
Nora looked up from the dog, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. She pulled Apollo close, shielding herself behind the dog. "Mr. Castellano... please. I didn't know this was your house. I didn't mean to trespass."
May you like
Damon walked out from behind his desk, stopping five feet away from her. He looked down at the woman who had haunted his thoughts for thirty-six months.
"You didn't trespass, Nora," Damon said softly. "You finally walked into the trap I set for you three years ago."
