Chapter 4 - The Price of LoyaltyThe next morning, the tension in the estate could be cut with a kitchen knife. Isabella Cross was waiting by the breakfast nook when Vincent entered, her posture rigid, her expression a mask of manufactured concern.
"Vincent, we need to talk about the domestic staff," Isabella began, pouring herself a cup of black coffee with hands that slightly shook. "That new girl—Maya. Yesterday she caused a scene with Duke, and last night she was wandering the upper corridors past midnight. Grant saw her near your private library. She is a security risk. You cannot keep her here."
Vincent didn't look up from his tablet, where financial reports and security feeds scrolled past in silence. He took a slow sip of his espresso.
"Isabella," Vincent said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Are you running my household now?"
"I am trying to protect you," she insisted, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You know how delicate our position is with the commission right now. We cannot afford leaks. Let me handle her dismissal. I'll give her a severance check and send her back to whatever poor district she crawled out of."
Before Vincent could answer, heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Duke trotted into the room. But what shocked Isabella so hard she nearly dropped her porcelain cup was not the dog's presence—it was who was walking right behind him.
Maya walked in carrying a silver tray with fresh pastries, her posture straight, her uniform immaculate. She didn't look down at the floor or shrink away from Isabella's poisonous glare. And to everyone's absolute disbelief, Duke didn't head for his corner or eye the staff with suspicion; he walked step-for-step beside Maya, occasionally brushing his massive head against her skirt like a loyal hound.
"Good morning, Mr. Castellano. Good morning, Ms. Cross," Maya said clearly, setting the tray down on the mahogany table with absolute precision. Not a single cup rattled.
Isabella stared, her face draining of color. "What is the meaning of this? Why is that girl serving breakfast?"
"Because," Vincent said, finally locking his dark gaze onto Isabella's eyes, "Maya has been reassigned. She is no longer in the laundry wing."
"Reassigned? To where?"
"My personal assistant," Vincent stated flatly.
The dining room went dead silent. Grant, standing near the doorway, dropped a stack of linen napkins in shock. Isabella looked as though she had been struck across the face.
"Your personal assistant?" Isabella hissed, her composure finally shattering. "Vincent, have you lost your mind? She's a clumsy maid! She doesn't know the first thing about syndicate business, let's not mention she can't even—"
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"She knows when a dog is terrified, and she knows how to keep her mouth shut when she finds things that don't belong to her," Vincent interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a lethal weight that instantly silenced the room. He stood up slowly, towering over Isabella. "And unlike some people in this house, she doesn't panic when things get bloody."
Isabella stepped back, her breath hitching. She realized then, with a chilling certainty, that Maya hadn't just survived her first week—she had crossed a threshold into Vincent Castellano's inner circle. And in their world, once you were inside, leaving was not an option.
