Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW OF THE BROTHER
The air in the dining room dropped ten degrees.
The quadruplets immediately shrank back into their chairs, the defiant fire in their eyes instantly replaced by a guarded, submissive caution. Even Marco, who had treated his father with casual insolence moments before, dropped his gaze to his plate and went completely silent.
Serena felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Victor was a storm—dangerous, contained, and governed by a brutal internal code. Mateo, however, felt like a loaded gun left out in the rain, rusted, unpredictable, and eager to go off.
Mateo leaned over the back of Serena’s chair, bringing his face close to her ear. He smelled of expensive cologne, gun oil, and cheap bourbon. “My brother has gone soft,” Mateo whispered, his voice smooth like glass shards. “Playing house with orphans and broken-down women. You think because you fed them pasta, you belong here?”
Serena didn’t turn her head. She kept her spine rigid, gripping the edge of the mahogany table until her knuckles turned white. “I think I have a contract, Mr. Rinaldi. And I think dinner is finished.”
Mateo chuckled—a low, grating sound. He reached down, picked up a piece of crusty bread from Tommy’s plate, and took a bite. “She has spirit, boys. The last one had spirit too, right before we let the Dobermans out into the East Wing garden at midnight just to see her sprint over the fence.”
Tommy whimpered softly. Serena’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated fury. She stood up so fast her chair screeched loudly against the hardwood floor, turning to face Mateo squarely.
“If you ever threaten children or terrorize staff in this house again,” Serena said, her voice dropping into a lethal, trembling whisper, “I don’t care who your brother is or what kind of army you command. I will take a butcher knife to your throat.”
Silence fell over the dining room so heavy you could hear the distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall.
The quadruplets stared at her with jaws hanging open. Nobody—not capos, not rival bosses, not even Victor’s own lieutenants—talked to Mateo Rinaldi that way and lived to tell the tale.
Mateo’s smile vanished. His dark eyes flared with dangerous rage. He raised his hand, his fingers curling into a fist, stepping forward to close the distance.
“Do it,” a voice boomed from the doorway.
Mateo froze.
Victor stood leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his face carved from granite. His eyes were locked entirely on his brother, cold, empty, and brimming with a menace that made even Mateo step back half a step.
“She’s under my roof, Mateo,” Victor said quietly, each word falling like a lead weight. “And she just fed my sons a meal without a single explosion. Touch her, and you won’t make it out of the driveway.”
Mateo’s jaw worked. He glared at Serena, then at Victor, before letting out a harsh, dry laugh. “You’re losing your mind, Vic. This house is a circus, and she’s the ringleader of a sinking ship.”
With a flick of his wrist, Mateo turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the grand hallway until the heavy front door slammed shut.
Serena let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her knees felt weak, and her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Victor pushed off the doorframe and walked slowly toward the table. He stopped inches from her, looking down into her pale, resolute face.
“You’re an idiot,” Victor said softly, his voice devoid of anger, carrying something dangerously close to respect.
“I’m a mother,” Serena corrected, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts. “And I protect what’s mine.”
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Victor stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. Then he reached out, his warm knuckles brushing against her cheek where a stray lock of hair had fallen. The touch sent a jolt through her system.
“Bedtime,” Victor ordered the boys, not breaking eye contact with Serena. “Now.”
