Chapter 6 - Morning InspectionAt 6:30 AM, the Rinaldi household was already awake, though not by choice.
Serena stood in the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and black trousers, flipping golden pancakes on a cast-iron griddle. The rich scent of vanilla, maple, and brewed espresso filled the room.
The kitchen door swung open, and Vittorio walked in.
He was already fully dressed in a charcoal bespoke suit, his tie knotted to perfection, though his expression was as forbidding as ever. He walked over to the espresso machine, punched a few buttons, and watched the dark liquid pour into his cup before glancing over at Serena.
“You slept well, I assume?” Vittorio asked, leaning against the counter.
“Better than expected,” Serena said, plating a stack of pancakes with practiced ease. “Though your security system needs work if an eleven-year-old can bypass it with string and pancake syrup.”
Vittorio took a slow sip of his espresso. “Those traps were designed by my late wife’s father, who was an engineer for the Italian military. The boys found his old notebooks in the attic last month.” He paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Marcus is threatening to sue the estate for emotional distress.”
“Tell him emotional distress costs extra,” Serena replied without missing a beat, sliding a small plate of fresh fruit and yogurt across the counter toward him. “Eat something. You look like you haven't slept in three days.”
Vittorio stared at the plate, then up at Serena. No one spoke to him like that. His board members cowered. His executives nodded politely. Women either feared him or tried too hard to impress him.
“You’re remarkably unafraid of me, Miss Valente,” Vittorio noted quietly, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer.
“I have a seven-year-old daughter and an ex-husband trying to take her away from me, Mr. Rinaldi,” Serena said, turning to face him, her chin held high. “After that, a billionaire with resting scowl face doesn't rank very high on my intimidation scale.”
A strange, fleeting shadow crossed Vittorio’s face—something that looked almost like respect, quickly masked by his usual icy facade.
Before he could reply, the kitchen door burst open, and all four boys charged in, dressed in their private school uniforms, their ties slightly crooked and their backpacks dragging behind them.
“We want pancakes!” Marco announced, scrambling into his chair.
“Only if your hands are washed,” Serena said immediately.
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To Vittorio’s absolute astonishment, all four boys stopped dead in their tracks, turned around in unison, and marched straight back to the kitchen sink to wash their hands without a single argument.
Vittorio set his coffee cup down, watching Serena with a gaze that felt heavy with unspoken questions.
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