Chapter 5 - The Leak in the Family
The crisp morning sun had barely cleared the horizon when the peace of the Southampton estate was shattered by a sharp, aggressive hammering at the front doors.
Beatrice was already awake, sitting on her private balcony with a cup of dark roast coffee, watching the Atlantic waves crash against the rocks below. She heard the muffled shouting echoing from the grand foyer downstairs—a woman’s voice, shrill, furious, and unmistakably venomous.
“Where is he? Where is the little coward hiding his little bakery peasant?”
Camila Rossi.
Beatrice didn't flinch. She took a slow sip of her coffee, set the ceramic mug down on the patio table, and stood up. She smoothed down her cream-colored linen trousers and matching blouse, adjusted her gold pendant necklace, and walked calmly out of her pavilion toward the grand staircase.
Down in the foyer, Camila Rossi looked like a hurricane in a Chanel suit. Her face was twisted with absolute rage, her diamond-encrusted bracelets clinking loudly as she pointed a manicured finger at Mrs. Hallowell and two terrified footmen.
“Mr. Castellan is not receiving visitors, Miss Rossi,” Mrs. Hallowell said stiffly, standing her ground with admirable dignity.
“Shut your mouth, old woman!” Camila shrieked, marching toward the mahogany doors of Theodore’s study. “Theodore! You think you can humiliate me in front of the entire eastern syndicate by marrying some fat pastry chef from Queens and hiding her in this tomb? Come out here and say it to my face!”
The heavy study doors swung open before Camila could reach the brass handle.
Theodore stood in the doorway. He looked entirely composed, dressed in a sharp navy suit, his dark hair immaculate, his expression cold enough to freeze boiling water.
“Camila,” Theodore said, his voice dangerously low. “You are trespassing on private property.”
“Trespassing?” Camila laughed hysterically, stepping right up to his chest, jabbing a finger against his lapel. “You made a mockery of my family! My father is calling an emergency meeting of the council tonight! Everyone is laughing behind your back, Theodore! They think you’ve gone soft over a girl who smells like sugar and lard!”
Before Theodore could speak—before he could summon his security guards to drag her off the property—a calm, crystal-clear voice drifted down from the grand staircase.
“Lard is actually an essential ingredient for traditional European pastry crusts, Camila. It gives it that delicate, flaky texture you clearly miss because you only eat celery and champagne.”
Every head in the foyer snapped upward.
Beatrice descended the stairs at a slow, measured pace. Her head was held high, her shoulders back, her dark eyes locked onto Camila’s stunned, paint-peeled expression. She looked less like a cornered bakery owner and more like a queen walking through her own throne room.
Camila stared at her, her jaw dropping open. “You... you actually live here? In the house?”
“Where else would a wife live, Camila?” Beatrice asked sweetly, stopping two steps above the foyer floor, towering over the furious socialite. “Though I suppose a woman who spends her life crashing other people’s galas wouldn’t understand the concept of a home.”
Camila’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. With a choked cry of pure rage, she lunged forward, her diamond-ringed hand raised to strike Beatrice across the face.
She didn't even make it halfway.
A hand shot out like a steel cable. Theodore caught Camila’s wrist mid-air with a grip so tight Camila let out a sharp gasp of pain.
Theodore didn't raise his voice. He didn't yell. But the look in his eyes was so terrifyingly dark that the air in the room practically turned to ice.
“Touch my wife again,” Theodore whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent, “and I won't just ruin your father’s import docks in Brooklyn. I’ll dismantle the Rossi family name until there’s nothing left to put on a tombstone. Do I make myself clear?”
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Camila stared at him, her eyes wide with sudden, genuine terror. She nodded frantically.
Theodore shoved her wrist away as if she carried a plague. He looked over at the two stunned security guards. “Escort Miss Rossi off the property. If she ever steps foot within five miles of this estate again, throw her in the harbor.”
