Chapter 9 - A Seat at the Table
A month later, the neighborhood had returned to a strange, peaceful equilibrium.
The tabloid reporters were gone, the syndicate had been dismantled by federal prosecutors who conveniently received "anonymous financial tips," and Mila’s nursing student debt was completely paid off, leaving her with enough savings to finally take a real vacation.
Yet, every Tuesday evening, Mila still walked up the grand stone pathway of the Vance estate with a fresh aluminum pot insert wrapped in foil.
The heavy oak doors opened before she could even knock. Viktor stood there, dressed in his usual sharp suit, holding a silver tray with two crystal glasses of sparkling water. Behind him, tail wagging with rhythmic precision, was Bruno.
"Your consultancy fee for the week," Viktor said, handing her a fresh, elegant envelope.
Mila took it, smiling as she set the pot roast down on the patio table where Bruno immediately inspected it with expert culinary scrutiny. "You know, Mr. Vance, I was looking over my budget today. I realized something terrifying."
"And what is that?" Viktor asked, leaning against the stone balustrade beside her, watching the sun dip below the Queens skyline, painting the sky in brilliant shades of amber and violet.
"I think I actually like cooking for a retired mob boss and his criminal mastermind dog."
Viktor’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he offered a warm, genuine smile. "It's not a mafia syndicate, Mila. It's a family business. And in this family, nobody touches the chef."
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Down on the flagstone patio, Bruno let out a happy huff, took his first bite of the steaming beef, and looked up at them both with eyes that practically gleamed with absolute triumph.
The internet had crowned him a hero, but in the shadows of the grand estate, he was simply the king of the neighborhood—and the best investment a billionaire ever made.
