Chapter 2 - Breakfast with the Beast
The sun had barely crept over the sprawling grounds of the Calder estate when Lucy woke up, clutching the newly stitched Captain Carrot. When Nora presented the green frog, Lucy gasped as if she had been handed a crown jewel.
""Bishop gave this to me?"" Lucy asked, her big brown eyes wide with solemn wonder.
""Bishop and Mr. Calder,"" Nora clarified, buttoning Lucy into a clean denim jumper. ""And remember what I told you. In the big house, we use our inside voices. We do not demand things. We say please and thank you.""
""I am always polite,"" Lucy declared, immediately sprinting out the front door toward the main residence before Nora could even lace her sneakers.
When Nora caught up to her in the cavernous, granite-clad kitchen, she froze. Sitting at the breakfast island was not only Vincent Calder in crisp charcoal slacks and a tailored black button-down, but also Frank D'Angelo, his second-in-command, reading through a stack of surveillance reports. Lucy had already dragged a heavy oak barstool across the floor and was scrambling onto it right beside Vincent.
""Lucy, no!"" Nora gasped, rushing forward to pull the child down.
""Sit, Nora,"" Vincent said smoothly, never looking up from his tablet. He reached out with one massive, scarred hand and steadied Lucy's chair so she wouldn't wobble off. ""Maria made blueberry pancakes. There’s enough batter to feed an infantry unit. Sit down and eat.""
Frank looked up over his half-moon reading glasses, his grizzled face softening as Lucy leaned over Vincent’s arm to peer at his tablet screen. ""Who are those ugly men?"" Lucy asked, pointing her sticky finger directly at a high-resolution mugshot of a rival cartel boss.
Frank choked on his black coffee, hacking into a napkin. Vincent calmly slid his hand over the screen to black it out. ""Business partners who need a timeout,"" Vincent answered deadpan.
""Forever timeout?"" Lucy pressed, swinging her little legs.
""We’re negotiating the terms,"" Vincent replied. He glanced over at Nora, who was standing frozen by the island. ""I said sit, Nora. You work fourteen hours a day and you weigh less than Bishop. Eat some food before you faint on my Persian rugs.""
Nora hesitated, but the intoxicating smell of fresh maple syrup and smoked bacon betrayed her pride. She sat two stools down, her fingers tightly interlaced. As the housekeeper, Maria, set a steaming plate in front of her with a knowing, motherly wink, Nora took a tentative bite. It was heaven.
""Thank you, Mr. Calder,"" Nora said.
""Vincent,"" he corrected, catching her eye.
""Vincent,"" she conceded, the name tasting strangely intimate on her tongue.
Just then, the kitchen doors swung open violently. A tall, impeccably dressed woman with razor-sharp blonde cheekbones and a designer trench coat stormed into the room, trailing an aura of expensive perfume and unrestrained fury.
""Vincent, what is the meaning of this?"" the woman snapped, dropping an alligator-skin handbag onto the immaculate marble island. ""The guards at the gate made me show identification. To enter my own fiancé's house?""
Nora stiffened instantly, dropping her fork. Fiancé?
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Vincent’s posture transformed in a microsecond. The relaxed, teasing warmth vanished, replaced by an icy, suffocating stillness that made the temperature in the kitchen drop ten degrees.
""You aren't my fiancée, Elena,"" Vincent said, his voice cold enough to freeze water. ""The arrangement ended when your father tried to skim ten million dollars from the South Side docks. And you don't enter this estate without my explicit permission.""
