Chapter 3 - An Untouchable Shield
The penthouse kitchen was not merely a kitchen; it was an expansive culinary laboratory crafted from veined Calacatta marble, brushed copper, and professional-grade stainless steel.
Aurora set her pastry boxes onto the center island with hands that she struggled to keep steady.
The older man, who Matteo introduced as Corrado, hovered nearby with a pair of white cotton gloves. The other two security guards stood near the terrace doors, their jackets cut just loosely enough to conceal the firearms holster beneath their shoulders.
“Corrado,” Matteo instructed, unbuttoning his suit jacket and draping it casually over a leather stool. “Have the chef brew a pot of dark roast coffee. And prepare an envelope for Miss Reyes. Double her standard fee.”
Aurora's head snapped up. “Wait—double? No, Mr. De Luca, I can't accept that. The price was agreed upon with the event coordinator. It’s three hundred dollars.”
“Three hundred dollars was for a standard delivery,” Matteo said, walking toward the marble island and leaning against it, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms crisscrossed with veins and another faded mark that looked suspiciously like a knife wound. “You endured a mechanical failure, protected my desserts with your own body, and survived twenty minutes of small talk with me. That commands a premium.”
“I don't need charity,” Aurora said, her chin lifting defiantly.
For a moment, Corrado looked horrified that anyone would speak to Matteo in such a tone. But Matteo merely laughed—a low, genuine sound that seemed to surprise even his own men.
“It is not charity, Aurora. It is compensation for value delivered. Open the boxes.”
Swallowing her apprehension, Aurora carefully undid the twine and folded back the crisp white cardboard. Inside, the pastries lay in immaculate rows. The lavender macarons were perfectly puffed with smooth, uncracked shells and delicate feet; the raspberry tartlets gleamed under a delicate apricot glaze; and the opera cakes displayed razor-sharp layers of dark chocolate ganache and golden sponge.
Matteo picked up a single macaron between his thumb and forefinger. He inspected it, noting the precise symmetry, before taking a bite.
Aurora held her breath without realizing it.
He chewed slowly, his expression inscrutable. Then, he looked at her. “Almond flour from Sicily. Real culinary lavender, not synthetic extract. And the buttercream has just enough sea salt to cut through the floral notes.”
Aurora stared at him in disbelief. “You know baking.”
“I know excellence,” Matteo replied softly. “And I know when someone pours their soul into their work because the rest of their life is giving them hell.”
The comment struck so close to the bone that Aurora had to look down at the marble counter. Before she could formulate a response, the private elevator chime sounded.
Corrado stepped toward the monitors near the wall, glanced at the security feed, and frowned. “Signore. The concierge reports a disturbance in the lobby.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed instantly. The relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by an aura of lethal authority. “Explain.”
“A young man—Braden Vance, son of Councilman Vance—is currently demanding access to the residential elevators. He claims an employee of his family's catering service fled up here and stole personal property. He is threatening to call the precinct captain if security does not bring her down.”
Aurora felt the blood drain from her face. “He’s lying. I didn't steal anything! He’s trying to drag me down there so he can humiliate me in front of the police.”
Her breathing hitched. Councilman Vance was a powerful figure in the city’s social elite; Braden had used his father’s connections to bully parking valets, restaurant managers, and landlords for years. If Braden involved the police, Aurora’s reputation would be shredded before she could even defend herself. Her small bakery business would never survive the scandal.
She reached for her bag, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I have to go down there. I have to sort this out before he ruins my boss’s catering contract.”
“You are going nowhere,” Matteo said.
The command was so absolute that Aurora halted in her tracks.
Matteo walked over to her, his gaze intense. “Did you steal anything from him?”
“Of course not!”
“Did you owe him anything when you walked away?”
“Not a single cent. I left everything—the apartment keys, the jewelry he gave me, even the furniture I bought with my own savings because I just wanted to be free of him.”
Matteo reached out, his warm fingers lightly touching the side of her chin, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then you owe him no explanations. And you certainly do not run down there to beg for his mercy.”
He turned to Corrado. “Call the lobby. Tell head of security that if Braden Vance takes another step toward the private lifts, he is to be removed from the Celestial premises. Permanently.”
Corrado hesitated slightly. “Councilman Vance is currently sitting on the zoning committee for the harbor expansion, sir.”
Matteo’s smile was cold, sharp, and terrifying. “Then the Councilman should be very careful about how his son behaves in my lobby. If Vance wants his harbor votes to matter, he will teach his boy how to accept rejection. Bring the boy’s father on the phone right now.”
Aurora watched in stunned silence as Matteo took the silver phone handed to him by his guard.
“Arthur,” Matteo said into the receiver, his voice chillingly pleasant. “Your son is currently making a scene on my marble floor. He is harassing an artisan under my personal employment. If he is not out of my building in three minutes, I will release the offshore accounting records we discussed last month to the federal prosecutor. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?”
Matteo hung up without waiting for a reply and tossed the phone onto the island.
He looked back at Aurora. “Problem solved.”
Aurora couldn't breathe. In thirty seconds, this man had shattered the untouchable influence that Braden had wielded over her for two miserable years. But the terror didn't disappear—it merely shifted shape.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Matteo stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes dark with an ancient, predatory calm.
May you like
“I am the man who ensures people get exactly what they deserve,” he said softly. “And right now, Aurora Reyes, you deserve to walk out of this building with your head held high.”
***
