Chapter 7 - Blood and Buttercream
The grand dining room of the De Luca estate glittered with diamonds, silver, and cut crystal.
Forty guests sat around a massive mahogany banquet table, the air thick with the murmur of multiple languages, the clink of fine vintage wine, and the underlying tension of men who kept one hand near their waistbands even while eating lobster thermidor.
In the cavernous industrial kitchen just off the banquet hall, Aurora worked with relentless, laser-focused intensity.
Her apron was tied snugly around her waist, her hair pinned up into a neat, practical bun. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck as she carefully piped ribbons of blackberry-infused white chocolate ganache onto miniature almond cakes.
Beside her, two sous-chefs provided by Matteo moved with absolute deference, following her instructions without question.
“Plating in three minutes,” Aurora commanded, her voice steady and authoritative. “Garnish with the gold leaf and the candied violets. Ensure the plates are chilled to exactly forty-five degrees.”
Through the kitchen’s service window, she caught glimpses of the dining room.
Matteo sat at the head of the long table, the undisputed master of the room. He wore a tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding frame. Even while engaged in quiet conversation with Henrik Brandt, his eyes occasionally drifted toward the kitchen service doors, checking on her with a subtle, protective vigilance.
Aurora’s heart fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Over the past three days, she had seen a side of Matteo that few people in the city ever witnessed. She had seen him sit at his desk until three in the morning, reviewing shipping manifests with exhaustive precision. She had seen him treat his staff with unyielding respect, paying their medical bills and ensuring their families were provided for.
He was a dangerous man, yes. But his violence was controlled, disciplined, and governed by an ancient code of honor that Braden could never comprehend.
Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open.
Corrado rushed in, his face tight with concern. He didn't approach the chefs; he walked straight to Aurora.
“Miss Reyes,” Corrado whispered urgently. “We have an issue on the perimeter.”
Aurora lowered her piping bag. “What happened?”
“Braden Vance has breached the lower security checkpoint,” Corrado said, his jaw tense. “He was permitted onto the grounds as part of Councilman Vance’s official entourage, but he slipped away from his father’s security team. He is somewhere in the east wing.”
Aurora’s blood turned to ice. “Here? Why would he come here?”
“He knows Brandt is here,” Corrado replied. “He is desperate. His father locked his personal accounts yesterday, and he believes if he can confront you—or Brandt—he can salvage his position. The Signore has already been alerted.”
Before Corrado could finish his sentence, the heavy wooden service door leading to the terrace garden creaked open.
Braden stumbled into the corridor outside the pantry.
He was drenched in rain from the sudden downpour outside, his tuxedo disheveled, a manic, wild desperation gleaming in his pale blue eyes. In his right hand, gripped with white knuckles, was a small black revolver.
The kitchen staff gasped, freezing in place.
“Aurora!” Braden’s voice cracked with hysteria.
Aurora stepped out from behind the prep table, placing herself between Braden and the terrified young sous-chefs. “Braden, put the gun down. You are completely out of your mind.”
“You ruined my life!” Braden screamed, his hand shaking so violently that the barrel of the gun drifted across the room. “My father is throwing me out of the country! Henrik Brandt won't even look at me! All because of you and your mafia boyfriend!”
“Your father is throwing you out because you are a pathetic, incompetent coward,” Aurora said, her voice ringing with a cold, clear strength she hadn't known she possessed. “You made bad investments. You stole from your father’s accounts. You blamed me for your own failures because you couldn't stand looking in the mirror!”
Braden’s face twisted in rage. “Shut up! You're coming with me! We're leaving through the service gate. You're going to tell Brandt that De Luca coerced you, that you lied about my father—”
He lunged forward, reaching for her arm with his free hand.
Aurora didn't cower.
Using the exact movement she had practiced in her self-defense training, she sidestepped his clumsy reach, grabbed a heavy copper sauté pan from the hanging rack, and swung it with all the force in her body.
*CLANG.*
The heavy metal connected squarely with Braden’s temple.
He staggered backward with a groan of shock, dropping the gun onto the linoleum floor.
Before the weapon could stop sliding, the main kitchen doors were kicked open with explosive force.
Matteo entered.
The tuxedo was immaculate, but his face was that of a merciless demon. In a fraction of a second, he took in the scene—the dropped gun, the copper pan in Aurora’s hand, and Braden clutching his bleeding head on the floor.
Matteo moved like lightning.
He grabbed Braden by the collar of his shirt, lifting him completely off his feet with one arm, and slammed him against the tiled wall hard enough to crack the grout.
Braden choked, his feet dangling six inches above the ground, his eyes bulging with sheer, paralyzing terror.
“You brought a weapon into my home,” Matteo whispered, his voice dangerously soft, vibrating with a lethal rage that made the entire room tremble. “You threatened the woman under my protection.”
“Please... Matteo... please,” Braden gasped, his fingernails clawing uselessly at Matteo’s iron grip. “My father... Brandt...”
“Brandt just signed the treaty,” Matteo said, leaning in until his breath ghosted across Braden’s cheek. “And as part of the agreement, your father gave me full authority to clean up his family's messes.”
Matteo’s dark eyes flicked toward Nico, who stood in the doorway with two guards.
“Take him to the harbor facility,” Matteo ordered coldly. “Ensure he understands that if he ever speaks Aurora’s name again, his father will receive him in several small, unmarked packages.”
Nico grabbed Braden, dragging the weeping, sobbing boy out of the room like a sack of garbage.
The service door clicked shut.
Silence fell over the kitchen once more.
Matteo stood against the wall, his breathing deep and controlled. He slowly smoothed down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, adjusting his silver cufflinks with mechanical precision.
Then, he turned to Aurora.
His eyes swept over her, taking in the heavy copper pan still gripped tightly in her white-knuckled fist, the fierce defiance in her posture, and the wild, untamed fire burning in her eyes.
A slow, profoundly dangerous look of admiration crossed his features.
“Did you just hit Councilman Vance’s son with a copper pan?” Matteo asked softly.
Aurora slowly lowered the pan, her chest heaving as the adrenaline surged through her veins. A breathless, hysterical laugh escaped her lips.
“It was... it was the closest thing to hand,” she gasped.
Matteo walked toward her, closing the distance until he was standing right in front of her. He reached out and gently pried the heavy pan from her fingers, setting it onto the counter behind her.
Then, without a word, he reached up and cradled her face in his large, warm hands.
“You are extraordinary, Aurora Reyes,” he murmured, his thumb gently wiping a trace of flour from her cheek.
May you like
Aurora looked up into his dark, fierce eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird—not from fear, but from the sudden, overwhelming realization that she was falling completely, utterly, and dangerously in love with a monster.
***
