Chapter 3 - Undercurrents and Coffee
The morning sun broke through the tall Gothic windows of the Russo estate, casting bright geometric patterns across the vast oak dining table.
Leo Russo was already seated in his booster chair, chattering happily as he spooned blueberries into his cereal bowl. Beatrice stood near the sideboard, pouring a fresh cup of dark roast coffee, her hands shaking slightly against the porcelain mug.
She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of Dominic’s thumb against her cheek, could still hear the deep, gravelly rumble of his voice in the dark kitchen.
Footsteps echoed across the marble hallway.
Dominic walked into the dining room. He had changed into a charcoal-gray three-piece suit, his hair neatly combed back, looking every bit the ruthless billionaire developer and syndicate head. But as he took his seat at the head of the table, something subtle had shifted.
His gaze didn't slide past Beatrice as it usually did. It locked onto her instantly.
“Morning, Papa!” Leo chirped, kicking his little legs beneath the table. “Bea made pancakes!”
“Did she?” Dominic’s eyes remained fixed on Beatrice, who stood frozen by the coffee station. A faint, knowing ghost of a smile touched the corner of his lips. “Good morning, Leo. Good morning, Beatrice.”
It was the first time in six months of employment that he had used her first name without a formal prefix.
The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, a stern-faced woman who ran the estate with iron-fisted precision, walked in carrying a silver platter of toast. She paused, noticing the unusual intensity in Dominic’s posture as he watched the nanny.
“Is everything satisfactory, Mr. Russo?” Mrs. Gable asked, her voice tight.
“Everything is exceptionally satisfactory, Mrs. Gable,” Dominic replied, never breaking eye contact with Beatrice. “In fact, I believe Miss Gallagher’s duties should be adjusted. She spends too much time managing the household logistics. From now on, her sole focus is Leo’s education and well-being. The rest of the staff will handle the estate chores.”
Beatrice set her coffee cup down with a sharp clink. She stepped forward, her professional instincts overriding her racing heart.
“Mr. Russo, that isn't necessary,” Beatrice protested softly, keeping her voice even for Leo’s sake. “I was hired as a nanny-housekeeper. I can manage the chores. It keeps me busy.”
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, resting his forearms on the armrests, his broad shoulders radiating an undeniable, oppressive authority.
“I don't pay you to scrub floors, Beatrice,” Dominic said smoothly, his slate-gray eyes boring into hers. “I pay you to care for my son. And I prefer my son’s caretakers well-rested.”
Mrs. Gable’s lips thinned into a hard line, but she said nothing, nodding stiffly before retreating back toward the kitchens.
Throughout breakfast, the air between Dominic and Beatrice crackled with a silent, heavy undercurrent. Leo, oblivious to the high-voltage tension vibrating across the table, jabbered on about a toy fire truck he wanted to build, while Dominic listened with patient paternal warmth—though every few seconds, his dark gaze flicked back to Beatrice’s flushed face.
When Dominic finally stood up to leave for his Brooklyn headquarters, flanked by two armed enforcers waiting by the front doors, he paused beside Beatrice’s chair.
The guards stood a respectful distance away, their eyes locked forward, but Beatrice felt every inch of air leave her lungs as Dominic leaned down slightly, his voice dropping into a murmur meant only for her.
May you like
“Wear something green today,” Dominic said quietly. “It suits your eyes.”
Before she could form a single word of a retort, he turned on his heel and strode out the heavy oak doors, leaving her standing in the sunlight with her heart pounding against her ribs like a drum solo.
