Chapter 7 - The Collapse of the House of Kensington
Back at the Rossi estate, the atmosphere had transformed from a tense armed camp into something resembling an actual home.
Beatrice Miller stood in the massive, sunlit kitchen, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater and dark slacks instead of the confining black maid’s uniform. She was mixing pancake batter while Lily sat on the marble island, swinging her legs and humming a tune from a cartoon she had watched earlier that morning.
“Do you think the pancakes will be fluffy today, Bee?” Lily asked, her big dark eyes wide with curiosity.
“If I beat the egg whites long enough, they’ll float right off the plate,” Beatrice smiled, kissing the top of the little girl’s head.
Leo walked into the kitchen, dressed in a simple charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked more relaxed than Beatrice had ever seen him. The dark shadows under his eyes had receded slightly, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of a man who had successfully decapitated his enemies.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a quiet, grounding warmth.
“Morning,” Leo said.
“Morning, Papa!” Lily cheered, hopping off the island and running over to give him a hug around the waist.
Leo scooped her up effortlessly, pressing his face into her hair. He looked over Lily’s shoulder at Beatrice, who was expertly flipping a golden-brown pancake on the skillet.
“Arthur Kensington officially announced his resignation an hour ago,” Leo said smoothly. “And Victoria’s luggage has been forwarded to a hotel in Miami. They won't be bothering us again.”
Beatrice paused, spatula in hand. She turned around, looking at him with a mixture of awe and caution. “You actually did it. You took down a United States Senator before breakfast.”
“Arthur was a paper tiger,” Leo replied, setting Lily back down on her stool. He walked over to the coffee maker, pouring himself a fresh cup. “In my line of work, people think power comes from guns and money. But true power is leverage. And Arthur had spent fifty years giving everyone around him enough rope to hang him.”
“And what about you?” Beatrice asked quietly, her dark eyes searching his face. “Do you have enough rope hanging around your neck, Mr. Rossi?”
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Leo stopped with the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. He looked at her—really looked at her—and for a second, the formidable crime boss vanished, leaving only a man who had carried too much sorrow for too long.
“Call me Leo,” he said softly. “At least when we’re in the kitchen.”
