Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Breakfast
The morning sun broke over the Chicago skyline like a blade of ice, casting long, sharp shadows across the manicured lawns of the Duca estate.
By 7:30 AM, the sprawling formal dining room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the crystal chandeliers. At the head of the polished mahogany table sat a steaming silver coffee pot, a rack of fresh artisanal pastries, and a thick stack of morning financial reports.
I sat quietly at the table, wearing a crisp black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my forearms, my expression completely neutral as I reviewed the market indices on my tablet.
A soft knock echoed at the doorway.
“Come in,” I commanded.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Renata stepped into the dining room. She was wearing her pristine, high-collared housekeeper’s uniform, her silver hair pulled back into an immaculate bun, her posture radiating the arrogant confidence of someone who had ruled the domestic staff of this estate for over twenty years.
She walked over to the table, pouring my coffee with a practiced, steady hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Duca,” Renata said smoothly, her voice dripping with sycophantic warmth. “I trust you slept well. I’ve already instructed the kitchen to prepare your usual breakfast. And... regarding the incident last night with the maid, Clara—I’ve taken the liberty of drafting her final termination papers. Security is holding her in the servants' quarters, and she can be escorted off the premises by nine o'clock, just as you requested.”
I didn't look up from my tablet. I slowly took a sip of the hot black coffee, letting the silence stretch out for three agonizingly long seconds.
Renata’s hand twitched slightly on the silver coffee pot. The smooth facade of absolute confidence wavered for a fraction of a second.
“Requested?” I finally spoke, my voice devoid of any warmth.
Renata blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “Well... yes, sir. After a theft like that, keeping a domestic employee on the grounds would compromise the security of the entire estate. I assumed you wanted her gone immediately to protect your interests.”
I set my coffee cup down on the saucer with a sharp, echoing clink.
I finally raised my eyes, locking my gaze onto hers.
Renata froze. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her face an unhealthy, chalky gray.
“Renata,” I said softly, leaning back in my leather chair. “Tell me something. How long have you worked for my family?”
She swallowed hard, her throat visibly tightening. “Twenty-two years, Mr. Duca. Since your father’s time.”
“Twenty-two years,” I repeated, nodding slowly. “That means you were here when my father ran the estate. That means you were here the night the mansion burned to the ground. And that means... you have a very long memory.”
Renata’s breath hitched. She took an involuntary half-step backward, her hands gripping the edge of the serving cart behind her.
“Mr. Duca—I don't—what are you implying?” she stammered, her voice losing its polished composure.
“I’m implying, Renata, that you were remarkably quick to accuse a frightened mother of stealing a clock that was never missing in the first place,” I said, standing up slowly from the table.
I walked around the mahogany desk, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate strides.
“You didn't care about the clock, Renata. You cared about the face. You saw the pendant around her neck yesterday evening. You recognized the girl who vanished fifteen years ago before anyone else in this room even knew she existed.”
Renata’s knees buckled slightly. She caught herself on the edge of the cart, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror. She didn't try to deny it anymore. The mask had completely shattered.
“You... you know,” she whispered, the words shaking violently.
“I know that three weeks ago, an offshore wire transfer hit your private Swiss account from the very syndicate that slaughtered my family,” I said, my voice dropping into a lethal growl as I towered over her. “I know you planted that clock to frame her and throw her out onto the street like a stray dog so your paymasters could finish what they started fifteen years ago.”
Renata fell to her knees on the Persian rug, clutching at the hem of my trousers, sobbing hysterically.
“Mercy, Mr. Duca! Please! They threatened my family! They said if I didn't help them find the witness, they would kill my grandchildren! I had no choice!”
I looked down at her with cold, absolute disgust, peeling her trembling hands away from my clothes as if she were a plague-ridden insect.
“You had a choice every single day for twenty-two years,” I said coldly. “You chose blood money over loyalty. And now, your paymasters are going to find out what happens when you wake a sleeping beast.”
May you like
I turned toward the doorway where Marcus and two elite enforcers were standing quietly in the shadows.
“Lock her in the lower holding cells,” I commanded without looking back. “And leave her phone unlocked. It’s time to invite some old friends over for dinner.”
