Chapter 8
The private kitchen of the Valenti estate was vast, bathed in bright, warm light that reflected off the pristine stainless steel appliances and white marble countertops. It was a stark contrast to the ruined, chaotic dining room they had just left behind.
Roman sat at the heavy butcher-block island. He had placed Milo on the stool beside him, and Sophia sat quietly on the other side. A plate of freshly toasted bread, warm chicken, and sliced fruit sat in front of the children.
Milo was eating with ravenous intensity, but this time, he was using a silver fork, seated properly at the counter. His torn, filthy sweater was still on, a glaring reminder of the abuse he had suffered, but the fear had finally left his blue eyes.
"Slow down, Milo," Roman murmured gently, resting his large, tattooed hand on the boy's back. "The food is not going anywhere. There is plenty."
Milo paused, his mouth full of chicken, and looked up at his father. "Will Grandma come back and take it?"
"No," Roman said, the controlled pause in his speech reinforcing the absolute certainty of his promise. "She is gone forever."
The kitchen doors swung open, and Mrs. Higgins, the estate's head housekeeper, rushed in. She was a stern, fair-skinned woman in her late fifties, her American accent crisp and efficient. She stopped abruptly when she saw the state of the children.
"Mr. Valenti," Mrs. Higgins gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "I... I was unaware you had returned. I was told to stay in the west wing until the dinner party concluded."
"Who told you that?" Roman asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Your mother, sir," Mrs. Higgins replied nervously. "She gave strict orders that none of the staff were to enter the main dining area tonight. She said it was private family business."
Roman’s jaw tightened. The manipulation was deep. Vivian had deliberately cleared the staff to ensure no one would witness her torture of the boy.
"Mrs. Higgins," Roman said, turning his sharp, intimidating eyes toward her. "Draw a warm bath. Find fresh clothes for both children. Have my son's room thoroughly cleaned and prepared."
"Right away, Mr. Valenti," the housekeeper nodded rapidly, eager to prove her loyalty and escape the Boss's terrifying gaze. "I will have it done immediately."
As the housekeeper rushed out to prepare the baths, Roman turned his attention back to his son.
"Milo," Roman said softly. "Why did your grandmother do this to you? What did she say to you while I was away?"
Milo stopped chewing. He looked down at his plate, his rosy cheeks flushing with shame. "She said I was bad. She said I was the reason you went away to the big city. She said if I didn't eat from the bowl, you would never come back."
Roman closed his eyes, a deep, silent fury churning in his chest. "You are never the reason I leave, Milo. I leave to build our future. You are the only reason I come back."
"Uncle Leo came to the house yesterday," Sophia suddenly spoke up, her small voice breaking the silence.
Roman’s eyes snapped open. He looked at his niece. "Leo was here?"
Sophia nodded. "He brought a briefcase. Grandma and him talked in the study for a long time. They locked the door. But I heard them."
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"What did you hear, Sophia?" Roman asked, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper.
"Grandma said that the Chicago families would support her," Sophia whispered, looking terrified. "She said once they got rid of Milo, you would have no heir, and the Commission would force you to step down."
