Chapter 4 - The Estate in Long IslandThe black armored sedan pulled through the grand iron gates of the Rossi Estate in Old Westbury, Long Island, at 9:00 AM the following morning.
The estate was massive—a fifty-acre stone manor surrounded by ancient oak trees, high stone security walls, and manicured lawns. Four broad-shouldered security operators in dark suits guarded the long gravel driveway, their eyes tracking the vehicle with practiced vigilance.
I sat in the leather back seat wearing my best dark trousers and a simple white silk blouse, holding my small leather bag in my lap.
When the car stopped outside the grand stone entrance, Gabriel was waiting on the terrace steps, wearing a navy linen shirt and trousers, his dark hair catching the autumn sunlight.
He opened the car door himself, holding out his hand to help me down.
"Welcome to the lion's den, Tessa," Gabriel said quietly.
"It looks more like a fortress," I remarked, looking up at the stone arches and security cameras mounted along the slate roof.
"In our world, they are the same thing," Gabriel replied, guiding me through the heavy carved oak front doors.
The interior of the manor smelled of cedar, old leather, beeswax polish, and fresh rain. High marble archways led into grand sitting rooms lined with oil paintings and leather-bound books.
Gabriel led me down a wide corridor toward the east wing, stopping outside a set of double glass doors that opened into a magnificent, state-of-the-art commercial kitchen.
The kitchen featured gas ranges, custom copper cookware, a walk-in climate-controlled pantry, and an open stone hearth built from imported Italian brick.
Standing near the center island, wearing a faded wool cardigan over his shirt, leaning on his silver cane, was Don Salvatore.
When he saw me step into the kitchen, his sharp eyes lit up with a spark of genuine life.
"You brought the girl who talks back," Salvatore spoke in Sicilian, a small grin touching his lips.
"I brought the chef, Father," Gabriel corrected in Sicilian, stepping beside me. "And if you shout at her, she has permission to burn your steak."
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Salvatore let out a loud, raspy laugh that echoed off the copper pots hanging from the ceiling.
"Good!" the old Don declared, tapping his cane against the floor. "I am tired of people whispering around me as if I were already in my grave! Girl... show me what you can do with fresh lamb."
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