Chapter 5 - The Snake in the GardenThree weeks passed like a sunlit dream inside the Rossi estate.
My life transformed completely. My mother's medical debt at Manhattan General was fully cleared, the legal collection notices vanished, and for the first time in four years, I woke up without a suffocating weight crushing my chest.
Every morning, I cooked traditional Sicilian dishes for Don Salvatore—wild fennel pasta, roasted lamb with rosemary and garlic, fresh ricotta pastries, and wood-fired bread.
Under my care, the old Don's appetite returned. His cheeks regained their color, his voice grew stronger, and every afternoon, he would sit at the kitchen island, drinking black espresso, teaching me the deeper nuances of the ancient Palermo dialect while telling stories of his youth.
Gabriel spent hours in the estate's private office managing the family's vast corporate holdings. But every evening at 7:00 PM, he would step into the kitchen, dropping his tailored jacket over a chair, sitting beside his father, watching me work with a quiet, undeniable warmth in his slate-gray eyes.
We talked for hours—about literature, history, his late mother's love for art, and the heavy burdens he carried as the head of the family.
I learned that beneath his formidable, feared reputation sat a man of deep honor, fierce loyalty, and a protective heart for those he cared about.
On a cold Thursday evening, while Don Salvatore was resting upstairs, I was packing fresh herbs in the walk-in pantry.
The kitchen door swung open softly.
I walked out expecting to see Gabriel.
Instead, standing near the center island was a tall, sharp-featured man in his late forty's wearing a tailored gray suit. His dark eyes were cold, calculating, and held a subtle, snake-like arrogance that made my blood turn cold.
It was Matteo Rossi—Gabriel’s cousin and the second-in-command of the family's shipping operations.
"So," Matteo spoke smoothly, stepping toward the center island, looking me up and down with an insulting, patronizing smile. "You're the little waitress who brought my uncle back from the dead."
I stood tall beside the counter, holding my chef's knife flat against the wooden cutting board.
"I am the estate chef, Mr. Rossi," I answered cleanly in English. "And this is a private kitchen."
Matteo leaned against the marble counter, picking up a silver apple knife, tossing it lightly between his fingers.
"My uncle is an old man, Tessa," Matteo sneered softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "He thinks with his memories. But Gabriel... Gabriel is letting his guard down because of a pretty face."
"I suggest you leave the kitchen, Matteo," I said, my voice smooth and unbothered.
Matteo’s smile vanished. He took a fast step forward, leaning across the counter, his eyes flashing with a dark, venomous threat.
"Listen to me, girl," Matteo whispered. "The Rossi family is undergoing a restructuring. Old men die, and their favorites disappear. If you know what's good for you, you'll take your money and leave this estate before next week."
"She isn't going anywhere, Matteo."
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Gabriel stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
His dark suit jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his posture fluid, lethal, and absolute. His gray eyes held a dark, terrifying fury that filled the entire room with an instant, suffocating chill.
