Chapter 7 - The Siege of the Estate
The fallout from the raid on Bay Ridge was swift, brutal, and historic.
By noon on Friday, news channels across the country were broadcasting live footage of Frank Russo being led out of his home in handcuffs by FBI agents. Over forty high-ranking lieutenants across three rival families were indicted in what the media was calling the largest mafia bust in New York history.
The Rossi estate, however, was quiet.
At eight o'clock that evening, a massive autumn thunderstorm rolled over Long Island. Rain poured down in dark sheets, drumming against the slate roof of the grand mansion.
Inside the kitchen, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic, fresh rosemary, and baking bread.
Norah stood at the stove, making a batch of handmade gnocchi. She wore a simple dark sweater and jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few dark curls framing her face.
The kitchen doors opened softly.
Vincent walked in. He had dropped his suit jacket onto a chair in the hall. He wore a black velvet dressing gown over an unbuttoned white shirt, looking healthier and stronger than he had in years. Color had returned to his cheeks, his shoulders were broad and square, and his hazel eyes were filled with a deep, quiet warmth.
He walked over to the prep station, standing beside her. He didn't say anything at first. He simply watched her hands work the dough.
"Caleb is on a train to Vermont," Vincent said quietly. "My men secured him a quiet house near Burlington and a job at a local timber yard. He won't be coming back to New York."
Norah paused, her flour-dusted hands resting on the wooden board. She looked up at him. "Thank you, Vincent."
"I didn't do it for him," Vincent said, taking a step closer until his chest was inches from her arm. "I did it so you wouldn't have to carry his weight anymore."
Norah looked down at the flour on her fingers. "I've been carrying people's weight my whole life."
"I know," Vincent whispered. He reached out, his broad, warm hand gently lifting her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. "That ends tonight, Norah."
"Vincent... I'm just a cleaner," she murmured, her heart beating fast. "A cook."
"You are the most powerful woman in this city," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a thick, velvet rasp that vibrated through her very soul. "You walked into my house when I was a dying ghost, handed me a bowl of garbage soup, and demanded that I respect your kitchen. You saved my life twice. You brought down Frank Russo without firing a single bullet."
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The scent of cedarwood, rain, and vintage wine drifted over her.
"I don't want a maid, Norah," Vincent murmured against her lips. "I don't want a cook. I want you."
Norah didn't step back. She closed the tiny distance between them and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was deep, slow, and fierce with months of unspoken longing. Vincent’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her lush, soft curves tightly against his hard body, lifting her slightly off her feet as he backed her against the edge of the marble island. Norah wrapped her flour-dusted arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his thick dark hair, surrendering completely to the heat rising between them.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Vincent pressed his forehead against hers, his hands resting possessively on her hips.
"Stay with me," he whispered. "Not as an employee. As my partner. My queen."
Before Norah could answer, the kitchen doors burst open.
May you like
Enzo stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, his face pale as chalk.
"Boss!" Enzo shouted over the sound of thunder outside. "We have a problem. Russo’s remaining captains—the ones who avoided the FBI sweep—just breached the front gates. They brought thirty men with automatic weapons. They're surrounding the house!"
