Chapter 2 - Seventy-Three Minutes
Alessandro stared at Serena as though she had answered him in another language.
“Because Nico almost hit you.”
“But he didn’t.”
“He tried.”
Serena dropped pasta into the boiling water.
“Yes.”
“And you’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m annoyed.”
Nico, who had been reaching for another apple, slowly withdrew his hand.
Serena pointed her wooden spoon toward him without looking.
“If that one flies, you’re cleaning it up.”
Nico blinked.
That was apparently worse than yelling.
Marco folded his arms. “We don’t clean.”
“Then I guess the apple stays in the bowl.”
Serena turned back to the stove.
Behind her came whispers.
Victor remained against the counter, wine untouched now.
He had watched trained security men negotiate kidnappings with less concentration than Serena was using to make carbonara.
Marco tried the next assault.
“We hate pasta.”
“Excellent.”
The boys frowned.
Serena grated Parmesan.
Marco stepped closer. “Why is that excellent?”
“Because I didn’t ask.”
Victor’s mouth twitched.
Marco noticed.
“Dad!”
Victor raised his glass.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You almost smiled.”
“A medical emergency.”
Serena hid her own smile.
She had dealt with difficult children before—not professionally, but because motherhood did not come with quiet shifts and paid breaks.
Lucia had gone through screaming phases, biting phases, refusing-shoes phases, and one unforgettable month when she would only eat food if Serena pretended every spoonful was escaping from prison.
Children did not frighten Serena.
Adults did.
Adults could lie to judges.
Adults could empty bank accounts.
Adults could promise to love you and then use your child as leverage when you finally left.
Children mostly wanted to know whether you meant what you said.
“Marco,” Serena said.
“What?”
“Set five plates on the table.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
His brow furrowed.
She continued cooking.
“You’re supposed to make me.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Then I’m not doing it.”
“Also fine.”
Marco looked toward his brothers.
None offered guidance.
Serena drained the pasta.
The smell of pancetta, garlic, cream, and Parmesan filled the kitchen.
Nico’s stomach growled loudly.
Alessandro heard it.
“So did yours,” Nico snapped.
“No, it didn’t.”
“Yes, it did.”
Tommy remained silent.
Serena noticed his eyes never left the pan.
She also noticed he had positioned himself farthest from the shouting.
Interesting.
She sliced bread, brushed it lightly with garlic butter, and put it into the oven.
Victor finally spoke.
“They won’t sit voluntarily.”
Serena looked at him.
“Then why have you been trying to force them?”
His expression cooled.
“I didn’t ask for parenting advice.”
“Good. I charge extra.”
One of the housekeepers made a choking sound from the doorway.
Victor slowly turned toward Serena.
She briefly wondered whether she had just destroyed the only employment opportunity standing between her and losing Lucia.
Then Victor gave a short laugh.
Not loud.
Barely more than a breath.
But every Rinaldi boy froze.
They stared at their father.
Victor seemed equally surprised.
The moment disappeared quickly.
Serena checked the clock.
7:21.
Thirty-nine minutes.
She placed a small bowl of pasta on the island.
Nico immediately reached.
Serena slapped a wooden spoon lightly against the countertop.
“Not yours.”
His hand stopped.
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
She twirled pasta onto a fork and tasted it.
Four sets of eyes followed the fork.
“Needs pepper.”
“You did that on purpose,” Marco accused.
“Did what?”
“Made it smell good.”
Serena added pepper.
“Cooking generally works that way.”
She carried the pan toward the dining table.
Still no plates.
She found five herself.
Marco watched, bothered by something he could not name.
Children like him were accustomed to battles.
If an adult ordered him to do something, he could refuse.
If they shouted, he could shout louder.
If they punished him, he could become cruel enough to make punishment exhausting.
But Serena was denying him the battlefield.
She set the table.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Nobody moved.
“Okay.”
Serena sat.
She served herself a modest portion.
Then she began eating.
Victor looked at her.
“That’s your plan?”
“Yes.”
“You intend to eat dinner alone?”
“Possibly.”
Nico crept closer.
Serena ignored him.
He climbed onto a chair opposite her.
“I’m not sitting for dinner.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m just sitting.”
“Clearly.”
He reached toward the bread.
Serena slid the basket closer.
He took one piece.
Then another.
Alessandro appeared beside him.
“I’m only here because he’s stealing all of it.”
“Reasonable.”
He sat.
Marco’s face darkened with betrayal.
“You two are pathetic.”
Nico had already discovered the pasta.
“This is good.”
“You said you hated pasta.”
“I hate bad pasta.”
Tommy approached last.
He stopped beside Serena’s chair.
She looked up.
His voice was barely audible.
“Is there bacon?”
“Pancetta.”
“What’s that?”
“Fancy bacon.”
Tommy considered this.
Then climbed into the chair next to her.
Three boys eating.
7:37.
Marco remained standing.
Victor straightened.
Serena could feel him waiting.
Marco knew it too.
The test had turned into something bigger than dinner.
If he sat, Serena won.
Or at least that was what he believed.
Serena finished half her plate before speaking.
“Marco.”
He glared.
“You’re not going to tell me to sit?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re smart enough to decide whether proving a point is worth being hungry.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think I’m smart?”
“I think all four of you are terrifyingly smart.”
Nico grinned.
Victor lowered his eyes.
Serena continued.
“That’s why you’re so good at making nannies quit.”
Marco stiffened.
“You think we made them quit?”
“Absolutely.”
Alessandro stopped chewing.
“Why?”
Serena answered carefully.
“Because maybe it feels safer when people leave because you make them leave.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Victor’s expression changed.
Marco’s bravado cracked for one brief second.
Tommy stared at his plate.
Serena had recognized it because Lucia had done something similar after Serena separated from her father.
Lucia would refuse to hug visitors goodbye.
Would sometimes tell Serena’s sister not to come back.
Because rejection felt less dangerous when you controlled it.
Marco whispered, “People always leave.”
There it was.
Victor put down his wine glass.
Serena did not look at him.
She kept her eyes on Marco.
“Some do.”
“Our mom did.”
Victor went completely still.
Marco’s face hardened immediately, as though regretting the confession.
Serena felt the ache beneath his words.
Their mother had not simply left.
She had died.
The distinction meant little to a six-year-old heart.
“I’m sorry,” Serena said.
Marco shrugged aggressively.
“She didn’t want to.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“You’re right.”
That answer startled him.
Serena leaned back.
“But I know what it feels like to worry that someone you love might disappear.”
Her phone was heavy in her pocket.
Lucia.
Marco stared at her for a long moment.
Then he crossed the room.
He dragged out the final chair.
7:49.
Eleven minutes remaining.
Victor looked at the clock.
Marco sat.
Serena served him pasta.
He tasted one bite.
His expression betrayed him.
Nico laughed.
“You like it!”
“Shut up.”
“You love it.”
“Shut up twice.”
Serena exhaled.
All four boys were seated.
All four were eating.
Before eight.
Victor walked toward the table.
“You’re hired.”
Her heart almost stopped.
Full salary.
Benefits.
Stability.
Lucia.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
He pulled out the empty sixth chair.
“Breakfast is at seven.”
Serena smiled weakly.
“I’ll survive.”
Victor’s gaze held hers longer than necessary.
Something unreadable passed through those dark eyes.
Then Tommy suddenly dropped his fork.
It clattered loudly onto his plate.
His small face went white.
“Tommy?” Serena asked.
The child’s eyes were fixed on the doorway behind her.
Serena turned.
A tall man in a gray suit had entered the kitchen without making a sound.
Victor rose instantly.
Every trace of exhausted father vanished.
What replaced it was the mafia boss from the newspapers.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
The stranger looked at Serena, then the four children.
Finally, he faced Victor.
“We found the car.”
Victor’s voice dropped.
“What car?”
“The one that was outside your wife’s cemetery plot yesterday.”
Tommy slid beneath the table.
May you like
The man continued.
“And whoever was inside it followed the boys home.”
