Chapter 9 - The Return to the Kitchen
Spring arrived in upstate New York with an explosion of brilliant green, melting the snow into rushing mountain streams and filling the gardens with blooming lilacs and dogwood blossoms.
The atmosphere inside the Rossi estate had undergone a profound, permanent transformation.
The cold, terrified silence that had once defined the household had been replaced by a quiet, vibrant warmth. The new domestic staff—hired personally by Skylar through local community programs in Albany—were paid fair union wages, provided with comprehensive healthcare, and treated with absolute respect. There were no whispered jokes in the corners, no cruel nicknames, and no fear of arbitrary dismissals.
On a bright Sunday morning in May, the grand kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, roasted potatoes, and fresh buttermilk pancakes.
Skylar stood at the long stainless-steel preparation table, wearing a comfortable floral sundress and a flour-dusted apron, humming softly to herself as she flipped pancakes on the massive commercial griddle. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose, messy bun, and the scar on her cheek glowed pale and beautiful in the morning sunlight.
The swinging doors of the kitchen creaked open.
Dominic walked in, completely ignoring the fact that the master of the house had never, in thirty-two years, set foot in the basement kitchen on a Sunday morning. He was barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a soft gray henley shirt, looking relaxed, unburdened, and entirely at home.
He walked straight up behind Skylar, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, pulling her back against his solid chest, and resting his chin comfortably on her bare shoulder.
"You're making a mess, Miss Gallagher," he murmured against her ear, his hand sliding over the soft swell of her stomach.
"I am making breakfast for eight people, Mr. Rossi," she replied, laughing as she nudged him with her elbow. "Your mother asked for extra maple syrup, and your cousins are arriving from Boston at eleven. Go sit down in the dining room."
"I don't want to sit in the dining room," Dominic said, pressing a warm kiss into the hollow beneath her ear. "The dining room is too quiet. I prefer it in here. Where everything is loud and messy."
The kitchen doors swung open again, and Carmela walked in, holding the golden retriever puppy on a leather leash.
The matriarch stopped, looking at her son—the most feared syndicate leader in the Northeast—standing with flour on his cheek, holding his former maid by the waist in front of a pancake griddle.
A wide, radiant smile spread across Carmela’s face.
"Dominic, stop distracting my administrator," Carmela scolded playfully, walking over to inspect the bacon. "The girl has work to do. And besides, your lawyer is waiting on the terrace."
Dominic sighed, giving Skylar’s waist one last, lingering squeeze before stepping back. "Tell him to wait twenty minutes. I'm having breakfast with my family first."
Carmela looked at Skylar, winking conspiratorially as she reached over to steal a piece of crispy bacon from the cooling rack. "You see what you've done to him, sweetheart? He used to execute mergers before seven in the morning. Now he’s negotiating over pancake syrup."
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Skylar laughed—a rich, full-bodied sound that echoed off the stainless-steel prep tables, bouncing off walls that had once known only cold cruelty and muffled jokes.
She was no longer Penny. She was no longer the clumsy girl scurrying through the shadows with an overloaded tray. She was the anchor of this house, the heartbeat of an empire, and the only woman who had ever taught Dominic Rossi how to truly live.
