Chapter 4 - The Push
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Elena didn't back down from his threat. Instead, she took a step closer, crossing her arms over her chest, letting the tray sit ignored on the table.
“Nerve is apparently what’s missing in this house,” Elena said, her voice cutting through the heavy, depressing air of the bedroom. “They are drinking your champagne. They are sitting in your chairs. They are acting like you are already in a coffin in the ground.”
Matteo’s hands tightened on the wheels of his chair until his knuckles turned bone-white. The truth was a physical blow, but hearing it from the mouth of a lowly maid ignited a spark of pure, unadulterated rage deep in his chest.
“I am paralyzed,” Matteo hissed, striking his own lifeless legs with a heavy fist. “What exactly would you have me do? Roll down there and ask them politely to leave?”
Elena looked down at him, her expression hardening. There was no pity in her eyes, only a fierce, burning challenge.
“Your legs don't work, Mr. Rinaldi,” Elena said, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “But your hands work. Your voice works. Your mind works.”
Matteo stared at her, stunned by the sheer audacity of her words.
“You built this empire by being smarter and more ruthless than everyone else,” she continued, leaning down slightly so she was eye-to-eye with the fallen king. “Since when did a man need his feet to cut a traitor's throat?”
The room went dead still.
The faint sound of laughter from the ballroom below seemed to mock them both in the silence. Matteo looked into Elena’s eyes, searching for fear, but he found nothing but absolute resolve. She wasn't just a maid. She was a mirror, reflecting the man he was supposed to be.
A minute passed in total, heavy silence. The dark cloud of depression that had smothered Matteo for three months suddenly fractured, replaced by a cold, calculating fire.
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Matteo slowly looked down at his hands, flexing his powerful fingers. Then, he looked back up at Elena.
“Get my suit jacket,” Matteo said.
