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The Bloodline of Room 412 / Chapter 5 / 9

Chapter 6 - A House Divided

Downstairs in the sprawling, sunlit kitchen of the mansion, Elena was trying to adjust to her new reality. The kitchen was larger than her entire former apartment, equipped with commercial-grade stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and a pantry stocked with gourmet ingredients she had previously only seen on television.

Yet, despite the luxury, she felt like an outsider in a gilded cage.

"Is everything to your liking, Mrs. Vance?"

Elena turned to see Mrs. Higgins, the elderly live-in nanny who had served the Costa family for decades, standing by the doorway with a polite but distinctly guarded expression.

"Please, just call me Elena," she said with a warm smile, wiping her hands on a clean dish towel. "And yes, the kitchen is incredible. Honestly, it’s almost intimidating. I feel like if I drop a glass, someone’s going to call an air strike."

Mrs. Higgins didn't smile. She walked over to the counter, pouring herself a cup of black coffee with stiff, deliberate movements. "Mr. Costa is a very particular man, Elena. People don't usually jump from the night shift at Lenox Hill to managing his household unless... well, unless there's history."

"There's no history, Mrs. Higgins," Elena replied, leaning against the counter. "I saved his son's life in the hospital. That’s the only reason I’m here."

"And you think a reward makes you safe?" Mrs. Higgins murmured, her voice dropping into a warning tone. "I’ve buried a husband and two nephews who worked for the Costa organization. This house isn't a home, Elena. It’s a fortress built on blood and debts that never get paid off. Mr. Costa might look like a legitimate businessman in his Italian suits, but beneath that veneer, he’s his father’s son. When the war starts, everyone gets caught in the crossfire."

Before Elena could respond, a soft pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

She looked down to see five-year-old Leo Costa looking up at her with big, hazel eyes, clutching a small toy fire truck in his hand.

"Elena? Can we make pancakes today? The big ones with chocolate chips?" the boy asked, his voice bright and entirely free of the terror he had faced just days ago in the hospital.

Elena’s heart melted instantly. She knelt down, brushing a curl of dark hair from his forehead. "You bet we can, buddy. As many chocolate chips as your dad allows."

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Mrs. Higgins watched the interaction from across the kitchen, her expression softening just a fraction before she turned and walked out of the room without another word.

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