Chapter 2 - FLOUR ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR
Dominic lowered his hand slowly from beneath his jacket, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He moved down the hallway with silent, predatory grace, his leather soles making no sound against the Persian runners lining the corridor. He approached the open arched entryway of the expansive, white-marble kitchen.
The kitchen was flooded with warm, golden late-afternoon sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens. The heavy granite kitchen island was dusted with white flour, surrounded by open wooden bowls, cookie cutters, and small rolling pins.
Sitting cross-legged directly on the polished marble floor in the center of the room was a young woman in her mid-twenties—the newly hired maid. She wore a simple pink-and-white cotton maid uniform, her light brown hair pulled back in a soft ponytail. Her cheeks were smudged with white flour, and she was playfully juggling three small balls of dough, making silly faces and dropping them deliberately to entertain the children surrounding her.
Clustered around her on the floor were Dominic’s four-year-old triplet daughters—three tiny girls who had not smiled, played, or made a sound since witnessing their mother’s violent death fourteen months ago.
Mia, the youngest, sat to the maid's right in a pale yellow dress with a yellow bow in her hair. She was holding a worn stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest with one arm while giggling uncontrollably, her small cheeks flushed with bright pink color as she pointed at the maid's flour-smudged nose.
Valentina, sitting directly opposite the maid in a pink dress with a matching pink bow, was clapping her tiny hands together, letting out rhythmic, delighted squeals as a dough ball bounced off the maid's shoulder.
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And sitting quietly beside them was Lucia—the eldest triplet by four minutes. She wore a soft blue floral dress, her long brown hair framed by the warm sunlight. Though she remained silent, a genuine, beautiful smile lit up her pale, observant face, her dark brown eyes sparkling with a warmth that Dominic had feared was lost forever.
Dominic stood in the doorway, paralyzed. He stared at his three daughters, stunned to his very core by the sound of their joy—a sound he had spent fourteen agonizing months praying to hear again.
