Chapter 3: The Boys Who Don’t Sleep 😱🔥
Dinner was served at exactly 7:59 p.m.
Not because the house cooperated.
Because Serena forced reality to cooperate with her.
Four bowls. One table. Steam rising like proof of life in a place that usually ran on chaos and intimidation.
The Rinaldi quadruplets sat.
Not peacefully.
Not politely.
But they sat.
Marco was the last to sit down, like surrender was something he had to negotiate with himself. Nico kept his hands hovering near his bowl as if it might explode. Alessandro studied the food like it was a coded message. Tommy didn’t move at all—just watched Serena like she was the only variable in a world that finally made sense.
Victor Rinaldi stood behind them.
Arms crossed.
Expression unreadable.
Serena placed the last bowl down and stepped back.
“Eat,” she said simply.
No theatrics.
No pleading.
Just a command spoken like she expected it to be obeyed by physics itself.
For three seconds, nothing happened.
Then Nico took a bite.
That alone felt like an event.
He paused.
Chewed.
Frowned.
Then—confused—took another bite.
“It’s… not bad,” he muttered.
Marco snapped his head toward him. “Define ‘not bad.’”
Nico shrugged. “It’s like… real.”
That word landed heavier than expected.
Real.
Alessandro finally picked up his spoon. Slowly. Carefully. Like it might accuse him of something.
Then he ate.
Then again.
Tommy followed last.
Quiet. Certain.
No reaction.
But he didn’t stop eating.
Victor watched all four of them like he was observing a treaty being signed in a language he didn’t trust.
Then his eyes shifted to Serena.
“You bribed them,” he said.
Serena leaned against the counter.
“With food?”
“With control.”
She shook her head. “No. I removed control.”
That made Marco scoff.
“You didn’t remove anything.”
Serena looked at him.
“You were about to dump salt into boiling water again, weren’t you?”
Marco didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
A loud clang echoed from upstairs.
Nico froze mid-bite. “That wasn’t me.”
Alessandro whispered, “That’s the attic.”
Tommy finally spoke again, barely audible.
“He’s awake.”
Victor’s expression changed instantly.
For the first time that night, something like tension cut through his calm.
“Tommy,” he said sharply. “There is no one in the attic.”
Tommy didn’t look at him.
“He only comes out when it rains,” he said.
Outside, thunder rolled again.
Serena straightened slightly.
That was new.
Even for her.
Marco pushed his bowl away. “Ignore him. He says weird stuff.”
Tommy’s voice stayed calm. “He’s not weird.”
A beat.
“He’s just not supposed to be seen.”
The air in the kitchen shifted.
Serena set her spoon down slowly.
“Who is ‘he’?”
No one answered immediately.
Nico glanced at Marco.
Marco glanced at Victor.
Victor… didn’t move.
Which was the first real confirmation that something existed.
Then it happened again.
Clang.
Closer this time.
Like something heavy being dragged across wood above them.
Alessandro whispered, “He’s walking.”
Serena looked at Victor.
“This part wasn’t in the job description,” she said.
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t need to worry about the attic.”
Serena nodded once.
“That’s usually when I start worrying.”
Tommy finally slid off his chair.
Slow.
Careful.
He walked toward the hallway.
Victor’s voice snapped. “Tommy. Sit down.”
Tommy stopped.
Then turned.
And for the first time, his voice wasn’t quiet.
“It’s okay,” he said. “She’s here now.”
Serena didn’t move.
But something in her expression sharpened.
“Why does that matter?”
Tommy looked at her like the answer was obvious.
“Because he doesn’t like adults.”
Nico whispered, “No kidding.”
Marco stood up abruptly. “Enough of this. There is no—”
The lights flickered again.
But this time—
they didn’t go out.
They dimmed.
Like something upstairs was standing between power and permission.
Victor stepped forward.
And for the first time, he sounded less like a mafia boss…
and more like a father who had already lost this fight before.
“Serena,” he said quietly, “finish your dinner and leave.”
Serena turned toward him fully.
“You said I had to get them through dinner,” she replied.
“I didn’t mean the house starts talking back.”
A faint sound echoed above them.
Not a clang.
A laugh.
Small.
Broken.
Definitely not a child’s.
Tommy looked up.
“He’s happy,” he whispered.
Then added, almost apologetic:
“Because you didn’t run.”
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Even Marco didn’t speak.
Nico stopped eating.
Alessandro set his spoon down.
And Victor Rinaldi—man who had faced courts, guns, and empires—
looked at Serena Valente like she had just stepped into something far bigger than a job interview.
Serena exhaled once.
Then said:
“Okay.”
Not fear.
Not retreat.
Just acknowledgment.
“Show me the attic.”
May you like
And upstairs…
something scraped closer to the door.
