Emperor of ashes

The devil in the kitchen

*Jordan’s POV

I stared at the kitchen door like it was a lion’s den. Me. Jordan Castellano Walker. Heir to one of the deadliest mafia families, soon-to-be CEO, standing like an i***t in front of an oven. Because of a girl.

She was driving me crazy—first defying me, then nearly killing herself in front of me.

Now she wanted me to cook for her? What next? Bake cookies for her birthday?

I walked in and immediately regretted everything.

Why the hell are there so many pots?

The kitchen was massive—marble countertops, silver handles, sparkling clean… but confusing as hell. I didn’t even know where the salt was kept. I usually ordered chefs around, not played one.

I turned and glanced at the camera. I knew she was watching. Probably laughing.

“Stupid girl,” I muttered.

I threw on an apron—not because I cared, but because if I was doing this, I might as well look the part. I opened the fridge and grabbed the first things I recognized: eggs, butter, and milk.

What did normal people even eat?

Maybe pancakes.

I pulled out a bowl and cracked the eggs—well, tried to. One of them slipped and hit the floor.

“Shit.” I tried again, successfully this time. Then I added flour, a little milk… or a lot. I honestly had no idea what I was doing. I found sugar and added way too much. Might as well make her bounce off the walls.

I stirred like a maniac, batter flying onto the counter. I looked down and saw that the mix looked... sad.

She’s going to laugh at me.

But strangely, I didn’t care. A small part of me wanted her to be impressed—even just a little. I poured the weird-looking batter into a pan and shoved it into the oven, setting a random temperature.

Five minutes in, smoke started rising.

“What the hell?”

I opened the oven and got hit by a cloud of burnt failure.

Coughing, I waved it away. Then I saw her. Standing at the kitchen door. Angel. In a hoodie, arms folded, watching me with the smuggest grin on her bruised face.

“Well,” she said, trying not to laugh, “Gordon Ramsay would be proud.”

“You weren’t supposed to come down here.”

“And miss this disaster? Never.”

She walked over, peeking at my batter m******e. “Did you use salt or sugar?”

“…Wait, they’re different?”

She burst out laughing. It was the first time I’d seen her laugh like that. Genuinely. And damn it, it was beautiful.

No am I crazy??

Her laughter echoed through the kitchen as she leaned on the counter. “Move over. Let me save your sorry attempt.”

I stepped aside, still dazed by the sound of her laugh. I had beaten this girl, threatened her, humiliated her… and here she was, making pancakes with me.

She started mixing confidently, knowing exactly what to do. She looked like she belonged here—in control, calm, unbothered.

“You know,” she said while flipping a perfect pancake, “for a monster, you’re pretty cute when you’re confused.”

I scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, smiling.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to push back.

I just watched her—this girl I’d tried to break—flipping pancakes in my kitchen like she owned the place.

And maybe… she did.

She slid a pancake onto a plate like a pro and turned to me with that annoying, smug little smirk. “This,” she said, “is how it’s done.”

I crossed my arms, pretending not to be impressed. But I was.

She looked too calm, too comfortable in my world—a world that was supposed to break her.

“You enjoy showing me up, don’t you?” I muttered.

She shrugged, drizzling syrup over the pancake like she was on some cooking show. “Maybe. Or maybe I enjoy proving you wrong.”

The scent of vanilla, butter, and sugar filled the air. I didn’t realize I was staring until she turned, holding the plate out to me.

“Here, taste your failure upgraded by me.”

I took the plate, more out of curiosity than pride. I cut a bite, shoved it into my mouth, and—

Damn.

It was… good. Really good.

I tried not to react, but she already saw it on my face.

“Awwn. Was that your first time enjoying real food?”

“I could still poison you, you know,” I grumbled with a mouth full.

She leaned against the counter, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “You won’t.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“Because if you wanted me dead,” she said, meeting my eyes.

Silence.

She was right, and we both knew it.

" I need a champagne bring it to my room when you are done " She said carrying the remaining pancakes and going away .

Yeah I am now her maid.

Charles POV*

I ended the call, my fists clenched in fury.

Jordan.

That arrogant child wants to be crowned the next CEO of the company.

Handling both the Mafia business and the beverages empire?

Ridiculous.

He wants everything his father built — both the blood-soaked streets and the clean empire.

But I’ll make sure he loses it all.

He’ll pay… for everything.

Especially for what his father did.

Twenty Years Ago (Flashback)

“You can’t keep bossing everyone around, Walker,” my father barked. “I own more shares. You stick to your underworld business. Let me handle the legit side.”

Walker laughed. Cold, mocking.

“You think shares mean anything? I built this from the ground up. I’m your god — and gods don’t share thrones.”

“Then I’ll do what I must,” my father warned. “If you keep this up, I’ll end you myself.”

That was his last mistake.

Without a second thought, Walker plunged a knife deep into my father’s chest.

One blow.

Blood everywhere.

My father collapsed. Lifeless.

I watched it all. Hidden behind the sofa.

My heart pounded. My voice froze.

I never told a soul.

End of Flashback

"Jason you know what to do tomorrow"I said smiling as he frowned.

"Charles, it actually risky"He said as I smiled.

"Just follow my orders, nothing will happen"