Achille's Decree.

Signora Giacinta sprung to attention like a startled cat at the sight of Achille. His face, was etched with a scowl that could curdle milk. "Signora Giacinta," he began, his voice dripping with ice, "fancy finding you here with the entire staff. This little soiree wasn't on the agenda, was it?"

Giacinta swallowed hard, the lump in her throat suddenly the size of a billiard ball. "We were just preparing dinner, young master," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

'Another gossip session, no doubt,' Achille thought cynically, his gaze sweeping over the other servants like a hawk eyeing a coop. "See that this doesn't become a habit," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down their spines.

The four servants froze, their heads bowed in unison like sunflowers deprived of sunlight. A wave of panic washed over them, thick and suffocating.

"My apologies, young master," Augusto offered with a deep, dramatic bow.