Dante did not answer Mara’s question right away. He stood by the expanse of glass, staring down at the city lights like a man accustomed to looking for threats in every shadow.

Six months later.

Spring arrived in Queens with brilliant sunshine, warm breezes, and the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms along the avenues.

On the corner of 31st Street, a massive crowd of neighborhood residents, news reporters, and local business owners had gathered on the sidewalk outside a beautifully restored two-story building.

The fresh white paint glistened in the sun. The large glass display windows were filled with towering wedding cakes, colorful macaron towers, fresh brioche, and golden croissants.

Above the entrance hung a carved wooden sign painted in warm gold:

BELL’S & MORETTI SWEET CORNER

Mara stood behind the ribbon across the front door.

She wore a beautiful yellow summer dress that highlighted her radiant skin, broad shoulders, and voluptuous waist. She looked happy, healthy, and completely at home.

Standing beside her was Dante, wearing a casual suit without a tie, his arm wrapped securely around Mara’s waist, his dark eyes shining with pride.

In front of them stood eight-year-old Lena, wearing a tiny custom baker’s apron over a pink dress.

Lena looked out at the crowd, held up a pair of large silver scissors, and looked up at Mara.

“Ready, Mara?” Lena asked loudly, her voice clear and bright.

“Ready, kiddo,” Mara smiled, tears of happiness glimmering in her eyes.

Together, Lena and Mara cut the red ribbon.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Frank—who was fully recovered and wearing a comfortable linen suit—opened the double doors, allowing the neighborhood residents to flood inside to taste the fresh pastries.

Inside the bustling bakery, the air was warm with the scent of melted chocolate, cinnamon, and espresso.

Dante pulled Mara into the quiet pantry at the back of the store, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they watched Lena happily serve cookies to a group of local children at the counter.

“She hasn't stopped talking since that night,” Dante whispered, his lips brushing against Mara’s ear.

“I know,” Mara giggled softly. “She told me this morning that my lemon tarts need more sugar. She’s becoming a critic.”

Dante turned Mara around in his arms, looking deeply into her dark brown eyes.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Mara’s breath caught in her throat.

Dante didn't drop to his knee like a corporate executive. He held the box between them, his hands steady, his eyes filled with a fierce, absolute devotion that made her world stop moving.

Inside the box lay a breathtaking ring—a rare, radiant-cut yellow diamond surrounded by small white stones.

“Mara Bell,” Dante said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You brought warmth into my cold home. You gave my daughter her voice back. You gave me a reason to live, to love, and to be a better man.”

He stepped closer, resting his forehead against hers.

“Will you marry me, Mara? Will you let me spend the rest of my life protecting you, loving you, and eating every pastry you ever bake?”

Mara looked at the ring, then up at the man who had protected her, honored her, and loved every inch of her without hesitation.

“Only if I get to keep my name on the sign,” Mara whispered through happy tears.