The Broke Plus-Size Baker Wrecked the Mafia Boss’s Kitchen, and Two Years Later His Silent Daughter Made His Entire Empire Go Quiet

Six months later, Queens, New York.

The storefront on 34th Street had a fresh coat of paint and a sign that said: Bell’s Sweet Corner & Moretti’s Cafe.

It was a strange hybrid—the rustic, warm charm of Mara’s old bakery, mixed with the sleek, professional equipment Dante had insisted on buying.

Dante was not a CEO anymore. He worked in the back, learning how to temper chocolate and proof dough. He was terrible at it—he was too aggressive with the rolling pin—but he was trying.

Lena was enrolled in a local public school. She was a chatterbox now, a girl who argued about the best way to decorate a cupcake and spent her weekends learning Italian.

Mara was in the front, managing the shop. She was heavier, softer, and happier than she had ever been.

One morning, as the shop was closing, Dante came out, covered in flour.

“I ruined the sourdough again,” he admitted, rubbing his face and leaving a white smear on his forehead.

Mara laughed, wiping the smear away with her apron. “It takes practice, Dante. You can’t conquer bread like you conquer a business.”

“I’m realizing that,” he said, looking around the shop. It was small, cramped, and smelled of yeast and sugar. It was perfect. “We’re still being watched, you know. The remnants of the Sterling family don't just go away.”

“Let them watch,” Mara said. “They see a baker and a student. They don't see the man who knows how to survive. And they don't see the woman who helped him learn how to live.”

Dante moved closer, his hand resting on her waist. He wasn't wearing his armor anymore. He was wearing a soft cotton shirt that clung to his frame.

“I have a proposal,” he said.

“If it involves killing anyone, the answer is no.”

“It involves a wedding,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a terrifying, beautiful vulnerability. “And perhaps, a second child who can actually help me bake.”