Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Past
The private courtyard was a quiet sanctuary filled with potted olive trees, blooming jasmine, and a small stone fountain bubbling gently in the center.
Emma leaned against the stone edge of the fountain, enjoying the warm sun on her face. “Alright, Mr. Moretti. What’s so urgent that I had to abandon my pastry chef duties?”
Dante stood before her, his hands tucked into his suit pockets. For a moment, a rare flicker of nervousness passed over his face.
“Marco brought me a report this morning,” Dante began quietly.
Emma’s smile faltered slightly. “Is something wrong? Sal’s old associates?”
“No,” Dante assured her quickly, stepping closer and taking both of her hands in his. “Sal’s network is entirely gone. This is about... your former boss at Bell & Bloom Catering.”
Emma blinked in surprise. “Mrs. Higgins? What about her?”
“She filed for bankruptcy yesterday,” Dante said mildly. “Apparently, losing her best pastry chef—and having her corporate reputation investigated for wage theft—caused her business to collapse.”
Emma looked down at her hands. A year ago, Mrs. Higgins’s threats to dock her pay had driven Emma to Dante’s office in tears at midnight. Now, that memory felt like a story about a completely different person.
“Do you want me to buy her company and give it to you?” Dante offered casually, as if offering to buy a cup of coffee. “You could turn it into a training center for young bakers.”
Emma let out a bright, musical laugh, shaking her head in utter amusement. “Dante! You can't just buy every business that ever treated me badly!”
“Why not?” he asked softly, his dark eyes filled with absolute sincerity. “I have the money. And I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
“You’ve already given me everything, Dante,” she whispered, stepping into his arms, wrapping her hands around his broad neck. “Look at this bakery. Look at my mother’s health. Look at how you look at me every morning when we wake up. I don't need revenge on Mrs. Higgins. I’ve already won.”
Dante held her close, pressing his cheek against her hair. “You are far too forgiving, my sweet girl.”
“No,” she murmured, looking up into his face. “I’m just far too happy to care about the past.”
Dante looked down at her, his heart expanding until it felt tight in his chest.
May you like
He had built an empire worth billions. He had defeated rival families, outsmarted federal prosecutors, and controlled the skyline of Chicago. But standing in this quiet garden, holding a girl with flour on her hands and love in her eyes, he knew that this—she—was the only victory that truly mattered.
He reached into his inner suit jacket pocket.
