Chapter 13 - Cleaning House on Michigan AvenueThe following month was a whirlwind of joyous celebration and complete revitalization.
Under my direction, the Moretti Hospitality Group established a ten-million-dollar community culinary endowment dedicated to providing fair-wage training, business grants, and culinary scholarships for working-class immigrant families across the West Side.
The domestic staff at the Gold Coast mansion, who had once lived under Vanessa Bellini’s petty, vindictive cruelty, were given permanent employment contracts with full pension benefits, union wages, and comprehensive healthcare coverage under the newly chartered Moretti Trust.
Mrs. Gable was promoted to Executive Director of Domestic Operations, overseeing a fully staffed, respectful household where no worker was ever treated as an invisible servant.
One Saturday morning in December, I walked into the grand kitchen of the Gold Coast estate.
The mansion was warm, filled with the rich aromas of simmering cinnamon cider, roasting chestnuts, and fresh sourdough bread.
My father was sitting at the breakfast island, reading the morning newspaper, laughing heartily with Marco Santori as they discussed the evening reservations for the trattoria.
“Good morning, Donna Emma,” Marco teased with a respectful, affectionate bow as I walked in.
“Stop calling me that, Marco,” I laughed, swatting his shoulder with a linen towel before kissing my father’s cheek. “You’re the managing partner of twenty restaurants now; you outrank me.”
“Nobody outranks the woman who speaks Italian faster than a Sicilian prosecutor,” Marco grinned, taking a sip of his espresso.
Footsteps echoed softly from the hallway.
Luca walked into the kitchen, wearing a casual charcoal cashmere sweater and dark trousers, looking relaxed, powerful, and breathtakingly handsome.
He walked straight to where I was standing, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me gently against his solid, warm chest.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“Vanilla, roasted garlic, and clean winter rain,” he murmured against my skin, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “The only scent I ever want to wake up to.”
I leaned back against him, looping my arms over his, smiling at the reflection of our family gathered in the sunlit kitchen.
“The wedding invitations were delivered this morning, Luca,” I whispered.
May you like
“Four hundred guests,” Luca smiled against my cheek. “And this time, Marco verified the count himself.”
Laughter rippled through the kitchen, warm, bright, and completely devoid of shadows.
