Chapter 8 – THE REAL REASON FOR THE BASKET

“Walk away?” I echoed, staring up at him in shock. “Luca, you run this city. You’ve spent your entire life building this empire. You can’t just walk away.”

“I didn’t build it, Emily,” Luca corrected me softly, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. “Frank built it on blood and fear. And I maintained it because I thought it was my legacy. But it’s not. My real father was murdered by the man who raised me. My mother lied to me for thirty-eight years.”

He looked toward the closed door of the East Suite, where my daughter was sleeping.

“I spent my whole life trying to be a good boss,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “But the only time I’ve ever felt like a good man is when I’m with you and Sophie.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Luca…”

“I handed the ledgers to the FBI,” he confessed. “I gave them enough evidence to dismantle the Bellini family and half of my own syndicate. In exchange, they’re letting me keep the legitimate businesses. The restaurants, the real estate, the construction firms.”

He took a step closer, leaving only inches between us.

“I’m done with the violence, Emily. I’m stepping down tonight. Let the commission fight over the scraps. I just want peace.”

I looked into his deep, dark eyes, seeing the absolute sincerity shining there. He was giving up ultimate power, not out of fear, but out of love.

“Are you sure?” I whispered.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Luca promised.

He leaned down, bridging the final gap between us, and pressed his lips to mine.

The kiss wasn’t urgent or aggressive like the chaos we had just survived. It was slow, tender, and impossibly deep. It felt like a promise. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting all the fear and grief of the past two years melt away against his warmth.

Three weeks later, the atmosphere at the Moretti family’s historic Italian restaurant was entirely different.

The heavy, oppressive tension of the mafia elite was gone. The restaurant was closed to the public for a private event, but the guests weren’t politicians or crime bosses.

It was the restaurant staff, the estate workers, and a few close friends.

Luca had kept his word. He had stepped down from the syndicate, handing the criminal operations over to a rival family to avoid a war, and cleanly walked away with his legitimate empire intact. Eleanor Moretti was living quietly in Italy, far away from the life she had complicated. Vanessa and Marco were awaiting federal trial.

I stood near the kitchen doors, wearing a simple, elegant navy blue dress Luca had bought for me.

The dining room looked beautiful, filled with warm light and the smell of roasting garlic and fresh bread.

Luca stood at the head of the long table, clinking a spoon against his wine glass. The room quieted down, everyone turning to look at their boss—who was now just a legitimate businessman.

“Thank you all for being here,” Luca said, his deep voice carrying easily across the room. He was smiling, a genuine, relaxed expression I had rarely seen before. “The last month has brought a lot of changes to this family. But looking around this room, I realize the best parts of this family haven’t changed at all.”

He looked directly at me, his eyes warm and completely unguarded.

Then, he looked down at the small table near the front.

“Sophie, can you come up here for a second, sweetheart?” Luca asked.

Sophie, wearing her beautiful, secondhand white dress with the pearl buttons I had sewn on, beamed with pride. She hopped out of her chair and walked up to Luca.

Luca knelt down so he was at eye level with her.

He reached behind the podium and pulled out a brand new, beautifully woven white wicker basket.

It was filled to the brim with fresh white rose petals.

Sophie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“I know the wedding was canceled,” Luca said softly, loud enough for the room to hear. “And I know a very mean lady took your basket away and made you feel like you didn’t belong here.”

He held the basket out to her.

“But I wanted to give this back to you. Because the truth is, Sophie, this family would be incredibly lucky to have you in it.”

Sophie took the basket, her little hands trembling with excitement.

“Can I still do the walk?” she asked, her eyes shining.

Luca laughed, a rich, joyous sound. “You can do the walk right now. But I need to ask you a very important question first.”

“What?” Sophie asked.

Luca looked up at me, still kneeling on the floor.

“I want to ask if it’s okay with you if I take your mom on a date tomorrow night,” Luca said gently. “And maybe, if I’m lucky, a lot more dates after that.”

The entire restaurant erupted into cheers and applause.

My hands flew to my face, tears of pure joy spilling over my cheeks.

Sophie looked at me, then back at Luca. She grinned, a massive, missing-two-front-teeth smile.

“Only if you promise not to make her cry anymore,” Sophie demanded, sounding fiercely protective.

“I promise,” Luca swore, placing his hand over his heart.

Sophie nodded happily. She reached into her basket, pulled out a handful of white rose petals, and threw them directly over Luca’s head.

The room laughed. Luca stood up, brushing a petal off his shoulder, and walked straight toward me.

He didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me flush against his chest, and kissed me deeply, right in the middle of the restaurant.

When we finally pulled apart, I looked over his shoulder.

Sophie was walking proudly down the center aisle of the dining tables, carefully dropping petals one by one. And pinned safely to the front of her white dress was the photograph of her father, smiling down at her, finally at peace.