Chapter 11 – The Cake

Tears blurred my vision as I looked at the silver pocket watch on the red checkered tablecloth.

It was the ultimate symbol of his family’s pain, of his father’s burden, and of the truth that had finally set him free. And he was offering it to me.

“I don’t need a diamond, Luca,” I whispered, reaching across the table and resting my hand over his. “I just need you.”

He smiled, leaning across the table and kissing me softly, tasting like red wine and a promise of forever.

We stayed at the restaurant for hours, laughing, eating, and talking about the future. For the first time in his life, Luca talked about leaving the violent side of his empire behind, focusing entirely on the legitimate real estate business his father had tried to build.

When we finally returned to the Moretti mansion, it was past midnight.

But the house wasn’t dark.

The lights in the main dining room were blazing.

Luca and I walked in, confused.

Standing around the massive dining table were my mother, Matteo, and Mrs. Russo.

And sitting directly in the center of the table was a massive, three-tiered chocolate cake.

Mrs. Russo beamed as we walked in. She was wearing a beautiful floral dress, her hair done perfectly.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” Mrs. Russo laughed, walking toward us.

“Forgot what?” I asked, completely bewildered.

“It’s midnight, Emily,” my mother smiled, coming over to hug me. “It’s your birthday.”

I gasped. With everything that had happened over the last few months—the chaos, the danger, the romance—I had completely forgotten that I was turning twenty-six today.

Luca wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“I might have made a few phone calls while you were getting ready,” he whispered in my ear.

I looked at the table. It was set for five.

Not forty snobby guests. Just us.

Just family.

I walked over to the cake. Written in beautiful blue frosting were the words: Happy Birthday, Emily.

“I baked it myself,” Mrs. Russo said proudly. “Though my frosting skills aren’t nearly as good as yours.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, wiping a happy tear from my cheek.

I looked around the room. I looked at my mother, healthy and smiling. I looked at Mrs. Russo, finally treated with the love and respect she deserved.

And then I looked at the old wooden rocking chair beside the library fireplace.

It was empty.

But for the first time in fifteen years, it didn’t feel like a monument to a ghost. It felt like a memory of a man who had finally found peace.

Luca walked over and handed me a silver cake knife.

“Make a wish, Emily,” he said, his eyes filled with a love so profound it took my breath away.

I looked at the man who had changed my life, the man who had fought a war to protect the people I loved.

I closed my eyes.

I didn’t make a wish.

I didn’t need to. Every single thing I could ever want was already standing right in front of me.

I blew out the candles.

The End.