Chapter 9 – THE RETURN
The flight back to New York felt ten times longer than the flight to Italy.
When we finally landed at JFK, my stomach was tied in nervous knots. I hadn’t told Marco exactly which day we were returning. I wanted to surprise him.
My mother and I took a taxi straight to Brooklyn.
The spring air was warm and smelled of rain. Rosa & Frank’s café was bustling with people. Old men played cards at the tables outside, while the sound of Frank’s booming laughter echoed from the open door.
I took a deep breath, clutching my suitcase, and walked inside.
Frank was behind the counter, icing a massive chocolate cake. He looked up, and the icing bag dropped from his hands.
“Emma!” Frank shouted, his face lighting up.
He ran around the counter and pulled me into a massive bear hug. “Look at you! You look beautiful! The sun did you good!”
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Bellini,” I laughed, hugging him back.
“No more ‘Mr. Bellini’,” Frank scolded gently. “It’s Frank. Or Pop, if you prefer.” He winked.
I blushed. “Is Marco here?”
Frank smiled, pointing toward the back office. “He’s going over the foundation accounts. Go on back.”
I walked slowly toward the office door. Through the glass pane, I could see Marco sitting at the desk, reading a file. He looked handsome, grounded, and perfectly at peace.
I pushed the door open.
Marco didn’t look up immediately. “Pop, I told you, we don’t need to order more flour until—”
He stopped. He slowly raised his head.
When he saw me standing in the doorway, the pen slipped from his fingers.
“Emma,” Marco breathed, standing up so fast his chair rolled backward and hit the wall.
“Hi, Marco,” I smiled, my heart fluttering.
He walked around the desk, stopping a few feet away from me. He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I was real.
“You came back,” he said softly.
“I missed the burnt toast,” I teased.
Marco laughed, a rich, genuine sound, and closed the distance between us. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close. I rested my hands on his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart.
“I brought something to show you,” I whispered, reaching into my blouse.
I pulled out the antique diamond necklace. I was wearing it.
Marco looked at the heirloom resting against my collarbone. His dark eyes filled with absolute adoration.
“It looks perfect on you,” Marco said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“It belongs with the family,” I replied, looking up into his eyes.
Marco smiled, lowering his head, and kissed me. It wasn’t rushed or demanding. It was a promise. A promise of safety, of partnership, and of a future built on something stronger than fear.
When we finally pulled apart, the office door swung open.
Little Matteo ran in, clutching a piece of paper. “Uncle Marco! Grandpa says we have to…”
Matteo stopped, looking at us. He grinned, missing a front tooth. “Are you gonna marry Emma?”
Marco laughed, looking down at me. “I certainly hope so, buddy.”
Matteo cheered and ran back out to the café to tell Frank.
I leaned my head against Marco’s chest, laughing. Everything was perfect. The past was buried, the villains were behind bars, and the future was brighter than I had ever imagined.
But suddenly, Marco’s cell phone on the desk began to buzz.
It was a restricted number.
Marco frowned, his posture stiffening slightly. The mafia boss instinct was hard to completely erase.
He reached over and put the phone on speaker. “Bellini.”
“Marco.”
The voice was raspy, hollow, and hauntingly familiar.
It was Christina.
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