Chapter 8 – THE BRIGHTEST CANDLE

The police took Arthur and Vanessa away in handcuffs. The engagement dinner guests scattered into the Chicago night, fleeing the scandal.

The grand dining room was empty, save for three people.

Matteo had ordered the waitstaff home. He rolled up the sleeves of his ruined, expensive suit and walked into the massive industrial kitchen.

Sophie sat at the wooden prep table, her ruined white apron finally discarded. Rosie sat in her lap, her head resting sleepily against Sophie’s shoulder.

Matteo set a freshly baked, simple vanilla cake on the table. It wasn’t perfect. The edges were slightly burnt, and the frosting was rushed.

But placed right in the center was the little pink candle Rosie had saved.

Matteo struck a match and lit it. The warm glow illuminated Sophie’s tear-stained, smiling face.

“I’m sorry it’s not as beautiful as yours, Rosie,” Matteo said, taking a seat beside them.

“It’s perfect, Daddy,” Rosie whispered.

Matteo looked across the table at Sophie. “Tomorrow, I’m sending a team to start renovations on the bakery. You can name it whatever you want. You run it. It’s yours.”

“And what about you?” Sophie asked. “With Arthur gone… the cartel…”

“I’m done,” Matteo said firmly. “Elena wanted out, and I failed her. I won’t fail you. The legitimate businesses are secure. I’m stepping down from the syndicate. I want to be a father. Just a father.”

Sophie felt a massive weight lift off her chest.

“Blow out your candle, Sophie,” Rosie urged, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

Sophie closed her eyes. She didn’t need to make a wish. Everything she had ever wanted was sitting right in front of her.

She blew out the candle.

The kitchen was quiet. Safe.

“You know,” Matteo said slowly, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “A bakery owner doesn’t live in the maid’s quarters.”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. “She doesn’t?”

“No.” Matteo met her eyes, the intense, frightening mob boss completely gone, replaced by a man looking for a second chance. “She lives in the master wing. If she wants to.”

Rosie lifted her head. “Like a mommy?”

Sophie’s breath caught. She looked at Matteo, seeking permission, seeking the truth.

Matteo reached across the table and took her hand. His grip was warm, solid, and permanent.

“Like a mommy,” Matteo confirmed.

Sophie smiled, tears spilling over her lashes one final time. But this time, they weren’t tears of grief or humiliation. They were tears of absolute joy.

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