Chapter 9 – [THE SHADOW OF THE PAST]

Two years later.

The bell above the café door jingled merrily.

“Order up!” I called out, setting a warm blueberry scone and a steaming latte on the counter.

“Thanks, Emily,” Mrs. Higgins smiled, dropping a dollar in the tip jar.

I wiped my hands on my apron. It wasn’t a black housekeeper’s uniform anymore. It was a bright, cheerful yellow apron with the logo of my very own bakery: Carter & Co.

David came pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, covered in flour.

“The ovens are fixed!” he announced triumphantly. “I may be a licensed architect, but apparently, I’m also a master repairman.”

I laughed, tossing him a clean towel. “Don’t quit your day job, little brother. Your firm needs you more than my croissants do.”

David grinned, wiping his face. “Hey, did you check the mail today?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Just wondering.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye.

I narrowed my eyes. “David Bellini-Carter. What did you do?”

He held up his hands defensively. “Nothing! I just… might have sent an invitation to someone.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“An invitation to what?”

“To my firm’s gala next week,” David said quietly. “He got out last month, Em. He’s been living in the city. Working at a supply warehouse.”

Luca.

I hadn’t seen him in two years. We had exchanged a few letters while he was serving his reduced sentence, but once he was released, he went completely silent.

I thought he wanted a clean break.

“He won’t come,” I said, looking down at the counter. “He wants to forget us. We remind him of his family’s destruction.”

The bell above the door jingled again.

“I could never forget you, Emily.”

I froze.

I slowly looked up.

Standing in the doorway of my little bakery was Luca Moretti.

He wasn’t wearing a thousand-dollar suit anymore. He wore dark jeans, a simple Henley shirt, and a worn leather jacket. His hair was slightly longer, and he looked older. Rougher.

But his eyes were exactly the same. Warm. Calm. And focused entirely on me.

“Luca,” I breathed, coming out from behind the counter.

David smiled, untying his apron. “I’ll go check the… flour inventory in the back.” He slipped into the kitchen, leaving us alone.

Luca walked toward me. He looked around the bakery, taking in the warm yellow walls and the smell of fresh pastry.

“You did it,” he smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“We did it,” I corrected him. “Because of you.”

Luca shook his head. “No. You earned this, Emily. You survived.”

We stood there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words.

“David said you invited me to a gala,” Luca said, pulling a crisp white envelope from his jacket pocket.

“He shouldn’t have,” I blushed. “You don’t have to go. I know you want to keep a low profile.”

“I do want to keep a low profile,” Luca agreed. He stepped closer. “But I also want to take you to dinner. Real dinner. Not catering.”

My heart fluttered. “I’d like that.”

Luca smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sent a warm shock down my spine.

“Good. Tomorrow night at eight?”

“It’s a date,” I smiled.

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “Oh, and Emily?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone came by the warehouse today asking about you.”

My smile faded. “Who?”

Luca frowned. “An older man. Spoke with an Italian accent. He said he was an old friend of your mother’s.”

A chill ran down my arms.

“My mother didn’t have any Italian friends,” I whispered.

Luca’s expression hardened.

He reached into his pocket and tossed something onto the counter.

“He said to give you this.”

I walked over to the counter.

Sitting there, gleaming in the bakery lights, was a silver tie clip.

Etched into the metal was a familiar shape.

A red door.

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