Chapter 8 – THE FORTUNE IN THE FLOUR TIN
The morning sun spilled through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Valenti estate, casting a warm, golden glow over the mahogany floors.
It had been forty-eight hours since the nightmare in the kitchen.
Lillian and her father were in federal custody, denied bail. The scarred man had confessed to everything, closing a fifteen-year-old murder case and finally bringing justice to Dante’s mother. The remaining Mercer loyalists in the Chicago syndicate had fled or surrendered.
For the first time in his life, Dante Valenti didn’t have to look over his shoulder.
I stood in the center of the grand dining room, wearing my own clothes—a soft gray sweater and jeans—instead of the black-and-white maid’s uniform. I felt strange, out of place, yet more grounded than I had in my entire life.
“Avery!”
I turned just as my fourteen-year-old sister, Mia, ran across the room and threw her arms around me. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, holding a massive, terrifyingly expensive-looking pastry.
“Rosa made me a chocolate croissant the size of my head,” Mia beamed, taking a massive bite.
I hugged her tight, breathing in the scent of her vanilla shampoo. She was safe. We were together.
“Don’t eat too fast, piccola,” Rosa scolded affectionately, bustling into the dining room carrying a silver tray of espresso. The elderly cook looked entirely rejuvenated. The bruises on her face were fading, and the fear that had haunted her for three weeks was completely gone.
“I’m officially making you my taste-tester, Mia,” Rosa declared, setting the tray on the table. “Someone has to tell me when the sugar is right, and your sister is too busy.”
“I accept this job,” Mia said seriously, before skipping off to explore the gardens.
I smiled, watching her go.
“She’s a good girl, Avery,” Rosa said softly, walking over to me. She took my hands in hers. “And you are a good woman. Isabella and Sarah would be so proud of us today.”
“I just wish my mother was here to see it,” I admitted, a lump forming in my throat. “She deserved to live in the light. She deserved to not worry about paying the electric bill.”
“She didn’t care about the electric bill,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
Dante walked into the room. He was wearing a casual black button-down, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. He looked relaxed, the heavy mantle of the mafia boss replaced by the quiet confidence of a man who had finally won his freedom.
He walked over to me, handing me a thick manila envelope.
“She only cared about you and Mia,” Dante said softly. “Open it.”
I frowned, taking the envelope. I broke the seal and pulled out a stack of crisp, official-looking documents.
I read the top page, my breath catching in my throat.
“Dante,” I gasped, looking up at him in shock. “This… this is a deed. To a house in the suburbs. Paid in full.”
“Keep reading,” Dante insisted, a small smile playing on his lips.
I flipped to the next page. It was a trust fund document, set up in Mia’s name, fully funding her college tuition to any university she chose.
The third document was a bank statement. A joint account in my name and Sarah Cole’s name. The balance made my head spin. It was more money than I could make in ten lifetimes.
“What is this?” I asked, tears instantly blurring my vision.
“We cracked the code last night,” Dante explained, his voice thick with emotion. “The pearls unlocked the accounts. When I opened them, I found something my mother had hidden even from me.”
He reached out and gently touched the silver locket that I was wearing around my neck.
“My mother didn’t just hide her money,” Dante said. “She split it. Half for me to rebuild the family. And half for Sarah, to ensure she and her daughters were protected forever.”
A sob tore from my throat. My mother hadn’t died poor. She had died a millionaire, choosing to leave the money untouched so Arthur Mercer would never track the IP addresses or bank transfers. She had chosen our safety over her comfort until her dying breath.
“The money has been sitting there for fifteen years, Avery,” Dante said, his dark eyes shining. “It’s yours. It was always yours. You never have to scrub another floor or worry about a bill for the rest of your life.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I dropped the papers onto the table and threw my arms around Dante’s neck, burying my face in his chest.
Dante caught me instantly, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me slightly off the floor. He held me fiercely, burying his face in my hair, breathing me in.
“Thank you,” I cried against his shirt. “Thank you.”
“No,” Dante whispered, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “Thank you. You gave me my life back, Avery. You gave me my family back.”
He looked over my shoulder at Rosa, who was openly weeping with joy, wiping her eyes with her apron.
“Speaking of family,” Dante said, setting me down but keeping his hands on my waist. “Rosa, did you tell her?”
Rosa sniffled, standing up straighter. “I’m retiring.”
I blinked, confused. “What? Rosa, no! Dante said you could stay forever!”
“Oh, I am staying,” Rosa laughed, her eyes twinkling. “I’m staying right here in the mansion. But I’m not cooking for ninety people anymore. I’m just cooking for my family. Dante is officially making me the head of the household. No more Lillian. No more private caterers. Just me, telling this stubborn boy to eat his vegetables.”
Dante chuckled, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. “She’s the boss now. I just pay the bills.”
I looked at the deed in my hand, then at Mia playing in the garden, and finally up at Dante. The dark, terrifying world I had stumbled into eleven months ago was gone. The truth was out. Our mothers’ sacrifices were honored.
We were safe.
But as Dante smiled down at me, his thumb gently tracing my jawline, I realized that the end of this nightmare was only the beginning of something else.
“So,” Dante said softly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. “You have a new house. A fortune. And no job. What are you going to do now, Avery?”
TITLE: The Scent of Sunday Gravy
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