Chapter 10 - Sunday Gravy and ForeverSix months later, the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the bay windows of the Moretti mansion kitchen, casting long, warm light across the marble countertops.
The air was thick with the rich, comforting scent of slow-simmered tomatoes, garlic, basil, and meatballs frying in a heavy cast-iron skillet.
Maria stood at the stove, humming an old Italian melody while aggressively stirring the massive aluminum stockpot—the exact same battered red-sauce pot that had nearly been thrown in the dumpster nearly half a year ago.
Across the room, Paul sat at the small wooden table in the corner, carefully sanding the legs of the little blue children's chair he had restored to pristine condition.
And at the center island, I was organizing the weekly supply rosters while Luca—the feared underworld boss of Chicago—stood beside me wearing a white apron covered entirely in flour, furiously kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough.
"Too much pressure on the left palm," Maria called out without even turning around, pointing her wooden spoon in our direction. "You're going to tear the gluten, Luciano! Do you want your guests chewing rubber?"
Luca groaned, looking over at me with an exaggerated expression of defeat. "She watches me like a hawk. I run an entire shipping empire, but in this kitchen, I'm treated like an incompetent apprentice."
I laughed, reaching over to wipe a speck of flour off his cheek with a clean cloth. "You chose this, boss."
"Best choice I ever made," he whispered softly, catching my hand mid-motion and holding it against his palm.
His dark eyes weren't looking at the dough anymore. They were locked on mine with a warmth and intensity that made my heart race every single time.
Maria cleared her throat loudly, turning around with a wide, triumphant grin spread across her round face.
"Well?" Maria asked, crossing her arms over her blue apron. "Are you two going to stand there staring at each other all afternoon, or are we going to set the table? Sunday dinner doesn't wait for romance."
Luca smiled, dropping the dough scraper and pulling me into his arms right there in the middle of the kitchen, ignoring the flour dusting both of us from head to toe.
May you like
"Let her wait, Maria," Luca said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head as I wrapped my arms around his waist. "For the first time in my life, I have everything right where it belongs."
Outside, the Chicago wind rustled through the autumn trees, and the iron gates stood strong and secure. Inside, the sauce was simmering, the family was whole, and the house finally felt like home.
