*THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO SEND THE WOMAN WHO’D COOKED FOR HIS FAMILY FOR THIRTY YEARS HOME BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I CARRIED HER OLD RED SAUCE POT INTO THE DINING ROOM, LUCA MORETTI STOOD UP AND SAID, “WHY DOES MY MOTHER’S KITCHEN SMELL LIKE THIS?”** / Chapter 4 / 10

Chapter 4 - The Empty Seat at the Head TableBack inside the mansion, the atmosphere had shifted from high-society gala to an active disaster zone.

When Luca, Paul, and I walked back through the service entrance, we discovered that half the guests had already left. Vanessa and her father, Salvatore, were engaged in a screaming match in the grand foyer, surrounded by half-packed designer luggage and a cluster of terrified caterers.

"You are destroying a ten-million-dollar partnership over a piece of firewood!" Salvatore bellowed, his face bright red as he pointed a diamond-ringed finger at Luca’s chest.

"Then consider it a cheap lesson in respect, Salvatore," Luca replied coldly, walking past them without breaking stride. "Take your daughter and get out of my house."

"You'll regret this, Moretti!" Vanessa shrieked from the grand staircase, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her gold satin gown. "You'll die alone in this dusty museum of yours, surrounded by old cooks and broken junk! Nobody will ever love a cold-hearted bastard like you!"

Luca didn't even look back.

He walked straight into the dining room, where the remaining thirty-odd guests sat in stunned, terrified silence.

Maria was still sitting at the corner of the table, her hands folded in her lap, looking anxiously toward the doorway. When she saw Luca walk in carrying the small blue chair—with Paul trailing shyly behind him—her hands flew to her mouth.

Luca set the little blue chair gently in the empty space right beside Maria’s seat.

Then he pulled out the chair at the absolute head of the mahogany table, looked at Paul, and said, "Sit down, Paul. You missed dinner, but Maria still has half a pot of gravy on the stove."

The remaining guests—mostly Luca’s loyal inner circle, childhood friends, and hardened business associates who respected strength above all else—stared in astonishment for a second.

Then, Micah raised his wine glass.

"To the cook, the gardener, and the family we actually chose," Micah announced loudly.

A cheer went up around the table. One by one, the guests began to clap. Not out of polite obligation, but out of genuine, roaring approval.

Maria wiped a tear from her cheek with her apron, reached across the table, and ladled a steaming, rich portion of Sunday gravy over a plate of homemade rigatoni, sliding it directly across to Luca.

"Eat," she scolded affectionately, a watery smile breaking across her round face. "You're too skinny. If you starve yourself, who's going to run this madhouse?"

Luca smiled—a real, genuine, unguarded smile that I had never seen on his face during the eleven months I had worked in his home.