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*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 8 / 10

Chapter 8 - Whispers in the CourtyardThe autumn wind swept golden leaves across the cobblestones of the mansion's central courtyard, rustling through the climbing ivy that Paul had tended with meticulous care for over three decades.

I stood by the second-floor wrought-iron balcony, reviewing the updated vendor contracts for the upcoming charity gala the Moretti foundation hosted annually. For the first time in a year, the paperwork felt clean. Every caterer, decorator, and logistics supplier had been vetted through my office, ensuring that no corporate egos or high-society snobs would ever again treat the heart of this home like a hostile takeover target.

Footsteps echoed softly on the stone stairs behind me.

"Working late, Emma?"

I turned to see Luca walking out onto the terrace. He had traded his usual tailored suit for a dark wool sweater, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. The harsh, guarded tension that had once defined his posture when we first met had completely melted away over the past few weeks.

"Just finalizing the security protocols for Friday's foundation dinner," I replied, closing my tablet. "No uninvited guests this time. Everyone on the attendee list has been cleared through three separate security layers."

Luca smiled, leaning his forearms against the cool iron railing and looking out toward the front gates. "Good. After the circus Vanessa and her father pulled, I think our guests appreciate a bit more peace and quiet."

"Speaking of Vanessa," I said carefully, leaning against the pillar beside him. "Has she tried reaching out?"

Luca let out a short, humorless breath. "Her lawyers sent a settlement offer regarding the frozen joint accounts late last night. Salvatore realized he couldn't fight the forensic audits without exposing half his grey-market logistics to federal scrutiny. They agreed to full divestment without a fight."

"And socially?"

"She left for Milan yesterday morning," Luca said, his dark eyes steady. "Her father bought her a one-way ticket and a high-profile PR campaign to rebrand her image in Europe. She’s someone else's problem now."

Silence settled comfortably between us for a moment, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the faint, rich aroma of simmering garlic drifting up from the kitchen windows below.

"Maria is making osso buco tonight," Luca murmured, turning his head to look at me. "She insisted I invite you to join us at the main table again. Not as staff. As family."

My chest tightened with a sudden, unexpected warmth. "I’d love that, Luca."

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He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against mine where they rested on the cold iron railing. It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but it sent a sharp, electric thrum straight through my veins. He didn't pull his hand away immediately; instead, his thumb grazed my knuckles before he stepped back with a soft, knowing smile.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Before Maria sends Paul out here with a wooden spoon to drag us both inside."

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Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the PastThe Friday night foundation dinner was an absolute triumph.
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.

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