Chapter 6 - Sweet Crumb, ForeverTwo years later, the morning sun over Portland, Maine, was bright, golden, and completely unobstructed by fog.
The bell above the door of Sweet Crumb Bakery chimed merrily as a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a flour-dusted apron walked out from the kitchen carrying a massive tray of warm, freshly glazed cinnamon rolls.
“Dad!” a six-year-old boy shouted, running over from the corner table where he was drawing a picture of a blue tree. “Are those the ones with the extra frosting?”
Matteo Lombardi—wearing an apron that read Kiss the Baker in bright pink letters—smiled down at his son, his icy gray eyes sparkling with a warmth and peace they had never known during his years ruling the Chicago underworld.
“The exact mountain you requested, little bear,” Matteo said, setting the tray down carefully on the counter.
From behind the espresso machine, Hazel leaned over, wiping her hands on a clean towel, watching her husband and her son with a soft, contented smile playing at the corners of her lips.
The transition hadn't been easy. There had been months of federal debriefings, legal paperwork, shifting assets into legitimate community foundations, and learning how to live an ordinary life without armed guards standing outside the bedroom door. But Matteo had kept his promise. He had walked away from the crown, the blood, and the throne, trading his empire for a quiet life by the sea, a failing bakery he had personally funded into the most successful pastry shop in the state, and a family that loved him not for his money, but for the man he was when the sun went down.
The front door chimed again.
A customer stepped inside, pausing to take in the delicious aroma of vanilla and yeast.
“Welcome to Sweet Crumb,” Hazel said brightly, stepping forward. “What can I get for you today?”
Matteo walked around the counter, stepping up beside her, wrapping one strong arm securely around her waist, his hand resting warmly over the soft curve of her hip. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and home.
Hazel leaned back against his chest, her heart completely at peace.
He had told her five years ago: “Take nothing of mine.”
May you like
He had been wrong then. And he knew better now.
Because as she looked out over her bakery, her son, and the man who had burned an empire to the ground just to earn her forgiveness, Hazel knew she had taken everything that truly mattered—and she was never giving it back.
