Chapter 6 - Sweet Revenge
Six months later, the corner of State and Ontario in downtown Chicago was bustling with the morning rush hour.
Pedestrians hurried past a sleek, beautifully restored storefront with polished mahogany trim and hand-lettered gold leaf lettering across the sparkling glass window: Russo & Castelli Artisan Patisserie.
Inside, the air was thick with the intoxicating scent of freshly brewed espresso, caramelized sugar, and warm vanilla bean paste.
Harper Russo—now officially Harper Castelli, much to the eternal delight of Nonna Elena—stood behind the marble counter arranging a display of delicate raspberry tarts. Her apron was dusted with flour, her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and a diamond engagement ring flashed brilliantly under the pendant lights every time her hands moved.
The heavy glass front door chimed, and a tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped in, carrying a leather briefcase in one hand and a black tactical umbrella in the other. Two armed guards in tailored suits stationed themselves discreetly outside on the sidewalk, scanning the foot traffic with cool, professional detachment.
Dominic walked up to the counter, setting his briefcase down. He leaned over the glass partition, pressing a warm kiss to Harper's cheek.
"Good morning, Mrs. Castelli," he murmured, his amber eyes dancing with amusement.
"Good morning, Mr. Castelli," Harper smiled, handing him a tall paper cup of dark roast espresso with three raw sugars. "You look entirely too cheerful for a Monday morning. Did another rival syndicate implode over the weekend?"
"Worse," Dominic chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Nonna is planning our six-month wedding anniversary gala. She’s currently holding a meeting with the catering committee in the basement of our estate. She wants a chocolate fountain the size of an SUV."
Harper groaned, resting her chin in her hands. "Tell me you didn't agree to it."
"I survived a tactical assault in a cathedral, Harper, but I am not suicidal enough to argue with Nonna about chocolate fountains," Dominic grinned. "Besides, I came to inspect the morning inventory. Quality control."
He reached over the glass, picked up a warm, powdered almond croissant, and took a bite. A shower of flaky pastry crumbs fell onto his expensive silk tie.
Harper gasped, grabbing a napkin and swatting at his chest. "Dominic! That tie cost more than my first car!"
"Consider it a tax on doing business," Dominic laughed, catching her hand in his large, warm palm and pressing a kiss to her flour-dusted knuckles, right over the heavy platinum ring.
Through the front window, the Chicago skyline stood tall and bright against a crisp spring sky. The old fears, the midnight break-ins, and the dangerous games of rival syndicates felt like a lifetime away. They had built something real out of the ashes of a setup—a fortress of warmth, flour, and absolute, unshakable devotion.
"Hey, Dominic?" Harper asked softly, tilting her head.
"Mm?"
"If another shady temporary employee ever tries to trick me into wandering through your biometric security doors..." Harper smiled wickedly, "do I get to throw another silver tray?"
May you like
Dominic pulled her closer, his amber eyes burning with fierce, undivided love.
"Only if you let me aim."
