Chapter 11 - THE SWEETEST SURVIVAL
One year later.
The grand opening of The Flour Canvas in Beacon Hill was the event of the season.
The bakery was packed with Boston elites, food critics, and loyal customers. The display cases were filled to the brim with my signature raspberry eclairs, delicate macarons, and artisan breads. Clara was managing the front counter, barking orders with a massive smile on her face. Leo was in the back, critiquing my croissant lamination technique while simultaneously eating three of them.
I stood near the espresso machine, wiping my hands on my pristine white apron, taking in the scene.
My life was unrecognizable. I lived in the Valente compound, not as a guest, but as the Don's partner. The transition hadn't been seamless—navigating the underworld politics, dealing with Alessandro’s overprotective security details, and learning how to argue with a man who was used to absolute obedience. But we made it work. Alessandro was my anchor, and I was his peace.
The bell above the door chimed, and a hush fell over the bakery.
Alessandro walked in.
He was wearing a custom navy suit, looking every inch the terrifying, obscenely hot mafia boss he was. He commanded the room effortlessly, the crowd parting for him as he made his way to the counter. His dark eyes found mine, and the rest of the world simply faded away.
He walked behind the counter, ignoring the health code regulations, and pulled me into his arms. He didn't care who was watching. He kissed me deeply, a proprietary, passionate kiss that made my toes curl.
"Congratulations, amore mio," he murmured against my lips. "The bakery is a triumph."
"I had a very good investor," I smiled, adjusting his silk tie.
"You had a man who simply gave you the tools you already deserved," he corrected, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.
My heart skipped a beat. The entire bakery fell dead silent. I could see Leo peering out from the kitchen doors, grinning like an idiot.
Alessandro didn't drop to one knee. That wasn't who he was. He stood tall, opening the box to reveal a massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond ring that matched the color of the dress I wore the night we met.
"I told you I wanted to build a fortress around you," Alessandro said, his voice carrying clearly over the silent crowd. "But you proved to me that you are your own fortress, Roslyn. You survived the darkness, and you brought light back into my life. Marry me. Be my wife. Be the Queen of this city."
Tears pricked my eyes. I looked at the man who had terrified me, saved me, and loved me back to life. I looked at the ring, a symbol of a promise forged in blood and sugar and absolute devotion.
"I accidentally texted you that you were obscenely hot," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek. "It was the best mistake of my life."
"Is that a yes?" Alessandro asked, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his face.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, Alessandro."
He slipped the ring onto my finger, pulling me back into his arms as the bakery erupted in cheers.
May you like
I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of cedar and bergamot. I had walked through hell, survived a monster, and accidentally stumbled into the arms of the Devil himself. And as he held me tight, surrounded by the smell of fresh bread and the people I loved, I knew one thing for certain.
The Devil loved me. And I was never, ever letting him go.
