Chapter 9 - THE PERFECT RESERVATION
The sunlight streaming through the massive windows of La Famiglia was warm and golden.
It had been six months since the night the engagement dinner shattered.
I stood by the hostess stand, straightening the stack of fresh menus. The restaurant was completely booked for the evening, as it had been every night since the scandal broke.
The FBI had taken the ledger and the watermarked envelope. The evidence was irrefutable. Richard Sterling’s corporate empire was raided the next morning. They uncovered decades of financial crimes, money laundering, and the direct paper trail linking Richard to the assassination of Roman’s mentor.
Richard was currently sitting in federal prison awaiting trial.
Charlotte, stripped of her trust fund and facing accessory charges, had attempted to flee to a non-extradition country, but Roman’s men had intercepted her at O'Hare Airport and politely handed her over to the FBI.
The Moretti syndicate collapsed overnight, the power vacuum cleanly and legally filled by Roman’s legitimate businesses.
“Grace! The new linen napkins are here!”
I turned. Maria Ferraro was bustling out of the kitchen, her face glowing with a wide, stress-free smile.
“I’ll sign for them,” I said, grabbing my pen.
I wasn't a waitress anymore. I was the General Manager of DeLuca Enterprises. After the dust settled, Roman had restructured his entire company. Daniel, Maria, and Tony were officially recognized on all public documents as co-founders and majority shareholders.
And me? Roman had walked into the restaurant two weeks after the arrest, handed me the keys to the flagship location, and told me that someone who could outsmart a billionaire with an envelope deserved to run the company.
The front door chimed.
I looked up. Tony walked in, holding little Lily’s hand. The bruises on his face had long since faded. Lily was wearing a bright yellow dress, holding a large piece of construction paper.
“Auntie Grace!” Lily squealed, letting go of her father’s hand and running to me.
I knelt down, catching her in a hug. “Hey, sweet girl! What do you have there?”
Lily proudly held up her drawing. It was a picture of a restaurant. A tall man with dark hair was standing next to a girl with blonde hair. Underneath, in neat, practiced handwriting, it said: Roman and Grace’s Place.
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I took the drawing, pinning it to the bulletin board behind the hostess stand. “It’s beautiful, Lily. Thank you.”
“She’s been working on it all morning,” a deep, familiar voice said.
I stood up. Roman was leaning against the doorway. He was wearing a casual black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. He looked relaxed, happy, and impossibly handsome. The heavy, dark burden he had carried for ten years was completely gone from his eyes.
“Everything ready for tonight?” Roman asked, walking over to me.
“Fully booked,” I smiled, adjusting my blazer.
Tony laughed, patting Roman on the shoulder. “I’m heading to the back to check the deliveries. See you tonight, boss.”
Tony and Lily disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Roman and me alone in the sunlit dining room.
Roman stepped closer. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing the silver chain around my neck. Attached to the chain was the black onyx rosary he had given me in the safe house. I had worn it every single day since.
“You still have it,” Roman said softly.
“You told me to hold onto it,” I replied, my heart doing that familiar flutter.
Over the last six months, Roman and I had worked side-by-side to rebuild the restaurants. We had spent late nights reviewing ledgers, early mornings drinking coffee in empty dining rooms, and slowly, beautifully, falling in love. There had been no grand declarations, no society galas. Just a deep, profound respect that blossomed into something unbreakable.
“I have a question for you,” Roman said, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
“If it’s about the seating chart for table four, Daniel already handled it,” I teased.
Roman chuckled, a rich, warm sound. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cream-colored envelope.
He handed it to me.
I looked at it. It wasn't tied with a navy ribbon. It was sealed with a simple drop of red wax.
My hands trembled slightly as I broke the seal and pulled out the heavy cardstock.
It wasn't a party invitation.
It was a reservation card for La Famiglia, dated for that evening at 8:00 PM. Table for two.
Under the name section, Roman had written in elegant handwriting: Roman DeLuca and Grace DeLuca.
I gasped, looking up at him, tears immediately springing to my eyes.
“Charlotte wanted a society wedding,” Roman whispered, taking both of my hands in his. “She wanted photographers and politicians and people who didn't know the first thing about loyalty. I don't want any of that.”
He dropped to one knee right there in the empty dining room, on the hardwood floors he used to scrub when he was nineteen.
Roman pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a breathtaking, vintage diamond ring.
“I want a partner,” Roman said, his voice thick with emotion. “I want a woman who understands that true wealth isn't in a bank account, but in the people you stand beside when the lights go out. Grace Miller, you saved my family. You saved my life. Will you marry me?”
I looked at the man who had torn down his own empire to protect his friends. The man who saw me when the rest of the world looked right through me.
“Yes,” I cried, laughing through my tears. “Yes, Roman. I will.”
Roman smiled, sliding the perfect ring onto my finger. He stood up, wrapping his arms around my waist, and lifted me off the ground, kissing me deeply.
From the kitchen doors, I heard the sudden, erupting sound of cheering.
I pulled back slightly, looking over Roman’s shoulder. Daniel, Maria, Tony, Lily, and the entire kitchen staff were peering through the round glass windows of the swinging doors, clapping and whistling.
Roman laughed, resting his forehead against mine.
“Looks like we’re going to need a bigger table tonight,” Roman smiled.
May you like
I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on to the only family I would ever need.
“We have plenty of room,” I whispered.
