Page 16 of Boss of Brooklyn

There was a pause, heavy with years of unspoken words and diverging paths. “What kind of help?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “I want out,” I told him. “I want to go legit.”

The silence on the other end of the line seemed to stretch for an eternity. When Vince finally spoke, his voice was cautious. “You're serious about this?”

“More serious than I've ever been about anything in my life.”

What followed was a series of grueling meetings, each one feeling like I was flaying myself open. I laid bare every aspect of my organization, every illegal deal, every shady connection. It wasn't easy, and there were moments when I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life. But then I'd think of Sofia, of the future we could have, and I knew it was worth it. And since Vince had just done the same for Emily, he understood better than anyone.

The process hasn't been smooth, but it's underway. Every day, I feel the weight of my past lifting, replaced by the promise of a future I can be proud of. It's strange, walking down the street without constantly looking over my shoulder, without the heavy burden of secrets and lies.

But the real turning point came when I contacted Gia, Sofia's sister. I still remember the ice in her voice when she answeredthe phone, the way she almost hung up on me. But I pleaded for a chance to explain, and somehow, miraculously, she listened.

“The text from Dominic,” I told her, my voice hoarse with emotion, “it was a misunderstanding. He made an assumption based on old habits, old expectations. But I swear to you, I would never do anything to hurt Sofia. She means everything to me.”

There was a long pause, and I held my breath, waiting for her judgment. I could almost see her weighing my words, deciding whether to believe the man who had broken her sister's heart.

Then, softly, she said, “I believe you.”

Those three words changed everything. It was like a dam breaking, relief and hope flooding through me. “Thank you,” I whispered, not ashamed of the relief in my voice. “Thank you for believing me.”

“Don't thank me yet,” Gia replied, her voice gaining strength. “If you really want to make things right with Sofia, you're going to have to prove it. Not just with words, but with actions.”

“Anything,” I said immediately. “I'll do anything.”

And so, with Gia's help, we hatched a plan to surprise Sofia. We found a beautiful location in a trendy part of Brooklyn, perfect for a new version of Nonna's with no territorial disputes hanging over it. I poured every resource I had into making it a reality, determined to give Sofia back the dream that was taken from her as fast as possible.

“You really do love her, don't you?” Gia asked me one day, as we were poring over menu designs.

I looked up, meeting her gaze steadily. “More than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life.”

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “Good. Because if you ever hurt her again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born.”

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. “I believe you. And I promise, I'd rather die than cause Sofia pain again.”

Now, as I stand in the gleaming new kitchen, surrounded by state-of-the-art equipment and the warm glow of copper pots, I feel a mix of excitement and terror. What if this surprise gesture isn't enough?

I glance around the restaurant, taking in every detail we've so carefully planned. The warm, amber lighting that Sofia said made food look more appetizing. The open kitchen layout that allows diners to see the passion and artistry that goes into every dish. The cozy booths upholstered in rich, dark leather – Sofia's favorite.

Every inch of this place is a testament to my love for her, to my belief in her dreams. But will it be enough?

The sound of a car pulling up outside snaps me out of my thoughts. My heart races as I hear voices—Gia's animated chatter and then, like a melody I've been longing to hear, Sofia's laugh.

I adjust my apron, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Am I presuming too much, standing here in her kitchen? Should I have waited outside, given her space to take it all in?

But it's too late for second-guessing now. The door opens, and I hold my breath.

Sofia steps in, her eyes wide as she takes in the restaurant. She looks even more beautiful than I remember, her cheeksflushed from the crisp autumn air, her dark hair windswept. There's a glow about her, a vitality that only adds to her beauty.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the world stands still. I drink in the sight of her, cataloging every detail. The tiny wrinkle between her brows as she frowns in confusion. The way her lips part slightly in surprise. The flicker of something – hope? – in her eyes.

“Luca?” she whispers, disbelief coloring her voice.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay where I am, to let her process this at her own pace. “Hi, Sofia,” I say softly. “Welcome home.”

She looks around, taking in the warm lighting, the elegant tables, the open kitchen where I stand. Her gaze lingers on the wall where we've recreated the mural from her old restaurant – the Italian countryside, with rolling hills and cypress trees. “I don't understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “What is this?”

Gia steps forward, placing a hand on Sofia's arm. “It's yours, sis. Your new Nonna's. Luca... he wanted to make things right.”

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