Page 17 of Boss of Brooklyn

Sofia's eyes snap back to mine, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in their depths. “You did this? For me?”

I nod, setting down the spoon and wiping my hands on my apron. “I had a little help from a friend,” I say, glancing to Gia.

“What?!” Sofia turns to her sister, who is standing there grinning.

“It was his idea, I just helped a little,” Gia shrugs her shoulders.

I clear my throat. “I know it doesn't make up for everything, for the misunderstanding and the pain you went throug. But Iwanted to show you that I believe in you, in your dream. And that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be worthy of your trust again.”

I see the conflict on her face, the way she's fighting against the hope that's clearly rising within her. “But your world...”

“Is no longer my world,” I interrupt gently. “Not anymore. I've been working with Vince, Sofia. I'm going legit. No more shadows, no more secrets. Just me, trying to be a man deserving of your love.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to rush to her, to wipe it away. But I stay put, giving her the space to make her own decision.

“You really didn't have anything to do with the fire?” she asks, her voice small.

“I swear on my life,” I reply, meeting her gaze steadily. “Sofia, I would never do anything to hurt you. That fire... it broke my heart to see you in so much pain.” I glance at Gia, who hands me an envelope. I hold it up.

“This is the Fire Marshal's report. It confirms the fire was started by faulty electrical wiring in the kitchen. Here. Look for yourself. It’s the proof you needed. The truth about what happened.”

She takes a step towards me, then another. I hold my breath, hardly daring to hope. When she's standing right in front of me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, she reaches out and touches my cheek. “I don’t need that, Luca. I know in my heart you wouldn’t hurt me. I just needed time, everything was moving so fast.”

The warmth of her hand against my skin is like coming home after a long, cold journey. I lean into her touch, closing my eyes briefly.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

The dam breaks. I pull her into my arms, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent. She smells of sunshine and lavender, of home and hope. “I missed you too,” I murmur. “So much. Every day away from you felt like an eternity.”

A small smile tugs at her lips, and I feel my heart soar. “I think you'd better kiss me, Luca Del Toro. Before I change my mind.”

I don't need to be told twice. I cup her face in my hands, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. For a moment, I just look at her, trying to memorize every detail. Then, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I lower my lips to hers.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative. It's a question, an apology, a promise all rolled into one. But then Sofia sighs against my lips, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, and the kiss deepens. I pour everything I feel into it – all the love, longing, and promise I hold in my heart.

“Okay, yuck! I’m out! See you later sis!” I hear Gia call out and then the door shut as Sofia’s sister smartly walks out.

When we finally part, both breathless, I rest my forehead against hers. “I love you,” I murmur. “I know I have no right to say it, after everything, but it's the truth. I love you, Sofia. And I'll spend every day of the rest of my life proving it to you, if you'll let me.”

She pulls back slightly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you too, Luca. I tried... but I couldn't stop loving you.”

Relief washes over me, so intense it's almost painful. I pull her close again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For giving me another chance. I promise, I won't waste it.”

We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. I can feel the tension leaving Sofia's body, feel her relaxing into my embrace. It's like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Finally, Sofia pulls back, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So,” she says, nodding towards the stove, “are you going to let me taste that sauce, or what?”

I laugh, the sound rusty from disuse but genuine. “I don't know,” I tease. “Think you can handle my Nonna's secret recipe?”

Sofia raises an eyebrow, a challenging smirk on her face. “Bring it on, Del Toro.”

Hand in hand, we move to the stove. I dip a spoon into the marinara, blowing on it gently before offering it to Sofia. She closes her eyes as she tastes it, and I watch, entranced, as a range of emotions plays across her face.

“Well?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “What's the verdict?”

Sofia opens her eyes, a slow smile spreading across her face. “It's... not bad,” she says, her tone deliberately casual. “But I think it could use a little something.”

Before I can protest, she's reaching for the spice rack, adding a pinch of this and a dash of that. I watch in amazement as she transforms my grandmother's recipe, elevating it to something new and exciting.

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