PART 4: The Sovereign’s Claim
“Marcus,” Silvio said, addressing my bakery manager without looking at him.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?” Marcus squeaked.
“You will transfer Nerissa’s final wages, including a ten-thousand-percent severance bonus for the fourteen-hour shift she worked today, to her account within the next ten minutes. If it is late, I will personally buy your bakery and turn it into a parking lot.”
Marcus didn’t argue. He frantically pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen.
Silvio turned to me, his dark eyes softening in a way that seemed entirely reserved for me. He offered his elbow.
“Your carriage is waiting downstairs, Nerissa,” he said softly.
My hands were still shaking, but the exhaustion that had weighed down my spine for fourteen hours seemed to melt away. I looked at his arm, then into his face.
“I… I have to go home to Sasha,” I whispered, my voice finally returning. “She’s waiting.”
“Sasha is already at the estate,” Silvio replied, his hand gently finding mine and resting it against his arm. “My security team collected her an hour ago. She is currently eating a three-course dinner prepared by a French chef, and I believe she has already requested apple pie.”
The guests watched in absolute, stunned silence as the most feared mafia boss in Chicago escorted a girl with a coffee-stained apron and worn-out sneakers down the center aisle of the ballroom. Nobody laughed. Nobody whispered.
They looked at me as if I were a queen returning to her throne.
As we reached the grand lobby, the cool night air washed over my face. The sleek, black armored limousine was idling at the curb, its doors held open by two suited guards.
“Silvio,” I said, using his name for the first time as we stepped into the back of the warm vehicle. “Why did you do this? You don’t even know me.”
Silvio leaned back against the leather seat, the faint scent of cold smoke and dark wood filling the cabin. He looked at me, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising to meet my eyes.
“I knew your mother, Nerissa,” he said quietly. “And I have been watching you for a very long time. But more importantly…”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that intimate, elevator whisper.
“I am a man who always claims his dreams.”
Six months later, as the spring breeze carried the scent of fresh blossoms through the gardens of the Moretti estate, a new fragrance was ready to be introduced to the world…
