Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Rachel
"Matteo, are you dancing with me?" I dodged and complained breathlessly, "Use the strength you had when you punched Charles!"
"Can't do that," he easily blocked my jab, chuckling low. "I'm afraid you'd cry before I even tried."
That did it. I faked a right hook to make him shift his weight, and the second he moved to block, I stepped forward, dropped low, wrapped my arms around his waist, drove my shoulder hard into his chest and abdomen, then twisted—a perfect hip throw.
The whole gym went silent for a second. Then came the sound of spraying liquid from the doorway.
Luca spit his drink all over the glass door. Shock first, then he burst into unrestrained laughter.
"Boss! Oh my God! You—" He doubled over, still managing to pull out his phone and aim it at us. "I have to record this! This is absolutely the best moment of the year!"
I felt a little embarrassed and reached to help Matteo up, but he just lay there on the mat, looking at me, laughing too. He wasn't angry at all. Those black eyes were full of indulgence and pride.
He held out his hand to me. "Mrs. Vitale, you win."
After Charles died, I had nightmares for a long time. So I asked Matteo to arrange the best combat instructor for me. I wanted to be able to punch anyone who tried to kidnap me and make them run.
At first, I was basically venting, but gradually, I actually got hooked. Every punch felt like I was driving out all those years of fear and helplessness from my body, bit by bit. Eventually, I could actually go a couple of rounds with Matteo.
I pulled Matteo up. We changed and headed toward the office.
There was still a meeting today. Matteo had kept every promise he made to me.
He'd spent nearly a whole year completely separating Vitale Group from the old sprawling system, registering it as a completely independent, legitimate investment firm.
All the licenses, all the tax records, all the compliance audits—clean enough to spread out in the sunlight for anyone to see.
As for the family's "other side," he'd handed it all over to the council of family elders at the Sicily estate.
I'd witnessed firsthand the storm that nearly blew the roof off the estate.
Several white-haired old men pounded the table, cursing Matteo in the most intense Sicilian dialect.
But Matteo argued his case throughout, and when even Camilla finally stood on his side, the farce came to a satisfactory end.
Luca was naturally dragged by Matteo from Sicily to New York, given the title of "Special Assistant to the President." He had to wear tailored suits that made him uncomfortable every day, shuttling between the glass curtain walls of the financial district.
"I'd rather go back to Sicily right now and empty a thousand rounds at the shooting range than look at this shit one more time.
" Luca sat in the passenger seat, pulling at his hair over his laptop.
On the screen in front of him was a densely packed, colorful ESG compliance document analysis report.
He looked at me, his whole face crumpled.
"Rachel, please talk to the boss. I'm really not cut out for this.
I know all these letters separately, but together, I don't know them and they don't know me. "
I couldn't stop laughing.
"It's been a year. I'm sick of hearing that." I pulled out an insulated lunch box and handed it to him. "Leona made extra rosemary roasted chicken today."
Luca's eyes lit up, and he immediately took it. "Tell Leona she's like a mother to me."
Leona was busy as hell these days. Sea Breeze Diner had opened three more locations, one in Camden. She'd refined the restaurant's signature roasted chicken recipe, and it had recently been voted into several food magazines' "Most Worth Trying Street Food in New York" lists.
After the meeting, I got a call from Sofia. The kid was all noise and excitement on the other end. "Mom! I got 'Most Polite Girl in Class' today!"
"Really?" I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I walked toward the elevator. "So what does the most polite girl want as a reward?"
"Pink cereal," she answered fast, then added very logically, "the one with My Little Pony stickers. I told you about it last time."
Before I could respond, Matteo reached over and took my phone.
"Congratulations, baby. That title suits you, so the cereal is approved."
A cheer came from the other end. "Thank you, Daddy! I knew you were the best!"
I glared at him. He just raised his chin and handed my phone back, that indulgence on his face not even trying to hide.
"Sofia," I deliberately made my tone stern, "did you specifically call when Dad was around?"
"It's strategy," she said seriously. "Teacher says polite girls should also use their brains."
This time, even I couldn't hold it together. By the time we got back to the apartment that evening, Sofia had already rushed over with her backpack, first holding up the little medal to our faces, then remembering her new request.
"I also want pizza tonight," she announced, looking up. "With pineapple, Italian sausage, buffalo mozzarella, and a little honey chili sauce."
My eyebrow twitched. "What weird flavor is that?" I held the certificate, looking down at her. "Sweet, salty, spicy—you want it all?"
"Of course," Sofia said righteously. "I'm the most polite girl in class. I should get a special pizza."
Matteo leaned against the island and actually nodded. "Makes sense."
"Don't tell me you think this combination is fine too."
"She's creative," he said seriously. "Taste should have some personality."
In the end, I rolled up my sleeves and went into the kitchen. Sofia dragged over a little stool to supervise, while Matteo dealt with the pile of toppings she'd requested.
I kneaded dough, sprinkled flour, and rolled out the crust. The counter was soon covered in a layer of fine white flour, the backs of my hands and my apron too.
On the other side, Matteo bent his head cutting pineapple, frying sausage, tearing buffalo mozzarella, and finally dug out a bottle of honey chili sauce from the fridge, studying the proportions like he was negotiating a big deal.
Sofia sprawled at the edge of the island, her little mouth never stopping.
"Dad, make the pineapple smaller."
"Got it."
"Mom, make the edges thicker. I like the crispy outer ring."
"Why are you so demanding?"
"Because I have a certificate."
That reason, somehow no one could argue with. When the crust was almost ready, Matteo came over with the toppings, glanced down at the round dough in my hands, and said slowly, "Left side's too thin."
I looked up. "You do it then."
"Fine, I will." He said that, but his hand reached over first, his fingertip gently swiping across the tip of my nose.
I froze for half a second. "Matteo." My fingertips were covered in flour. "What did you just do?"
Sofia laughed first. "Mom turned into a little cat!"
Matteo put on an innocent look. "Just evening you out."
I grabbed a small pinch of flour and pressed it right on his face. "Now you're even too."
The kitchen went quiet for two seconds, then completely descended into chaos.
Matteo pressed his tongue against his cheek, then the next second smeared a finger of flour from the edge of the bowl onto my face.
I grabbed the rolling pin, he raised his hand to block, I took the opportunity to pat a layer of powder on his wrist, he backhandedly tossed a handful of flour onto my apron, white mist rising, even the air under the lights getting lively.
Sofia clapped her hands and yelled. "Fight! Fight!"
Little traitor. I rolled my eyes and wiped it directly on Sofia's little face.
Sofia shrieked and charged at me with a flour-covered hand, but stumbled and fell onto Cassius, who instantly turned into a white cat.
I was the first to lose it, leaning against the counter doubled over with laughter.
Matteo turned his head and coughed, and Sofia just sat on her little stool laughing her head off.
In the end, the pizza still made it into the oven. Twenty minutes later, we sat at the table with flour all over our heads and faces, eating that weird pizza with its sweet, spicy, and salty flavors mixed together, and it actually wasn't bad.
Sofia took a big bite, so proud her tail was practically wagging. "See? The most polite girl has the best taste too."
Matteo mysteriously brought me to a garden. A black wrought-iron gate stood beside light beige stone pillars, vines climbing up, sunlight falling on the leaf tips, showing off vivid green.
"Where is this?" I turned to look at him.
Matteo didn't answer right away, just walked over to open my car door, then reached out to take my hand. "Go in and see."
The iron gate pushed inward, and first I saw a path of fine white gravel, both sides planted with white roses, branches neatly trimmed. When the wind blew, even the air floated with a faint fragrance.
Walking further in, behind the white roses were large patches of light purple sage, cream-colored hydrangeas, and a small patch of lily of the valley just sprouting.
The flower beds were divided into several blocks of varying heights, surrounding a circular fountain in the middle.
The sound of water was clear and crisp, making the whole garden feel even quieter.
This was too familiar, like something I'd met countless times in dreams but never dared to hope I'd truly own.
"Happy birthday, Rachel."
"This is..."
"Your garden," he said, "I bought it last fall. The plants were all reconfigured according to your preferences. The greenhouse isn't completely finished yet, or I could have shown you today."
My eyes immediately welled up. "Are you crazy? Who gives someone an entire garden as a birthday present?"