The heavy oak doors of Tossano’s had barely swung shut before the fragile equilibrium of the dining room began to knit itself back together.

Two weeks later, the evening rush at Tossano’s was in full swing.

The low hum of the dining room was warm and inviting, filled with the clinking of wine glasses, the murmur of happy diners, and the rich smell of roasted garlic and fresh basil. The antique painting of the Amalfi Coast had been replaced by an even finer frame, paid for several times over.

Sadi Jenkins wiped down the mahogany bar with a clean white cloth, wearing her black server’s vest with a lightness in her step she hadn't felt in years.

The past two weeks had been a blur of surreal changes: her father’s name had been officially cleared by the state attorney general’s office; the mortgage on their apartment had been paid off by a mysterious anonymous trust; and Maya had received an official acceptance letter for a full academic scholarship at the University of Chicago.

The door at the front of the restaurant opened.

A gust of cool November wind swept into the foyer, and with it, a familiar tall figure in a dark charcoal suit stepped inside.

Roman Costa didn't smash a chair this time. He didn't yell, and his knuckles were completely healed, free of bandages. He simply walked up to the bar, took a seat on the leather stool, and looked up at her with a calm, steady gaze.

Sadi stopped wiping the counter. A slow, genuine smile broke across her face—the first real smile she had shown in years.

“Evening, Mr. Costa,” Sadi said, her voice teasingly formal as she reached for a clean glass and a bottle of sparkling water. “Table for one, or are you here to break more antique furniture?”

Roman rested his elbows on the zinc counter, his dark eyes softening as he looked at her. “Just a glass of water, Sadi. And maybe... an apology for the mess I made last time.”

“You already paid four hundred dollars for a two-fifty frame,” Sadi reminded him, pouring the sparkling water and sliding the glass across the counter. “You’re paid in full.”

“Not quite,” Roman said, holding her gaze.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a small, neatly folded envelope, and laid it gently on the bar next to her hand.

Sadi looked down at it, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Just an invitation,” Roman said softly. “To a dinner. Somewhere nice. Where nobody has to wash dishes or dodge falling chairs afterward.”

Sadi picked up the envelope, her fingers brushing against his. She didn't pull away. The tension that had defined their first meeting in this very room had vanished, replaced by something quiet, steady, and entirely unexpected.