The silence in the foyer hung like a drawn weapon. Sophia’s gaze remained locked on Elena, whose sharp eyes darted toward the far corridor where Luca stood talking in hushed, authoritative Italian with Marco.

Three months later.

Spring had arrived at Lake Como. The gray snow had melted from the Alps, replaced by vibrant green slopes, blooming cherry blossoms, and sun-drenched blue waters that sparkled under a warm Italian sun.

The Moretti estate had been fully repaired and upgraded, but it no longer felt like a cold stone fortress.

The windows were open, letting in the soft breeze. The sound of children's laughter echoed from the lower gardens—the local village orphans whom Sophia had invited for her weekly baking workshop on the estate grounds.

In the grand kitchen, the counters were covered in trays of freshly baked cannoli, fruit tarts, and a massive three-tiered wedding cake decorated with delicate sugar roses.

Sophia stood near the main island, wearing a beige linen apron over a floral spring dress, humming happily as she piped white buttercream around the base of the cake.

Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Luca walked in.

He had discarded his formal suits for a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark trousers. He looked relaxed, healthy, and deeply content. The dark shadows that had once haunted his eyes were entirely gone.

He walked up behind her, sliding his long arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, pulling her back against his broad chest.

"You're late for your meeting with the Milan distributors," Sophia said, leaning her head back against his chest with a soft laugh.

"Let them wait," Luca murmured, placing a slow, warm kiss on her cheek. "My wife is making cake."

"It's not just cake," she teased, turning around in his arms, her hands coming up to rest against his chest. "It's for Don Antonio's granddaughter’s wedding. It has to be perfect."

Luca looked down at her face, his amber eyes full of an intensity that still made her heart skip a beat every single day.

"Everything you touch becomes perfect, Sophia," he said softly.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wooden box tied with a gold ribbon, setting it on the counter next to the mixing bowls.

Sophia looked at it, surprised. "What's this?"

"Open it," he smiled.

She untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside rested an official deed stamped by the city of Como—written in gold ink.

"The old bakery on the harbor plaza," Sophia gasped, her eyes wide as she read the document. "Luca... you bought the harbor bakery?"

"I didn't buy it for the Syndicate," Luca explained, his hands coming down to rest over her hips. "I bought it for you. It's yours. Signora Moretti's Pastry Shop. You can bake whatever you want, employ whoever you want, and run it your way."

Tears of joy welled up in Sophia’s eyes. She threw her arms around his massive neck, pulling his head down for a deep, passionate kiss that tasted of sugar and warm morning sun.

"Thank you," she whispered against his lips. "Thank you, my giant."