Chapter 13 - The Kitchen Restored
By late afternoon, the federal warrants had been executed, Vance and his co-conspirators were in federal custody, and the corporate board had unanimously voted to dissolve the Vanguard subsidiary, restoring every single residential lease on Fourth Street with full retroactive protections. The city was finally quiet as our town car pulled up to the curb outside Teresa’s apartment building.
The front door, which had been splintered and broken just days ago, had already been repaired with fresh oak and a sturdy new deadbolt. When we stepped inside, the apartment was warm, smelling faintly of simmering garlic, fresh basil, and roasted tomatoes. Teresa was standing by the stove in her brown winter cardigan over a dark shirt, stirring a large pot of water with her wooden serving spoon, a soft smile of pure relief lighting up her wrinkled face.
"You took your time," Teresa said without turning around, her voice thick with gentle affection as the front door clicked shut behind us. "The water's boiling, and I need two extra pairs of hands to help roll the dough for the celebration dinner."
I walked over to the kitchen counter, tying my white apron strings around my waist with a familiar, comforting sense of home. Luca followed me, taking off his suit jacket, rolling up his white shirt sleeves to his elbows, and revealing the dark tattoos along his forearms as he picked up a bag of flour from the counter.
"I hope my kneading technique has improved since yesterday, Teresa," Luca said, stepping up beside me and reaching into the bag with a small, rare smile that completely transformed his harsh features.
Teresa turned around, resting her wooden spoon against the edge of the pot, and looked at both of us standing together in her modest kitchen. The luxury chandeliers and cold marble of the Moretti estate felt a million miles away, replaced by the warm, flickering yellow light of a small apartment where no one could ever evict them again.
May you like
"It'll do, Moretti," Teresa chuckled softly, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. "Just don't ruin the eggs."
I laughed, leaning my shoulder gently against Luca's arm as our hands brushed over the wooden board, the flour rising in a soft cloud between us. The world outside the window was changing, but right here, the warmth of the kitchen was something no corporation, no board member, and no amount of status could ever take away.
