Chapter 10 - The Feast of the Victor
The sun broke through the heavy gray clouds on Sunday morning, casting a warm, golden light over the restored cobblestones of the estate courtyard. The wreckage of the attack had been cleared away during the night, leaving the grounds looking as pristine and imposing as ever.
Inside the sprawling industrial kitchen, however, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The air was thick with the rich, comforting aroma of slow-roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and bubbling tomato sauce. A massive banquet table had been set up right in the center of the kitchen, loaded down with platters of homemade pasta, roasted meats, and crusty artisanal bread.
Dante Vance sat at the head of the table, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the powerful, scarred forearms that had built an empire. Around his feet, Brutus, Caesar, and Nero lay in a comfortable, snoring heap, fat and happy after feasting on prime cuts of beef.
Grace walked over from the stove carrying a massive ceramic bowl of steaming pasta, her face glowing with a soft, radiant smile. She wore a brand-new apron that Dante had secretly ordered for her—embroidered with a small, elegant silhouette of a chef’s knife and a dog’s paw.
Dante stood up, walking over to take the heavy bowl from her hands, setting it gently on the table before pulling out the chair beside him.
"You know," Dante said, his voice unusually soft and warm as he looked down into her expressive eyes, "my father always told me that a man is defined by the walls he builds to keep the world out."
Grace tilted her head, sitting down as Dante gently pushed her chair in. "And what did you learn?"
Dante pulled out his own chair and sat close beside her, his hand sliding across the table to interlock his fingers securely with hers. "I learned that the strongest walls in the world aren't made of iron gates or concrete. They're built on trust, loyalty, and a really good plate of osso buco."
Grace laughed, a bright, musical sound that filled the cavernous kitchen with pure joy. "Well, Mr. Vance, your security system needs some work, but your appetite is top-tier."
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"Dante," he reminded her with a low, teasing chuckle, raising his glass of Barolo. "To family."
"To family," Grace echoed, clinking her glass against his as the morning sun poured through the high kitchen windows, finally banishing every last shadow from the house for good.
