The elevator reaches the lobby level. The doors part. The space where the dilapidated loading dock used to sit is transformed. My boots freeze on the pristine, epoxy-coated floor.
A sprawling, immaculate commercial kitchen stretches across the rear wing of the hotel. Gleaming stainless steel counters reflect the overhead industrial lighting. Eight-burner Vulcan ranges sit in a row. A brick pizza oven dominates the far wall. Twin walk-in coolers hum quietly in the corner. Custom spice racks, butcher block prep stations, and ceiling-mounted exhaust hoods complete the culinary cathedral.
"La Diosa 2.0." Dante gestures to the vast space. "Matteo consulted on the equipment. I told him to spare no expense. If he requested a six-burner, I ordered an eight. If he suggested one deep fryer, I ordered three."
My hands shake. I drop my purse on the nearest stainless steel prep table. My fingers trace the cold, flawless metal. The memory of my shattered food truck burns in my mind. The twisted metal. The ruined grill. The livelihood the Bellantis stole from me in a shower of drive-by bullets. I operated out of a cramped, terrifyingly small space for three years. I built my dream in a metal box.
Dante just handed me a kingdom.
"The front half of the lobby is the dining room," Dante continues. He tracks my every movement. "Seating for one hundred and fifty. Valet parking outside. A full security detail for the doors. You manage the menu. You hire the staff. You keep all the profits. It is yours, Gemma. No Costa money strings attached to the daily operations."
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. He refuses to curb my independence. He amplifies it. He provides the shield so I can wield the sword.
"It is too much." The words slip out as a breathless whisper.
"It is exactly what you deserve." Dante crosses the kitchen. His footsteps echo off the tile. He stops right behind me. His chest presses flush against my back. His arms wrap around my waist. He pulls my curves flush against his hard frame. "You fed half the South Side out of that truck. Now you will feed the city. Safely."
I lean back into his solid warmth. "Matteo is going to lose his mind with jealousy over these Vulcan ranges."
"Matteo can cook in his own house. This is your domain." Dante kisses the side of my neck. "Though he did demand unlimited access to the brick oven on alternating Sundays."
The freight doors at the back of the kitchen swing open. A blast of warm Chicago air sweeps into the room. Turi walks through the entrance. The trusted elder of the Costa family wears a sharp tweed suit. His silver hair is combed back. Weathered lines frame his kind, calculating eyes. He holds a rolled-up set of architectural blueprints under one arm.
"Ah, the king and queen of the Grand Continental." Turi smiles warmly. His voice carries the rough gravel of a man who has smoked fine cigars for four decades. "Dante, you look like a man who actually sleeps."
Dante keeps his arms securely locked around my waist. "I sleep perfectly fine, Turi. My wife keeps the ghosts away."
Turi walks up to the stainless steel counter. He drops the blueprints on the surface. "Dominic sends his regards. He is currently occupied with a minor dispute involving a shipping container. He asked me to deliver the final structural sign-offs for the restaurant."
I step out of Dante's embrace to greet the older man. Turi reaches out, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles with old-school Italian charm. He possesses a grandfatherly warmth that anchors the entire chaotic Costa family. He raised Dante and his brothers after the massacre. He is the glue holding the syndicate together.
"It is beautiful, Turi." I gesture to the sprawling kitchen. "Did you oversee the contractors?"
"Every single one." Turi taps the blueprints. "Background checks on all of them. No Bellanti rats slipping into the drywall crew. The building is structurally sound and secure. You could survive a siege in this kitchen."
"Let us hope we only survive a dinner rush." I laugh, but the reality of our world lingers beneath the joke.
Turi turns his attention to Dante. The older man's gaze softens with profound pride. "You have done well, figlio. Carlo would be proud of the man standing in this room. You protect what is yours. You build a future. That is the true Costa legacy."
Dante's jaw tightens. The mention of his uncle no longer triggers a spiral of borrowed trauma. Instead, a quiet, resolute strength settles over his broad frame. "The past is buried, Turi. We focus on tomorrow."
"Exactly." Turi pats Dante's shoulder. "Now, I must return to the compound. Matteo is attempting to make a risotto and he is cursing in four different dialects because the arborio rice is not cooperating. I need to mediate before he throws a pan through the courtyard window."
"Take a cannoli for the road." Dante slides the pink box across the counter.
Turi winks at me. "A smart man bribes the negotiator." He takes the box, tucks the blueprints under his arm, and heads back toward the freight doors. "Enjoy your new empire, Gemma. Do not let this brute intimidate your waitstaff."
The doors click shut. The lock engages automatically. The immaculate kitchen falls silent once again.
Dante immediately closes the distance between us. He grabs my waist and hoists me onto the gleaming stainless steel prep counter. My boots dangle a foot above the floor. He steps perfectly between my thighs. The tailored charcoal suit does nothing to hide the lethal enforcer lurking just beneath the surface. He crowds into my space. His large hand grips the edge of the counter beside my hip, his body angled to make the kitchen feel half its size.
"You did not let me finish my tour." Dante's voice drops a full octave. The possessive gravel sends a flush of heat straight between my thighs.
"What did we miss?" I loop my arms around his neck. "The walk-in coolers? The mop closet?"
"The office." Dante leans in. His lips hover an inch from mine. "I soundproofed the manager's office. Locking door. No windows. A very large leather couch."
A wicked laugh escapes my throat. "You soundproofed my office so you can ravage me during business hours."
