Chapter 6 - The Visitor in the Kitchen
“I’m right here, sweet girl,” I whispered, dropping to my knees on the sidewalk and gathering Lily into my arms.
Lily buried her face in my neck, her little body warm and slightly feverish, letting out a dry, rattling cough that made my chest constrict with terror.
“Mommy... you got the cake?” she mumbled sleepily against my shoulder.
“I did, baby. I brought a whole slice of chocolate cake just like I promised,” I lied gently, blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes. I hadn't dared touch the dessert table after Tyler’s stunt, but I would have driven back to the hotel right then and there to steal a cake if it meant hearing her stop coughing.
Before I could stand up, a shadow fell over us.
I looked up. Giovanni had stepped out of the Maybach. He had shrugged his tailored tuxedo jacket back on, his face smooth and composed, though his amber eyes were fixed entirely on little Lily with an unreadable expression.
In his right hand, carried with the casual nonchalance of someone holding a briefcase, was a pristine white bakery box tied with a thick silver satin ribbon.
My jaw dropped.
“What... what is that?” I stammered, standing up with Lily still clutched safely in my arms.
“Chocolate cake with raspberry filling,” Giovanni said simply, stepping closer and extending the box toward Sarah, who stared at him as if an alien spacecraft had just landed on North Lincoln Avenue. “The head chef at the Bellmont Grand happened to pack it into a secure container for me before we left. Apparently, he thought I looked like a man who valued keeping promises to five-year-olds.”
Sarah’s eyes bulged. She looked from the pristine bakery box to Giovanni, then over his shoulder at the multi-million-dollar Maybach idling curbside with its hazard lights blinking softly.
“El...” Sarah whispered, her voice dropping into a dramatic stage-whisper near my ear. “Who in the absolute name of heaven is this? Did you trade Tyler in for a literal mob prince?”
“Sarah, hush,” I hissed, my cheeks flushing hot. I turned back to Giovanni. “Mr. Fierro... you didn't have to do that.”
“Call me Giovanni,” he corrected quietly, his amber gaze softening as Lily stirred in my arms, peeking out from beneath her pink dinosaur blanket with heavy, curious eyes.
“Is that the cake?” Lily asked, her little voice raspy from coughing as she spotted the white box.
Giovanni crouched down slightly—completely unbothered by the damp concrete sidewalk or his expensive trousers—so he was at eye level with Lily.
“It is,” Giovanni said, his voice dropping into a warm, gentle register that completely disarmed every defense I had. “And it has your name written all over it, little one. But only if you promise your mother you’ll drink a full glass of warm water and take your medicine first. Deal?”
Lily blinked, looked at Giovanni, then looked up at me for parental approval.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, nodding slowly. “Deal, baby.”
“Deal!” Lily whispered hoarsely, giving Giovanni a solemn little handshake with her tiny hand.
May you like
Giovanni’s fingers closed carefully around her small hand, and for a fraction of a second, a strange, profound shadow of vulnerability crossed his rugged features before he stood back up.
“Inside, ladies,” Giovanni instructed Sarah and me, stepping aside to let us pass through the building’s front door. “The night air is too damp for a recovering chest.”
