All Chapters of THE MAFIA CHEF: Chapter 51 - Chapter 58

I stood in the same spot for a long time after Gerrard left. I didn’t cry, not at first. There was only this terrible silence, heavy and loud in my chest, like the aftershock of an explosion. My legs gave way eventually, and I sank to the floor. The chandelier above flickered, casting long, broken shadows across the walls. When the tears finally came, they didn’t stop. They hit in waves, grief, fury, fear, and then quieted into a strange kind of numbness. I curled up on the marble, hugging my knees, letting the cold seep into my skin. It felt like the only thing keeping me from burning alive. Lola found me there. She didn’t speak at first. She just knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around me, grounding me in the warmth I couldn’t find for myself. “He told you to leave?” she asked softly. I nodded. She held me tighter. “He doesn’t really want you to go,” she whispered. “You know that, right?” “I think he meant it,” I choked. “He thinks I deserve better. That I’d be s

I decided to pick up the pieces of my life. It was slow, achingly slow, but every morning, I got up. I tried. I brushed my hair, sat by the window, and breathed. That was something. There wasn’t much to do, though. Sammie wouldn’t let me. He hovered constantly, wouldn't even let me cook for myself. He treated me like something delicate, something on the edge of breaking. I knew he meant well, and part of me appreciated it. But another part, tired, restless, grew irritated. I wasn’t fragile, I had been through fire. I could handle my own life, and yet, here I was, tiptoeing around someone else's version of care. One afternoon, Sammie came home looking lighter than I’d seen him in weeks. “I’ve wrapped up the business with Gerrard,” he said, grinning as he loosened his tie. “We’ll be heading back to Germany soon.” I forced a smile. “That’s good news.” He walked over and kissed my forehead. “We’ve done everything we needed to here. It’s time to start fresh.” But something in me re

That night, I went back to the hotel where I had stayed after Gerrard left me stranded on the roadside.Everything looked just the same, the dimly lit hallway, the soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint scent of old furniture and citrus-scented cleaner. But something inside me was different now.I curled into the unfamiliar sheets, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning.For the first time, I saw my life for what it had been.I had never really lived for myself. I’d been passed from one man’s will to another, used, shaped, controlled. Bruno, Gerrard, Sammie. Even my father, in the quiet ways he’d taught me to shrink and please and stay silent.I had never truly owned my story.But now… I would start.A small, brave smile crept onto my face.And for the first time in a long while, I slept in peace.---The next morning, I woke early, my heart steady with quiet purpose.I opened my purse and pulled out the business card I had kept tucked away for months.Dante Amari.I stared

I stood at the edge of my kitchen floor, the polished tiles warm under my bare feet, and for a long, quiet moment, I just let myself feel it all. The clinking of glasses, the laughter floating in from the terrace, the soft jazz curling through the air like smoke. The scent of rosemary, butter, garlic, and slow-roasted dreams wrapped around me like an embrace. Rivera Cuisine. My restaurant. My soul. My home. Named after my father, Philip Rivera; the man who taught me how to peel garlic and how to stand tall in a room that tried to shrink me. I wanted his name to live on, not tied to sorrow, not as a footnote in someone else’s story, but as something that meant warmth, comfort, healing. Something beautiful. The sign outside caught the light just right, the gold cursive glowing softly against the evening. And inside, warm woods, soft lighting, clean lines. Nothing loud, nothing flashy, just honest, just me. I had done it. After a year of intense training at Le Cordon Bleu, lon