บททั้งหมดของ Whisked Away : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

The morning air in Tuscany felt heavy.It wasn’t the heat.It was the silence.Luca stood in the doorway of the villa, his phone limp in one hand, his other pressed tightly against his chest.Amara stepped out from the kitchen, still in her flour-dusted apron, baby Giulia balanced on her hip.The moment she saw Luca’s face ,pale, distant, crumpled ,she knew.“What happened?” she asked gently.He blinked slowly. “My Nonna. She passed away last night.”Amara stepped forward. “Oh, Luca... I’m so sorry.”“She was ninety-four,” he whispered.Stubborn. Sharp-tongued. She made pasta until the end. The last time I saw her, she cursed me for putting rosemary in marinara.”Amara tried to smile through the sadness. “Sounds like she went down swinging.”“She was the first person who let me cook. She taught me the difference between food... and love.”Tears slipped silently down his cheeks.Amara set Giulia down in the grass and wrapped her arms around him.And they stood there — flour, tears, oliv

The Tuscan sun had a way of spilling over the hills like honey, golden and slow, draping the world in warmth that made even the air taste sweeter. Amara stood on the veranda of their rented villa, watching Sophia chase butterflies in the tall grass while Luca read a weathered Italian newspaper at the table. The rhythm of this place was nothing like Bellwood Falls it was slower, deeper, like the land itself was breathing.They’d come to Tuscany for a month to heal — from the fire, from the whirlwind of expansion, from the weight of running a business while raising a family. But Luca had other plans simmering quietly in his mind.It started with a drive through the countryside.“Come, cara mia,” he’d said one morning, keys in hand. “I want to show you something.They took the winding roads, passing cypress-lined lanes and crumbling stone farmhouses. Eventually, he pulled up beside a neglected plot of land a sloping hill dotted with gnarled olive trees, their silvery leaves trembling in t

The rain hammered harder against the windows, a steady percussion that made Isabella’s voice seem even sharper in the quiet café.“Your father’s company,” she began, setting her leather bag on the nearest table, “is drowning in debt. Investors are pulling out. There’s talk of a hostile takeover.”Luca didn’t flinch, but Amara could see the faint twitch in his jaw. “That’s not news to me,” he said evenly. “We’re working on it.”Isabella’s eyes sparkled with something between pity and challenge. “Working on it won’t be enough. I have contacts. People who could step in. People who still owe me favors.” She leaned forward, her perfume mingling with the aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. “But my help comes with conditions.”Amara didn’t like the sound of that. “Conditions?” she asked before she could stop herself.Isabella glanced at her, as if sizing her up. “Let’s just say… I’d want Luca’s full attention on this. No distractions.” Her gaze lingered on Amara just long enough for the impli

When Amara returned home that evening, Luca was already there, pacing the living room like a lion in a too-small cage. The moment he saw her, his eyes searched her face.“You went to Isabella’s office,” he said, not as a question but a statement.Amara dropped her bag on the couch. “I went to drop off the documents you asked me to. I didn’t know she’d—”“She called me right after you left,” Luca interrupted, his jaw tight. “She said you came to… negotiate on my behalf.”Amara’s eyes widened. “Negotiate? She cornered me, Luca! She’s trying to make me leave you.”Luca’s fists clenched at his sides. “I told you not to get involved with her. She plays dirty.”“She’s already involved me,” Amara shot back. “And she made it clear she’s not just after you she’s after control of everything around you. Including me.”He closed the space between them, his voice low but shaking with anger. “Amara, listen to me. She doesn’t care who she hurts. If she thinks you’re a weakness—”“I’m not a weakness,”

The VIP tasting lounge shimmered with crystal glassware, candlelight, and the quiet hum of anticipation. Influential food bloggers, seasoned critics, and a few society elites leaned over their menus, ready to experience La Stella Blu’s most talked-about evening yet. Luca had made sure the room was full of witnesses the perfect stage for the truth to unravel.Amara, in a sleek black dress that spoke of quiet authority, moved gracefully between tables, offering warm smiles. But inside, her pulse drummed with every passing second. She caught Luca’s eye at the far end of the room; his nod was the signal.The “critic”, Matteo ,took a sip of his wine, setting the moment in motion.Luca stepped forward, his voice resonating through the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin tonight’s tasting, I need to share something important,something that concerns the integrity of La Stella Blu and every guest who dines here.”Conversations stilled. Forks froze mid-air. Isabella, stationed near the