Chapter 5 - In the Ashes
I didn't return to the penthouse. I went straight back to my old studio apartment in Pilsen, took my father’s recipe notebook out of the damp cardboard box, and sat on the bare floor against the radiator.
For two days, Chicago was gripped by an unseasonable autumn rainstorm. The rain lashed against my grimy windowpane while I sat in the dark, my phone turned off. I felt stripped bare, hollowed out by the agonizing realization that I had let myself fall for a man who traded human lives and dreams like poker chips.
On the third afternoon, a knock sounded at my door.
I ignored it, thinking it was my landlord demanding rent. But the knock came again—three firm, measured taps followed by the scratch of a cane against the wooden floorboards of the hallway.
I opened the door.
Standing in the dim, narrow corridor, holding a dripping umbrella and leaning on her silver-topped cane, was Nonna Marino. Behind her stood two grim-faced private guards who looked distinctly uncomfortable in the rundown stairwell.
“Are you going to leave an eighty-year-old woman standing in a drafty hallway, Sophie?” Nonna asked, her voice dry and commanding.
I stepped aside in stunned disbelief. “Mrs. Marino... what are you doing here?”
Nonna walked into my tiny room, looking around at the cracked plaster and peeling wallpaper without a single trace of disgust. She sat down gingerly on my solitary wooden chair and rested her hands on her cane.
“Luke hasn't slept in seventy-two hours,” Nonna began without preamble. “He tore Julian’s executive privileges away, fired our chief legal counsel, and spent yesterday evening threatening to dismantle the family trust brick by brick.”
“He put on a very good performance,” I said bitterly, leaning against the kitchen sink. “Just like he performed in my kitchen. Just like he performed for you.”
Nonna looked at me, her dark eyes softening with profound sorrow. “You think my grandson is a liar, Sophie. He is ruthless, yes. He is prideful, arrogant, and emotionally stunted like all the Marino men. But he did not buy your bakery.”
I frowned, crossing my arms. “His signature was on the contract.”
“Julian forged his electronic power of attorney while Luke was in New York negotiating the maritime shipping contracts,” Nonna revealed, pulling a manila folder from her leather handbag and setting it on the counter. “Julian discovered the zoning appeal you filed six months ago. He knew that storefront was the only leverage that mattered to you. Victoria and Julian wanted to provoke a scandal that would force Luke out of the succession chair before my birthday.”
I stared at the folder. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside were internal emails, forged wire transfers, and private text messages between Julian and the commercial landlord, orchestrating the buyout behind Luke’s back.
“Why are you showing me this?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the hum of the old refrigerator.
“Because for twenty years, I watched my grandson build an impenetrable wall around his soul,” Nonna said softly, reaching out and touching my arm. “After his mother died, his father taught him that weakness is fatal and that love is a liability. But the night he brought you to Oak Brook, I saw something in Luke’s eyes that I haven't seen since he was a little boy.”
She paused, her gaze locking onto mine.
“He looked at you the way a starving man looks at bread, Sophie. He was ready to burn the Marino empire to the ground yesterday just to prove his innocence to you. Don’t let my family’s poison destroy the only good thing that has ever happened to him.”
Before I could answer, Nonna’s phone rang. She answered it, listened for three seconds, and her face drained of all color.
The silver cane slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floorboards.
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“Nonna? What is it?” I asked, panic seizing my throat.
“It’s Luke,” she whispered, her voice trembling with sheer terror. “Julian had a press conference scheduled at the Drake Hotel to expose your marriage contract. Luke went to stop him. There was a car crash on Lake Shore Drive.”
