Chapter 13 - Cleaning House on Prairie AvenueThe following three weeks were a whirlwind of joyous celebration and complete revitalization.
Under my direction, the historic Rossi estate on Prairie Avenue was opened to the public for the first time in forty years, hosting weekly charity garden tours and community art workshops to benefit pediatric neurology research and vocational trade schools.
The domestic staff at the mansion, who had once lived in fear of arbitrary dismissals under Camilla Vance, were given permanent employment contracts with full pension benefits, union wages, and comprehensive healthcare coverage under the newly chartered Rossi Trust.
Mrs. Carter was promoted to Executive Director of Household Operations, overseeing a fully staffed, respectful estate where no worker was ever treated as an invisible servant.
One Saturday morning in December, I walked into the grand kitchen.
The mansion was warm, filled with the rich aromas of simmering cinnamon cider, roasting chestnuts, and fresh sourdough bread.
My brother Leo was sitting at the breakfast island in a clean college flannel, drinking hot chocolate and laughing heartily with Marco as they discussed digital security firewalls for the harbor terminals.
“Good morning, Donna Maya,” Leo teased with a playful wink as I walked in.
“Don't you start, Leo,” I laughed, swatting his shoulder with a linen towel before kissing his cheek. “You’re a university scholar now; you have calculus to study.”
“I’m off duty until Monday, big sister,” Leo grinned, taking a bite of warm pastry. “And Don Matteo said I’m allowed to eat all the pastries I want.”
Footsteps echoed softly from the hallway.
Matteo walked into the kitchen, wearing a casual charcoal cashmere sweater and dark trousers, looking relaxed, powerful, and breathtakingly handsome.
He walked straight to where I was standing, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me gently against his solid, warm chest.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“Vanilla, clean rain, and sweet bread,” he murmured against my skin, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “The only scent I ever want to wake up to.”
I leaned back against him, looping my arms over his, smiling at the reflection of our family gathered in the sunlit kitchen.
“The wedding invitations were mailed this morning, Matteo,” I whispered.
“Five hundred guests,” Matteo smiled against my cheek. “And this time, Leo is standing at the altar as my best man.”
Mrs. Carter chuckled from the island, nodding with immense satisfaction.
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“And nobody is serving plates on a broken hand, sir. Not in this house.”
Laughter rippled through the kitchen, warm, bright, and completely devoid of shadows.
