REVENGE IS SWEET
“Did you think, for a minute, I might want to be awake for the proposal?” I ask, fluttering my fingers so the huge princess cut diamond on my hand catches the light.
His eyes go soft and warm. “I couldn’t risk you running again.
There’s a tracking device in there.”
“Tracking device?” I squeak, when I find my voice.
“Oh yes,” he murmurs. “You will not escape me again.”
***
The minute I walked into her bakery I knew Leah was destined to be my wife.
A mafia prince takes what he wants. She doesn’t know who I am, or the depths of my obsession with her.
But she will.
This Valentine's day, I will make her mine.
Reviews:
"Luscious Like Eating A Freshly Baked Muffin"
"A bada$$ mafioso who believes in fate and destiny... willing to do anything to keep Leah safe and in his life forever...Pink cupcakes for the win!"
"A fairytale come true. Definitely 5 plus stars!"
CHAPTER 1
The sun’s just waking up as I trudge from the bus stop through piles of matted and dirty snow. On this gray February morning, there’s only one shop whose windows are lit up in the dark and rundown strip mall. Even with the scuffed and faded pale pink paint, the bakery is a cheery and welcoming sight.
The door sticks, but when I lean my weight into it, it stutters open and sets the overhead bell jingling merrily. My mouth begins watering a second before the caramel and cinnamon scents hit me in a blast of warmth.
Heaven is a bakery ten minutes before opening. Specifically, Panetteria Principessa, the best bakery in my hometown, Dumont, and possibly all of the world. It doesn’t matter that my cheap boots are soggy or that my cheeks are chapped with cold. It’s gonna be a good day.
“Good morning,” I trill, stomping my feet to shake off the crust of dirty ice. The shop is warm and smells like cinnamon buns. The scent gives me a sugar rush.
“Buongiorno, Leah!” Mr. Rossi shouts from the back, glee radiating through his tone. “Come see what I have done!”
“One sec.” I turn and yank on the door handle, making the bell dance and ring again and again. “The door is sticking.” Cold air leaks through the cracks.
“I will fix it later. You must come and see!”
“You’re gonna pay a ton in heating costs,” I warn, but I give up tugging and stroll further into the shop.
“I already do.” Mr. Rossi sounds cheerful, but I wince. Heating bills suck. It’s not like we can keep the front door closed. Every new customer will bring in an unwelcome blast of winter.
It’s a good day to bake, if only to keep the oven on.
The front cases are already filled with chocolate muffins and red velvet cupcakes topped with the most perfect pillowy frosting. A few steps past the counter is the doorway to the back. There’s no door, and when I step through, I’m embraced by the yeasty scent of cinnamon rolls and the bright citrus scent of lemon poppy seed muffins.
I’m so lucky to work in my favorite place in the world.
To the left are all the ovens, giving off delicious heat. I tug off my thin coat and unwind my cream-colored scarf. Underneath my winter things, I’m wearing a soft pink sweater that makes my brown skin glow. The knit fabric would be too hot to work in if I were back here all day, but as I’m alternating between the front and the back, it will be perfect.
In the corner, Mr. Rossi’s head sticks out from a row of huge shiny cylinders sitting on an ornate metal box—some sort of machine I’ve never seen before.
