"Complete surprise. The doctors had told her it probably wouldn't happen again." I shook my head. "Best surprise she ever got, even if the timing wasn't exactly planned."
"I can see why you'd do anything for them," he said. "All of them."
"Even if it means sacrificing what I want?"
"That's not what I said." His arm tightened around me. "I understand why you'd fight for them. Your parents, Holly, those kids. I get it better than most."
He squeezed me gently. "But Nadia, you get to fight for yourself too. You get to want things. To keep your business and tell Elevate to fuck off, even if it's the harder path."
I tilted my head up to look at him. "Do you really think we can beat them?"
"I think you're the stubbornest woman I've ever met, and I pity anyone who underestimates you." He kissed my forehead. "Also, Malakai called while you were helping with the dishes. He's got preliminary information about Elevate. We're meeting tomorrow after work. You, me, Malakai, and Chase."
"Really?"
"Really. We're with you on this, remember?"
I thought about my family, about Emma needing braces and my parents struggling with expenses. About my staff depending on their paychecks and my dream of building something that mattered.
And I thought about Daemon, who'd spent the evening winning over my family, fixing the kitchen sink for my dad, and making my nephew laugh. Who was now organizing meetings with his friends to help me fight a corporation.
Who looked at me like I was worth fighting for.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For today. For all of it."
"Always." He pulled me closer, and I let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe we really could win this.
That maybe I could have everything I wanted instead of having to choose.
ELEVEN
NADIA
Sofia's kitchen smelled of garlic and good olive oil, and rang with an argument that had been running for forty minutes.
"The basil goes in at the end," I said, for the third time. "Heat destroys the volatile oils. You lose the fresh note entirely."
"The basil goes in when the basil goes in," said Sofia, not looking up from the pot. "My nonna put it in early. Her nonna put it in early. You're going to tell me four generations of Ferrari women were wrong?"
"I'm going to tell you four generations of Ferrari women had a different goal than I do. You were cooking for family. I'm cooking for a corporate client who's going to eat it cold on a buffet table forty-five minutes after it leaves my van."
Sofia turned around. That was progress; she'd spent the last exchange pointedly facing the stove. "Cold," she repeated, with the expression of a woman being told something genuinely offensive.
"Lukewarm, at best. It's the reality of large-scale catering."
"Then your client has my sympathy." She turned back to the pot, but I saw her lips twitch. "Fine. Basil at the end. But you taste it my way first."
"I already tasted it your way. It was extraordinary."
"Of course it was." She handed me a wooden spoon without turning around. "Now stir. Don't let it catch on the bottom."
The back door opened, and Daemon walked into the warm kitchen, still in his work clothes, fine sawdust covering his once-white t-shirt and leaving it the color of knotty pine.
"Daemon." Sofia didn't look up from the stove. "Wash your hands. You can taste the sauce."
"I'm fine, I don't need to?—"
"I didn't ask if you needed to. I told you to." She pointed at the sink with her wooden spoon.
