Page 278 of Money Reigns
She arches a brow. “Check.”
I roll my eyes,checking anyway, just to humor her, then freeze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” My fingers close around cool metal. “It’s here.”
I shove the key into the lock, heart hammering, and push the door open.
The breath leaves me all at once.
It’s beautiful.
The apartment has been transformed, every corner softened with white and blush peonies.My flower.Their scent wraps around me like a memory.
I move down the hallway, and my steps falter. Because there they are: the portraits of my family. My mother. My brothers. All framed, aligned neatly along the walls.
And hung amongst them: my portrait. The one from the gallery. My likeness now part of the family gallery, woven into where I belong.
My chest tightens. He didn’t just give me my image in art. He gave me a place.
On the small table beneath it, another black envelope waits.
I tear it open, hands trembling.
You once swore you’d never go back here.
Today, I need you to.
Ask for Vincenzo.
—W
I glance at Ella, the name already on my lips. “La Serenata.”
Her brows lift. “The restaurant?”
I nod, heart racing. “The restaurant.”
Ella grins, slipping her arm through mine. “Guess dinner’s on War.”
La Serenata glows like it always has—soft golden lights spilling through the windows, violins drifting faintly from inside. The kind of place where every meal feels like an event. The kind of place I once swore I’d never set foot in again.
But tonight, my hand is steady as I push open the heavy door. Ella trails behind me, her sundress swishing, eyes wide as she takes it all in.
We approach the hostess stand, and I clear my throat. “We’re here for Vincenzo.”
The hostess blinks once, then her face warms with a smile. “Of course. One moment.”
A minute later, a man in an immaculate suit emerges from the back. Soft brown hair, charming smile, posture like he’s been running this room his entire life.Vincenzo.
“Ms. Baker,” he greets me with a little bow, and from behind his back, he produces a velvet box, black with a satin ribbon. “From Mr. Beaumont.”
My breath hitches as he sets it in my hands. Ella leans close, whispering, “If that’s food, I’m stealing half.”
I laugh, but my fingers tremble as I undo the ribbon. Inside, nestled against silk, are diamond earrings; brilliant, perfect, glittering under the restaurant lights.
Ella’s gasp echoes mine. “Holy—Olivia.Those are huge.”
There’s a note tucked inside, folded small. I pull it free, my pulse racing.
For the woman who makes diamonds look dull.
