Chapter 15
The hotel’s first anniversary banquet was smaller.
My choice.
No grand alliance announcements.
No wedding attached.
Just business partners, family, staff, and a few people who actually liked one another.
Revolutionary.
Agnes supplied bread.
Ivy ran guest operations.
Rafe complained about seating.
Normal.
Before dinner, I walked the old service corridor.
Bright lights.
Clean walls.
No hidden doors.
Halfway through, I found a small brass plaque someone had installed.
NOTHING HIDDEN BACK HERE.
I laughed.
Ivy denied responsibility.
Rafe denied it too.
Agnes definitely did it.
No proof.
At dinner, one old capo asked whether I regretted ending the Monroe marriage.
Wrong question.
“Sometimes.”
He looked surprised.
“Then why not fix it?”
Because regret is not instruction.
I told him that.
He stared.
Apparently Mafia leadership had not prepared him for emotional nuance.
Then Agnes arrived late.
Everyone stood.
Not because I ordered it.
They knew her now.
That embarrassed her more than any insult.
“Sit down,” she snapped.
Everyone did.
Power.
I smiled.
She placed the scorched recipe book beside my plate.
Restored as much as possible.
Edges still black.
“What?”
“Keep it tonight.”
“Why?”
“You keep asking what was in it.”
True.
I had never read the recipes properly.
I opened it.
Bread.
Soup.
Apple cake.
Cheap meals for hungry children.
Then notes.
ADRIAN — TWO EXTRA SLICES.
ADRIAN — PRETENDED NOT HUNGRY.
ADRIAN — STOLE CINNAMON ROLL. MAKE HIM WASH TRAY.
I laughed.
No political secrets.
No hidden code.
Just evidence someone had noticed me long before powerful men did.
That book had terrified Miles because he believed it gave Agnes influence.
May you like
He was right.
Just not the kind he understood.
