Chapter 9 - The Master’s Gallery
Three months later, the spring flowers were blooming across the gardens of the Salvatore estate on the harbor.
The dark days of Moretti and the bitter memories of the Dorchester apartment were nothing more than ghosts buried beneath reinforced concrete and new beginnings.
Mila, now smiling brightly without a trace of insecurity, was enrolled in one of the finest private academies in New England, her new orthodontic smile radiant and confident.
Inside the private art gallery on Newbury Street that Dante had purchased and renovated entirely in Ava’s name, a massive private exhibition was underway.
It wasn't an art gallery for paintings. It was a high-end, custom jewelry studio where Ava’s own platinum and sapphire designs—crafted with the same fierce, resilient beauty that had carried her through her darkest days—were displayed in museum-grade cases.
Art collectors and high-society patrons lined up around the block. But tonight, the gallery was closed to the public.
Ava stood alone near the back display case, adjusting a magnificent sapphire pendant shaped like a breaking wave.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and a familiar, warm chest pressed against her back.
“You’ve been staring at that pendant for twenty minutes, cara,” Dante murmured against her neck.
Ava smiled, leaning back into his embrace. “A true artisan never rushes a masterpiece, Mr. Salvatore.”
“You already built a masterpiece out of nothing,” Dante whispered, turning her gently in his arms so she was facing him.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, popping it open to reveal a magnificent ring—a brilliant-cut diamond flanked by two deep-blue sapphires, catching the gallery lights like fallen stars.
“You paid me five thousand dollars with a kiss that ruined my life and saved my soul,” Dante said, his dark eyes shining with absolute, unwavering devotion. “Marry me, Ava. Let me spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to work another day in your life unless you want to.”
Ava looked up at the man who had terrified Boston, the man who had bought her debts, protected her sister, and loved her with a ferocity that defied all logic.
“You know,” Ava teased lightly, a bright, triumphant smile touching her lips, “for a dangerous mafia boss, you’re an awfully big softie.”
Dante laughed—a rich, deep sound that filled the gallery with warmth.
May you like
“Only for you, my love,” he murmured.
He slipped the ring onto her finger, pulled her close, and kissed her—not with the desperate, terrifying impulse of that first night in the hotel ballroom, but with the quiet, unshakable certainty of a home she would never have to leave again.
