Chapter 14 - A Seat at the Real Table
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow across the estate grounds, the feast was served.
Vincent and I carried the heavy, steaming trays of lasagna straight from the kitchen to the long courtyard tables.
The aroma of bubbling cheese and rich sauce filled the evening air.
Vincent carried the largest dish directly to the head of the center table.
He didn't sit at the head of the table.
Instead, he pulled out the center armchair and gently guided Ada Ferri into the seat of honor.
“Vincent, no,” Ada protested humbly, her cheeks turning pink. “The head of the table belongs to the Don.”
Vincent smiled warmly, shaking his head.
“The head of the table belongs to the heart of this family, Ada. My father told me that forty years ago. Sit.”
Ada sat down, wiping a happy tear from her eye as all fifty guests cheered and raised their glasses of red wine.
Vincent took the seat right beside Ada, and he pulled out the chair on his other side for me.
“Sit with me, Grace,” he whispered gently, taking my hand and guiding me into the chair beside him.
I sat down, feeling the warmth of the gold olive branch pendant resting against my heart.
Vincent stood up, lifting his crystal glass of wine into the golden twilight.
The entire courtyard fell quiet, every face looking toward the young boss with deep love and respect.
“To my father, Salvatore Romano,” Vincent began, his voice ringing out clear, steady, and proud.
“He taught me that an empire is not measured by the concrete you own or the money in your vault. It is measured by the loyalty of the people who stand with you when the storm comes.”
Vincent looked around the table, meeting the eyes of every retired worker, every old friend, and finally looking down at Ada and me.
“To the people who built this house. To the people who feed our souls. And to the truth that can never be bought or sold.”
Vincent raised his glass higher.
“Salute!”
“Salute!” fifty voices echoed together in joyous unison, their glasses clinking across the long table.
Vincent picked up the serving spatula and cut directly into the steaming lasagna.
He pulled out the crispy, golden-brown corner piece—overflowing with rich melted cheese and savory sauce—and placed it gently onto Ada’s plate.
Ada looked at the corner piece, then looked up at Vincent with a radiant, beautiful smile.
“Just like your father,” she whispered.
May you like
Vincent took a bite from his own plate and smiled.
“Only the best part worth fighting for.”
