I Sold His Gifts To Leave My Mafia Husband Chapter 09
Savannah.
On a quiet little street just off the historic district, there was an unremarkable bakery.
White storefront. Natural wood sign.
Its name was Persimmon & Daisy.
I had signed the lease three months earlier under the name Daisy Bellandi, not Vitale.
Before I married Matteo, I studied for two years at a pastry school in Paris. I earned my certification and had planned to work in a restaurant.
But Matteo said his wife didn’t need to work.
Back then, I believed in the protection he promised. I don’t anymore.
The shop was only forty square meters. The ground floor held the kitchen and display case; the upstairs was Grandma’s room.
I hired a team experienced in long-term care for elderly patients with cognitive decline. Every day, someone sat with her in the sun, read to her, and helped with her meals.
This wasn’t Vitale family territory.
I paid my employees on time. My neighbors knew me by name. That was a kind of safety that didn’t come from a ring.
Most of the time, Grandma didn’t know who I was.
But every now and then, she would suddenly grip my hand and slur out a soft, “Daisy.”
And I always answered, “I’m here.”
The next moment, she would forget again.
Business at the shop was steady.
Every day, I started baking bread at four in the morning and opened at six. There was an elementary school nearby, and parents often stopped in for breakfast after dropping off their kids.
In the afternoon, I made desserts.
Persimmon cake, apple-cinnamon muffins, pecan shortbread.
They were all flavors Grandma had loved when she was young.
Every day, I saved the first slice of persimmon cake for her.
She might not remember who I was, but when she tasted the persimmon, a faint, contented smile would appear on her face.
That was enough to keep me going.