Chapter 15 - The New Standard of Marino’s Table
Six months later, an unseasonably warm spring evening settled over Second Avenue.
Marino’s Table had not changed its name.
The brass sconces still cast an amber glow across the dining room booths.
The pasta was still rolled by hand in the kitchen according to traditional recipes.
Yet the restaurant was alive with an energy it had never known before.
The servers wore tailored, dignified uniforms and were paid fair, thriving salaries backed by full health insurance benefits.
At the center of the room sat Table Nine.
The wooden table had been completely refinished in rich dark mahogany, polished until it gleamed like a mirror.
Sitting at the head of the table was Walter Doyle.
Walter looked ten years younger, wearing a handsome navy blazer and laughing warmly as he demonstrated a tiny gear mechanism to Harold Belmont, who had become a regular dining companion and an avid supporter of the restoration institute.
Beside Walter sat Cassandra.
She looked breathtaking in an emerald-green wrap dress that celebrated every soft, gorgeous curve of her plus-size figure.
Her hair was styled in elegant, sweeping waves, and around her neck hung a delicate platinum pendant shaped like an antique sewing spindle.
On her left ring finger sat a magnificent, flawless five-carat emerald-cut diamond mounted on a band of pure platinum.
Sitting beside her, his massive arm resting comfortably along the back of her booth, was Thiago Bellacort.
He wore a simple, finely knit black polo shirt that showed the Latin tattoos on his forearms.
His platinum-white hair was swept back naturally.
He looked completely at peace.
The glass doors swung open, and a young couple walked into the restaurant.
The young man looked nervous, dressed in a clean but inexpensive department-store suit, checking his wallet as he guided his date toward the host podium.
Cassie looked at the couple, a soft, knowing smile touching her lips.
She remembered the terror of every dollar.
She remembered the agonizing weight of wondering whether you belonged in a world built for the wealthy.
She leaned toward Thiago, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
“Look at them,” Cassie whispered.
Thiago turned his head, his dark eyes following her gaze.
He saw the young man’s stiff posture, the careful way he held his menu, the quiet pride fighting against a shallow pocketbook.
Thiago reached under the table, his hand finding Cassie’s fingers and intertwining with them.
“Send them the best bottle in the cellar, Cassandra,” Thiago said, a gentle, understanding smile touching his lips. “Tell them the house is covering their dinner tonight.”
Cassie looked up at her fiancé, her heart swelling with an enduring, boundless love.
“Just so they know someone is watching out for them?” Cassie asked.
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“Just so they know,” Thiago whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her forehead, “that character is the only currency that will ever truly matter.”
Outside the bay windows, the lights of Manhattan twinkled against the spring sky, glowing over a city where a king had traded his crown for a broken truck, only to find an angel who loved him for the man he was inside.
