A New Beginning

The Reinhardt estate had become a familiar sight again, though it still felt like stepping into another life.

Michelle Smith had been back for a few weeks now, and she had already visited a handful of times. Each time, the weight of the years apart pressed a little less on her shoulders, but she couldn't ignore the way the past still lurked in the corners, waiting for acknowledgment.

She had told herself she wouldn't linger, that she'd keep things surface-level, polite. But the truth was, she needed this. She needed the sense of normalcy that the Reinhardts provided—needed to be around people who weren't tied to the world she had spent years trying to escape.

And so, here she was again, sitting in Giselle Reinhardt's grand kitchen, wrapped in the warmth of freshly brewed tea and the scent of something sweet baking in the oven.

Giselle worked effortlessly, her movements smooth and practiced as she kneaded dough at the counter. "You're getting comfortable here," she remarked without looking up.

Michelle huffed a quiet laugh. "I didn't realize I was overstaying my welcome."

Giselle smirked. "You're not. Just saying—it's nice to see you back."

Michelle's fingers tightened around her cup. Back.

She had been back physically, yes, but mentally? Emotionally? That was still up for debate.

"I suppose it was about time," Michelle said lightly.

Giselle shot her a look, unimpressed. "Don't downplay it. Seven years is a long time."

Michelle sighed. "I know."

A beat of silence passed between them, filled only by the sound of the oven's soft ticking.

Then Giselle wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face Michelle properly. "You've been dancing around it since you got here. So, are you going to tell me why you're really back?"

Michelle hesitated. She had known this conversation was coming—it had been hanging over her like a storm cloud since the moment she walked through the Reinhardt estate doors again.

She exhaled. "I need help, Giselle."

Giselle leaned against the counter, arms folded. "With what?"

Michelle set her cup down. "I need to build something. A real business. One that belongs to me, not Reginald's family, not the Mafia." Her jaw clenched. "Something that gives my children a choice."

Giselle's gaze sharpened. "And you think they won't have one if you don't?"

Michelle laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Come on, Giselle. You know how this works. Reginald may want to keep them out of it, but his family? They see Alexander and Samantha as their future. If I don't do something, they'll become their future."

Giselle studied her for a long moment. "You want out."

Michelle scoffed. "There is no out. But there's distance. And that's a start."

Giselle nodded slowly. "So, what's stopping you from starting a business?"

Michelle ran a hand through her hair. "Everything I touch still feels like it's in their orbit. No matter what I try to start, there's always a connection back to them. I need something completely separate. Something they won't touch."

A knowing smile spread across Giselle's face. "Then you need food."

Michelle blinked. "Food?"

Giselle gestured around the kitchen. "It's universal, it's timeless, and most importantly? It's clean. The Mafia doesn't care about running bakeries or catering businesses. It's beneath them."

Michelle frowned slightly, considering it. "I'm not a chef, Giselle."

Giselle scoffed. "You don't have to be. You're a strategist. You know how to manage people, build networks, handle operations. Food businesses aren't just about cooking—it's about branding, reputation, exclusivity." She leaned forward. "And you could do that."

Michelle tapped a finger against her cup. "A restaurant would take too long to establish."

"Who said anything about a restaurant?" Giselle countered. "Start smaller. Luxury catering, high-end pastries, private dining. Build a name first—something exclusive, something elite." She pushed a plate of fresh pastries toward Michelle. "Something like this."

Michelle hesitated before picking up a pastry. She took a bite, the flavors melting on her tongue.

"…This is good," she admitted.

Giselle smirked. "Of course it is."

Michelle exhaled, setting the pastry down. "But would it be enough? The Mafia's reach is everywhere."

"That's the point," Giselle said. "They don't care about food businesses. It's not a power move for them. It's not worth their time. If you do this right—if you make it exclusive—they won't even realize you're building something beyond their reach until it's too late."

Michelle could feel the gears turning in her mind. Private clients. Wealthy families. Exclusive events. It could work.

She looked up at Giselle. "You'd help me?"

Giselle's eyes softened. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I wouldn't."

A lump formed in Michelle's throat. She had spent seven years thinking she had to do this alone, that there was no one left who could stand beside her in this fight.

But maybe she had been wrong.

Michelle let out a breath. "Alright."

Giselle grinned. "Alright?"

Michelle smirked. "Alright. Let's do this."

For the first time in years, she felt like she had a way forward. A path that wasn't laid out for her by someone else.

This time, she was choosing her own future.