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“You’ve been riding my ass about the company since—Wait. What?”
“Seven months from now, you’ll be Uncle Brandon.” There’s an unfamiliar softness in his expression, one I’ve never seen before. “Cheers.”
“Holy shit.” I stare at him for a moment before raising my glass. “Congratulations. Gemma must be thrilled.”
“She is.” Elijah studies his glass. “You know, becoming a father… it makes you think about Dad. About the things he did right and wrong.” He moves to his desk, pulling open a drawer. “He left something for you.”
My brain short-circuits.
He holds a thick manila envelope out to me. “Made me swear I’d only give it to you when you finally chose yourself over the family legacy.”
“What is it?”
“Open it and find out.”
The envelope is too heavy for paper. A weight that’s more than just physical. Like I’m holding the past in my hands.
My thumb runs over the deep red wax, the Milton crest embossed so perfectly it feels untouched. Preserved. Waiting.
Inside: a folded letter, thick paper that crinkles as I pull it free, a key, and a document stamped with official seals.
And then—a photo.
Mom and me in the kitchen, flour dusting our faces. Frozen in time. Before I knew what it meant to disappoint him. Before I ever thought I’d have to fight for this.
“Brandon?” Elijah’s voice pulls me back. “You okay?”
I manage a nod, unfolding the letter with trembling fingers.
Brandon, my dear son,
I should have told you this while I was alive.
But I was a coward.
In my last days, your beautiful girlfriend opened my eyes. Don’t be mad at her. But I saw you in that kitchen of Elliot’s,and for the first time, I truly saw YOU. Not the son I tried to force into my mold, but the man you’ve become despite me.
The man your mother would be proud of.
You have her gift. Her passion. Her ability to make people feel loved through food. I was a fool to try to stamp that out of you.
I’ve enclosed the deed to the old Giovanni’s building. I bought it years ago, when you first mentioned wanting your own restaurant. I was going to give it to you when you graduated, but then my pride got in the way. I convinced myself I knew better.
I didn’t.
The building’s been empty all these years, waiting for the right person. For you. It’s yours now, to do with as you choose. Though I hope you’ll consider it for your restaurant, the one I should have supported from the start.
I’m sorry, son. For everything. For not being the father you deserved. For letting my fear of you failing prevent me from seeing how spectacularly you could succeed. For saying the things I said.
Cook with love, like your mother taught you.
I know she’s proud of you, just like I am.
Dad
“He—I need to go.” I shove the letter and photo back into the envelope, clutching it like a lifeline. “I have to see?—”
He nods. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”