Page 97 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

She had gone from being the head chef at a fashionable Michelin-starred restaurant in the capital owned by her father to running a fast-food truck. Her fall in social and professional standing had been as meteoric as his journey in the opposite direction had been.

According to his research, she would still be there. Apparently, she always put in a long day and her only help was a kid on a government employment scheme and a well-known chef who had fallen off the wagon and on hard times.

Amyshouldhave fallen apart withoutDaddyto tell her what to do,Daddyto buy her a restaurant as a plaything,Daddywho, for all he knew, still had to approve her boyfriends.

Yes, Leo had confidently waited for her to fall apart.

But she hadn’t.

It was common knowledge that she had received multiple offers from tabloids to tell her story, casting herself in a favourable light. But it turned out she had not taken up even one of the book offers that would have established her as a professional victim, with her story eventually serialised profitably in one of the red-tops.

Leo assumed she had money stashed away and was biding her time to push the price up, a risky strategy. But there hadn’t been a bidding war, no sob story; instead, she’d resurfaced as the part owner of Gourmet Gypsy, a glorified greasy spoon food truck—not anyone’s idea of an easy route.

Despite being a social pariah, she obviously still had a few friends in the industry, because some low-key publicity for her down-market venture had emerged. A couple of food critics had written good things, and she was making a living of sorts.

She was called resilient; she was called imaginative and hard-working.

It took a tough person to do what Amy had, but Leo knew she wasnottough. Reading praise, however faint, of her was like hearing a nail scratching a chalkboard.

Then when her father had been released from incarceration early and the information filtered through to Leo about the sudden increase in Sinclair’s cash-flow, he finally understood what was going on. Amy always had followed Daddy’s orders and this was all part of her father’s long-term plan. Her business was just a front for him to help out his new friends with a bit of money laundering.

Could she really be part of this latest con, or was she just a dim, unwitting pawn? It was time to find out.

Half an hour later, Leo had parked up.

His position, giving him a view of the SilverStream withGourmet Gypsywritten along its sides, was pretty much perfect. The interior was still illuminated and he could make out a figure moving around inside.

Then the lights went out, the door opened, and he watched as a small figure, slim beneath an unattractive padded coat that reached to mid-thigh, pulled down the shutters and locked up.

She seemed unaware of a group of three or four youths in hoodies sharing a bottle they passed between them, their lurching progress suggesting they were not just high on booze.

Like many parts of London, extreme deprivation sat cheek by jowl with wealth and privilege. The Gourmet Gypsy van sat squarely on the dividing line between the boarded-up windows and the chic, expensive shops, in a sort of no-man’s-land.

Leo got out of the car and, as he did so, the irony hit him. He had come to punish her and instead he might actually end up saving her.

Chapter Two

Amy was dog-tired, although she almost welcomed the exhaustion as it stopped her worrying. She worried a lot, but lately, since she had agreed to her father’s suggestion that she put her name to his new venture, she worried even more.

She was, of course, glad that he had regained some focus and proud that he wanted to rebuild his life and repay the investors who had lost out because of what he called hisbad decisions. He’d complained that there were unfair obstacles stopping someone like him rebuilding their life, making a success of himself.

It had been a relief to see the fire in his eyes when he had come up with a way to overcome those obstacles. Since he had been released early from prison, he had accused her of watching him like a hawk and, although she denied it, she was.

Amy would never forget that terrible night after he had been given bail before the trial, when she’d found him lying on the sofa surrounded by empty pill bottles. She hadn’t been watching him then—she’d been so angry with him she’d spent as little time in his company as possible, and he had almost died.

‘But I don’t understand—what are they investing in?’ There was no way her business was worth a fraction of the sort of sums she had glimpsed on the documents her father had wanted her to sign.

She had been wary, but was terrified of how he might react if she didn’t show she had faith in him. Though, in all honesty, she couldn’t see the business justifying the investment and the suppliers she already had were cheaper than the contracts her father was so proud of negotiating. She was already working twenty-four-seven to keep her head above water, to make a go of Gourmet Gypsy without the additional overheads, and what sort of influence would these investors want for their money?

But she’d wanted to make her father happy. He was, after all, the only family she had left after her mother had died just before he was arrested.

He had assured her that the investors would not interfere. All he needed was her signature—a lot of signatures, it seemed to Amy, and when she had wanted to read the papers she was putting her name to, her father had looked hurt and asked her if she didn’t trust him.

He had served his time and paid a heavy price for his crime, he’d declared. He deserved a second chance, and if his own daughter wouldn’t give him one, who would?

Amy fished out her phone from her pocket and glanced at the clock, estimating what time she’d arrive home. Despite her father being pretty sniffy about the flat, she couldn’t really afford it. But she’d needed a second bedroom for him when he was released, and she liked it. The top floor afforded views of trees and while the brick, purpose-built block wasn’t pretty, it was quiet Also, it was only five minutes from the Tube, so all she had was a ten-minute walk the other end.

She hadn’t put the phone back in her deep pocket before it was snatched out of her hand. Amy jolted back to the moment with a thud by the adrenaline dump into her bloodstream, and she took in the boys, faces invisible, that she had been oblivious to. Boys now circling her…laughing, jeering. She let out a sharp cry of protest and ignored the voice in her head that suggested she should run.