Chapter 2 - The Bitter CrustThe smell of caramelized sugar, roasted espresso beans, and fresh yeast usually brought me a sense of absolute peace. For the last four years, Rose & Rye—the little bakery on the corner of Armitage Avenue in Lincoln Park—had been my sanctuary. I had built it from nothing, pulling twenty-hour shifts, sleeping on flour bags in the back office, and fighting off ruthless commercial landlords who wanted to turn my neighborhood staple into another soul-less corporate bank.
Now, sitting in the back office of the bakery at two in the morning after the Morello Foundation disaster, the familiar smell made me feel sick.
I sat behind my cluttered wooden desk, still wearing my flour-stained tunic. Sophie was asleep on the small leather couch in the corner, wrapped in her winter coat, exhausted from the drama of the evening.
Across from me stood Adrian Morello.
He looked wildly out of place in my cramped, warm office. His immaculate tuxedo jacket was tossed over the back of my desk chair, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, corded forearms covered in faint, faded scars.
He leaned against the wooden shelving unit that held my heavy-duty mixing bowls, watching me with that intense, unblinking gray gaze.
"Explain it to me," I said, my hands tightly wrapped around a mug of lukewarm chamomile tea. "Every word, Adrian. Because if you don't, I swear to God I’ll pack up this bakery by morning and vanish so far out of Illinois you’ll need a federal warrant to find me."
Adrian didn't flinch at my threat. He took a slow breath, looking down at his polished leather shoes before meeting my eyes again.
"Four months ago," Adrian began, his voice low and steady, "my family’s legal team discovered a breach in our primary holding company. Someone was buying up small commercial mortgages throughout the North Side—specifically targeting independent business owners—and using them to launder offshore funds."
I frowned, setting my mug down. "What does that have to do with pastries?"
"The shell corporation doing the buying was registered under the name Valenti Enterprises," Adrian continued. "Frank Valenti was my grandfather’s business partner thirty years ago. They had a falling out over a waterfront land deal that turned deadly. Valenti vanished into south South America, but his family stayed in Chicago."
"And Rose & Rye?" I asked, my blood beginning to run cold.
"Your commercial landlord sold your building’s mortgage six months ago, Emily," Adrian said, stepping closer to my desk. "You didn't know it, but your bakery was selected as the central node for a money-laundering scheme. Valenti’s grandson, Julian, was planning to use your high cash-flow volume to clean nearly ten million dollars over the next fiscal year. And when they were done, they were going to burn the building down for the insurance payout."
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process the words. "Burn... burn my bakery down?"
"Yes," Adrian said coldly. "Frank found out about the plot first. He knew if we involved the police immediately, Valenti’s legal team would liquidate the shell companies, frame you as the primary co-conspirator through forged deposit slips, and walk away clean. You would have ended up in a federal prison, Emily."
My breath hitched. I looked over at Sophie, sleeping peacefully on the couch. If the bakery burned... if I went to prison... Sophie’s family relied on the small paycheck I gave her every Friday. My four employees depended on this place for their livelihoods.
"So Frank came here," I whispered, the puzzle pieces slowly locking into place with a sickening click. "The misaddressed birthday cake four weeks ago... that wasn't an accident."
"No," Adrian admitted quietly. "I brought the cake in on purpose to assess the security of your cash register systems. But Frank... Frank was supposed to just keep an eye on the building from across the street. Instead, he walked in, ordered a cannoli, and fell in love with your spirit."
"He lied to me," I said, a lump forming in my throat. "He sat at my counter every single morning for a month. He complained about his cardiologist! He let me scold him about his sugar intake! He let me think he was just a lonely old man who needed a friend!"
"He was a lonely old man, Emily," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a tone so surprisingly gentle it cut right through my anger. "My grandmother died three years ago. Frank hasn't smiled or left the house for anything other than doctor appointments since she passed. Coming to your counter every morning... arguing with you over decaf coffee... it gave him a reason to wake up."
"That doesn't give him the right to use me as bait!" I snapped, standing up from my chair so fast my knees knocked against the desk. "You brought me to that foundation dinner tonight! You put me in a room full of sharks like Vanessa Hale! Was that part of your grand investigation too?! Were you using my catering team to draw out Valenti?!"
Adrian stepped forward, closing the distance between us until he was standing right at the edge of my desk. He reached out, his long fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, wiping away a stray speck of flour I had missed.
The touch was so warm, so electricity-charged, that my breath hitched in my throat.
"No," Adrian said, his gray eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees feel weak. "I didn't know Frank had entered Rose & Rye into the foundation catering contract until three days ago. When I found out, I tried to cancel it. I wanted you as far away from that ballroom as possible."
"Why?" I asked, refusing to look down. "Because I don't fit into your world? Because I’m not five-foot-ten and ninety pounds like Vanessa?"
Adrian’s jaw clenched tightly. A dark, dangerous flicker crossed his face. "If you ever compare yourself to that shallow, vile woman again, Emily, I will consider it a personal insult."
I blinked, taken aback.
"I didn't want you in that room," Adrian said, his hand dropping slowly from my face, though his gaze remained locked on mine, "because I knew Julian Valenti was going to be attending. And I knew the moment he saw how much Frank cared about you... you would become a target."
Before I could ask what he meant, the heavy glass front door of the bakery shattered with a deafening crash.
Sophie screamed, sitting up instantly on the couch.
May you like
A thick, heavy canister clattered across the hardwood floor of the front display room, hissing loudly as dense, sweet-smelling white smoke began pouring out into the air.
"Down!" Adrian roared, grabbing me by the waist and throwing us both to the floor behind the heavy wooden desk just as two high-velocity gunshots shattered the glass framed photos of my grandmother hanging on the office wall.
