Chapter 5 - Shadows on the Waterfront
The honeymoon phase of our real, un-fake relationship lasted exactly twelve days.
It ended on a Tuesday morning when three unmarked black SUVs pulled up outside Honey & Rye Bakery while the morning rush was in full swing, and two federal agents in dark windbreakers walked through the door.
The customers near the front scattered like frightened sparrows.
I stood behind the counter, my hands flat on the glass display case, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Clare Bennett?” the older agent asked, flashing a badge.
“Yes,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “If you’re here to inspect the health code, we passed our audit last week. If you’re here to buy croissants, get in line like everyone else.”
“We’re not here about the health code, Miss Bennett,” the agent said smoothly. “We’re investigating Marquetti-Duca Logistics. We have reason to believe illicit cargo was routed through commercial supply chains connected to your financial accounts.”
My blood ran cold.
“My accounts?” I echoed, the words tasting like ash. “I own a bakery. The only illegal thing in this building is how much sugar I put in my buttercream.”
“We’re going to need to confiscate your business ledgers and personal tax returns,” the agent replied, stepping behind the counter.
Before he could touch my register, the front door rattled open with a force that made the glass rattle in its frame.
Roman walked in.
He didn't look like the gentle uncle who helped clean flour off the floor or the man who had nervously slipped a charm bracelet onto my wrist twelve nights ago. He looked like an apex predator defending its territory. His dark suit was immaculate, his face carved from cold, unyielding granite, and his obsidian eyes locked onto the federal agents with lethal precision.
“Agent Miller,” Roman said, his voice a low, terrifying growl that carried across the quiet shop. “You’re trespassing without a warrant in a privately owned commercial establishment.”
Agent Miller turned, unfazed. “We have an active subpoena, Roman. Financial tracking indicates a series of untraceable cash deposits made into Miss Bennett’s business account over the last six months—coinciding precisely with your corporate restructuring.”
My breath caught. I looked at Roman, the cold horror blooming in my chest.
“Roman,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What are they talking about?”
Roman didn't look at me. His gaze remained fixed on the federal agent. “Those deposits were legitimate corporate lease subsidies for warehouse storage space connected to my shipping fleet.”
“Then why were they routed through three different offshore shell companies registered in the Caymans?” Miller challenged, slamming a folder down on my pastry counter.
The silence in the bakery was absolute.
I looked from the federal agent to Roman, waiting for him to deny it, waiting for him to laugh and tell them it was all a bureaucratic misunderstanding.
Roman’s jaw tightened. He finally turned his head to look at me, his amber eyes dark, unreadable, and heavy with a secret he had kept hidden since the day we met.
“Clare,” he began, his voice dangerously soft.
“Don't,” I choked out, stepping back until my hip hit the stainless-steel prep table. “Don't lie to me. Not now.”
“I didn't lie to protect myself,” Roman said, taking a step toward me.
“You used my bakery,” I said, the words tearing their way out of my throat, sharp and burning with betrayal. “You used my business as a front for your corporate money laundering, didn't you? That’s why you kept coming back. That’s why you were so invested in making sure I stayed quiet.”
“No,” Roman snapped, his voice finally breaking through its cold armor. “That’s not why I came back, and you know it. The federal investigation started because someone inside my own family leaked my logistics records to sabotage the new corporate transition. I used the accounts to protect you, Clare. I needed an independent ledger that couldn't be traced back to the syndicate so I could secure your future if the feds tried to tear my empire down.”
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“I don’t want your empire!” I shouted, tears finally spilling over my lashes, hot and angry. “I wanted a bakery! I wanted a normal life! You brought your war right to my front door!”
Agent Miller stepped between us, pulling a pair of cold steel handcuffs from his belt. “Roman Duca, you’re coming with us. And Miss Bennett, you’re going to answer some very difficult questions downtown.”
