Chapter 8 - THE FLOUR AND THE FIRE
The aftermath of the bank vault was handled with the quiet, terrifying efficiency of the Moretti family.
Silvio and his men were gone before the bank manager even dared to peek his head back into the hallway.
By three o'clock that afternoon, I was standing in front of a boarded-up storefront in the West Loop.
The faded painted letters on the brick read: Parker’s Oven.
My father’s bakery.
Lorenzo stood beside me on the sidewalk. He had changed into a fresh suit, looking as impeccable and untouchable as he had the first night he walked into Carbone House.
Evelyn was sitting on a nearby bench, feeding pigeons with Lily, who was happily recounting the "bank adventure" as though it were a movie she had watched.
I held the heavy brass key in my hand. I walked up to the front door, peeled back a piece of weathered tape covering the lock, and slid the key in.
The door creaked open, groaning on old hinges.
The smell hit me instantly. Dust, old wood, and the faint, ghostly scent of yeast and cinnamon that had been trapped inside for twenty years.
Tears immediately pricked my eyes.
The glass display cases were empty but intact. The heavy butcher-block counters were still in place. It looked exactly as my father had left it.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, stepping inside.
Lorenzo followed me in, closing the door behind us to block out the noise of the city street.
He looked around the space, his eyes taking in the architecture, the space, the potential.
“The deed is clear,” Lorenzo said quietly. “My lawyers finalized the transfer this morning. The bakery, and the six buildings on this block, belong entirely to you, Grace.”
I turned to look at him.
“I don’t know how to run a real estate empire, Lorenzo,” I said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I’m a waitress.”
“You are a survivor,” Lorenzo corrected gently. He closed the distance between us, standing just inches away. “You took a three-pound piece of brass and fought off an armed cartel to protect your family. You can run a bakery.”
I smiled, looking down at the dusty floorboards.
“I guess I can,” I murmured.
I looked back up at him. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the dirty windows, casting golden shadows across his sharp jawline and dark eyes.
“What happens now?” I asked softly.
Lorenzo’s expression grew serious. He took a step back, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Victor is in jail. Silvio is on a plane to Italy, never to return. David knows better than to ever contact you again,” Lorenzo listed, his voice returning to that formal, measured tone. “You are safe, Grace.”
My chest tightened. I knew what was coming next.
“And you?” I asked.
“My world is violent,” Lorenzo said, looking away from me. “It is complicated, and it casts a very long, very dark shadow. You have your father’s legacy back. You have a safe life for Lily. You do not need a man like me standing in the center of it, waiting for the next threat.”
He was doing it again. He was protecting me. This time, from himself.
“You’re leaving,” I stated.
“It is better this way,” Lorenzo said. He turned toward the door. “My mother will ensure you have whatever resources you need to open the bakery. Goodbye, Grace.”
He placed his hand on the doorknob.
“Lorenzo.”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around.
“When you walked into Carbone House,” I said, my voice rising, refusing to let him walk out, “Dennis tried to fire me. He tried to humiliate me. And you didn’t just protect your mother. You protected me. A waitress you didn’t even know.”
Lorenzo remained perfectly still.
“You didn’t do that because you’re a violent man,” I continued, taking a step toward his broad back. “You did it because you are a good man who happens to live in a violent world. My father saw it in your father. And I see it in you.”
Lorenzo slowly turned around.
His eyes were incredibly dark, swimming with a vulnerability I had never seen in him.
“I will not let you hide behind a suit and a bad reputation,” I said fiercely, closing the final gap between us. I reached out and grabbed the lapels of his expensive jacket. “I have spent my entire life running from men who abandon me when things get hard. I am not letting you run to protect me.”
Lorenzo let out a ragged, uneven breath.
He reached up, wrapping his large, warm hands over mine where they gripped his coat.
“If I stay,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice vibrating with raw emotion, “I will never let you go, Grace. I will burn down the city to keep you and that little girl safe.”
I smiled, my heart soaring.
“Good,” I whispered.
I pulled him down by his lapels.
Lorenzo didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, lifting me slightly off the floor, and kissed me.
May you like
It wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It was desperate, absolute, and filled with the promise of a man who had finally found something worth stopping the war for.
I buried my hands in his dark hair, the smell of dust and old wood suddenly replaced by the scent of his cologne and the intoxicating warmth of his skin.
