The Waitress Ignored The Rude Mafia Boss—He Roared, "Bring Me The Girl Who Refused Me!" The most feared man in the lounge snapped his fingers at me, and I walked away from his table.

Glass crunched under Lorenzo’s heavy leather boots as he stepped through the shattered storefront of Mrs. Gable’s bakery.

Clara followed closely behind him, ignoring his orders to stay in the car. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. The sweet smell of vanilla and yeast was overpowered by the sharp, acrid scent of gunpowder.

"Mrs. Gable!" Clara called out, her voice trembling.

Answer one: Vincent hadn't waited for daylight. He had smashed into the bakery the moment his men found Maya’s drawing, tearing the place apart to find the ledger.

The bakery was completely destroyed. Display cases were smashed, pastries trampled into the floor, and the drywall near the old brick oven had been ripped open with crowbars.

"Clear the back!" Lorenzo ordered his men, his weapon drawn and steady.

Marcus and two guards moved tactically through the swinging kitchen doors.

"Boss," Marcus called out a moment later. His voice was grim. "You need to see this."

Clara didn't wait. She ran past Lorenzo, pushing through the kitchen doors.

Mrs. Gable, a plump woman in her sixties who always smelled of cinnamon, was tied to a metal prep table. She was battered and bruised, blood weeping from a cut above her eyebrow, but she was alive.

"Clara?" Mrs. Gable gasped, her eyes wide with terror as Clara rushed to her side, frantically untying the thick zip-ties.

"I’ve got you," Clara sobbed, pulling the older woman into a tight hug. "I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they did this to you."

Lorenzo stepped into the kitchen, his dark eyes scanning the wreckage. He didn't look at Mrs. Gable with pity; he looked at the massive, industrial brick oven in the corner of the room.

The heavy iron door was open.

"Vincent was here," Lorenzo said flatly.

"He was a monster," Mrs. Gable wept, clutching Clara’s hand. "He tore the walls apart. He demanded the book Eleanor gave me."

Clara looked at her, shocked. "My mother gave you a book?"

Mrs. Gable nodded, wiping her bloody face. "Twenty years ago. She came to me in the middle of the night. She was terrified. She said if anything ever happened to her, I was to keep the book hidden behind the loose brick in the oven. She said it was the only thing that would keep you and Maya safe."

Open two: If the ledger was hidden in the oven, did Vincent find it? And why did Clara's mother believe a book of syndicate crimes would protect her daughters instead of marking them for death?

Lorenzo walked over to the brick oven. He aimed his tactical flashlight inside.

He reached in and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound ledger.

But the cover was scorched, and the pages were completely burned away. It was nothing but a block of black ash.

"He burned it," Lorenzo said, his voice thick with furious disappointment. He dropped the ruined ledger onto the metal prep counter. It crumbled into dust.

"Vincent found it," Marcus said, holstering his weapon. "He destroyed the evidence. Without that ledger, we have no proof for the syndicate council. Vincent walks away clean."

Clara stared at the ashes. The key to destroying the man who was hunting her family was gone.

"No," Mrs. Gable whispered.

Everyone turned to the elderly baker.

Mrs. Gable sat up straighter, wincing in pain, but a defiant spark lit her eyes.

"Eleanor was the smartest woman I ever met," Mrs. Gable said. "She knew a leather book could be burned. She knew Vincent would eventually come looking for it."

Mrs. Gable reached up to her neck. She unclasped a thin gold chain she had worn every day for as long as Clara had known her.

Dangling from the chain was a small, intricately carved wooden pendant.

"She told me," Mrs. Gable continued, handing the pendant to Clara, "that the ledger in the oven was a decoy."

Clara took the pendant. It was light, hollow.

Reversal: The burned ledger wasn't the evidence. Clara’s mother had laid a trap for Vincent, letting him believe he had won.

"A decoy?" Lorenzo stepped closer, staring at the wooden pendant.

Clara pressed her thumb against the seam of the wood and twisted. The pendant clicked and popped open.

Inside was a tightly rolled strip of microfilm.

"The real records," Lorenzo breathed, absolute awe washing over his face. He looked at Clara. "Your mother microfilmed the entire financial history of Vincent’s offshore accounts."

Clara held the tiny roll of film. Her mother hadn't been a victim. She had been a ghost, quietly dismantling a mafia empire to protect her children.

"We have it," Clara said, looking up at Lorenzo. "We can destroy him."

Before Lorenzo could answer, his cell phone rang. The sharp sound made everyone jump.

Lorenzo pulled it from his pocket. The caller ID was blocked.

He answered it, putting it on speaker.

"Lorenzo," Vincent’s smooth, rasping voice echoed in the ruined bakery. "I see you found my handiwork at the bakery."

"You burned a fake ledger, Vincent," Lorenzo said, his voice a low, lethal rumble. "I have the real evidence."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Then, Vincent laughed. A cold, terrifying sound.

"I know," Vincent said. "That’s why I didn't stay at the bakery, nephew."

Clara’s blood turned to ice.

"Where are you, Vincent?" Lorenzo demanded.