Chapter 3 - The Fire at Sullivan's Bakery
Mave barely remembered getting into the car.
The bakery was only fifteen minutes away.
By the time they arrived, flames were already climbing through the second-floor windows.
Firefighters moved through smoke.
People stood behind barricades.
Mave got out.
“My manager!”
Rowan grabbed her around the waist.
“You're not going in.”
“Sam is inside.”
“My men are checking.”
“I need to know!”
A firefighter rushed toward them.
“No one is trapped.”
Mave nearly collapsed with relief.
Then she saw the back wall.
The bakery had been destroyed.
Her father's old workbench, which she'd inherited from the previous owner, was gone.
Her chest ached.
Rowan stood beside her.
“I'm sorry.”
“I built my life here.”
“I know.”
“You know everything.”
He didn't answer.
Mave turned.
“That's terrifying.”
“You should be scared.”
She stared.
“Of you?”
“Of how much your life has already been watched.”
He gestured toward the street.
A security man approached.
“We found this.”
It was a metal box.
Blackened but intact.
Mave recognized it.
“My father made that.”
Rowan's gaze sharpened.
“Open it.”
“I don't have a key.”
He examined the latch.
Then pressed a hidden release.
The box opened.
Inside was a red ledger.
Mave's breath stopped.
“You were right.”
Rowan nodded.
She looked at the pages.
Numbers.
Names.
Dates.
Shipment codes.
And one photograph.
Mave picked it up.
Her father stood beside Rowan.
They were laughing.
She had never seen her father look so relaxed.
On the back was one sentence.
Trust him when the fire starts.
Mave looked at Rowan.
“He knew this would happen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He knew they would come eventually.”
She handed him the ledger.
“Read it.”
He did.
His face became darker with every page.
“What?”
He continued turning pages.
“Rowan.”
He finally looked up.
“This is worse than I thought.”
“How bad?”
“Your father was keeping records on every person who tried to take over the city's shipping routes.”
“Names?”
“More than names.”
He turned the ledger toward her.
There were coded entries beside several prominent businessmen.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Elias Vane.
Mave recognized it.
“That's the mayor.”
“Yes.”
“And the police commissioner.”
“Yes.”
“Why would my father track them?”
“Because they were taking bribes.”
Mave stared.
“How did he know?”
“Because he was helping someone gather evidence.”
“Who?”
Rowan looked at her.
“My father.”
She blinked.
“You're kidding.”
“No.”
Her mind reeled.
Their fathers had been working together.
And somehow, that connection had led to Patrick Sullivan's death.
“Where is your father now?”
“Dead.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
“What about your brother?”
“Alive.”
“Does he know?”
“Some of it.”
Mave looked at the burning bakery.
“So our fathers were trying to expose corruption.”
“Yes.”
“And someone killed mine.”
“Yes.”
“Who killed yours?”
“Same people.”
She stared at him.
For several seconds neither moved.
Then Rowan said,
“We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“No?”
“I don't want to hide.”
“This isn't about pride.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
“I want answers.”
“You'll get them.”
“I want to be part of it.”
Rowan looked at her.
“That is not how I protect people.”
Mave crossed her arms.
“Then stop protecting me.”
He went silent.
She wasn't sure what she expected.
Maybe anger.
Instead, something strange entered his eyes.
Respect.
“You're stubborn.”
“So I've been told.”
He glanced at the burning building.
“Fine.”
“What?”
“You stay.”
Her eyes widened.
“But you follow my rules.”
“What rules?”
“You don't disappear.”
“Fine.”
“You don't meet anyone alone.”
“Fine.”
“You don't hide information from me.”
“That one goes both ways.”
He stared.
Then nodded.
“Agreed.”
They left the fire scene.
At Rowan's penthouse, Mave saw another side of the man everyone feared.
His home was enormous but empty.
Beautiful but cold.
There were no family photographs.
No personal clutter.
No visible signs that anyone lived there.
“You live like a hotel.”
“I don't stay home much.”
“Why?”
“Because people know where I sleep.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
He followed.
“You're hungry.”
“I am.”
He ordered food.
Then, unexpectedly, he began cooking.
Mave watched.
“You cook?”
“Yes.”
“You're actually human.”
“Don't spread that around.”
She smiled.
The moment was almost normal.
Then she noticed a framed photograph on the counter.
A young boy.
Rowan.
Another boy beside him.
His brother.
“What's his name?”
“Julian.”
“Where is he?”
“New York.”
“Why isn't he here?”
“Because my enemies know he's the one person I would die for.”
Mave looked at Rowan.
“That sounds lonely.”
He looked away.
“Protection usually is.”
She reached for his hand.
He froze.
Then allowed it.
“This doesn't have to be.”
He looked at her.
The room became very quiet.
Mave realized how close they were.
Then she remembered the first kiss.
She stepped back.
“This is ridiculous.”
“What is?”
“I kissed you once because of fifty dollars.”
“Yes.”
“And now I'm standing in your kitchen holding your hand.”
“Yes.”
“I'm making terrible decisions.”
Rowan almost smiled.
“Probably.”
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You found the ledger.”
Mave froze.
“Who is this?”
“You should have left Rowan alone.”
Then the caller whispered one final sentence.
“Your father's killer is inside his organization.”
The line went dead.
Mave looked at Rowan.
He knew immediately.
“What did they say?”
She swallowed.
“They said your father's killer is inside your organization.”
May you like
Rowan's expression became unreadable.
“Then we find out who.”
