Chapter 3 - The Night Vincent Costello Came to My Bakery for Me
Vincent moved me into the safest house he owned.
That was what he called it.
I called it a mansion surrounded by men with guns.
The house stood behind iron gates overlooking Lake Michigan.
I had never been anywhere like it.
I spent the first hour feeling uncomfortable.
The second hour feeling angry.
By the third, I was baking.
Cooking was how I dealt with fear.
So I took over the enormous kitchen and began making bread.
Vincent found me there at midnight.
He stood in the doorway, one hand against the frame, watching me knead dough.
“You sleep?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“You should stop getting shot.”
His mouth twitched.
I looked at his leg.
“How bad?”
“Not serious.”
“Show me.”
He stared.
“What?”
“I know basic wound care.”
“I have a doctor.”
“I don't care.”
After a moment, he sat.
I examined the bandage.
The bullet had grazed his thigh.
“I've seen worse.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That's disappointing.”
“You wanted sympathy?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good.”
Silence settled between us.
Then Vincent asked, “Why do you bake?”
I continued kneading.
“My mother taught me.”
“What did she teach you?”
“Everything.”
“Tell me about her.”
I hesitated.
“She was kind.”
He waited.
“She sang while she cooked. She hated thunderstorms. She burned everything except bread.”
He smiled faintly.
“She sounds like someone I remember.”
“You knew her?”
“Briefly.”
I looked at him.
“How briefly?”
“Long enough to know she was trying to protect you.”
I stopped.
“From what?”
“My enemies.”
“Or yours?”
He didn't answer.
That told me everything.
I turned away.
“I'm tired of secrets.”
“So am I.”
He said it with such honesty that I looked back.
Vincent was staring down at his hands.
“My entire life has been built around secrets.”
“What do you want?”
He looked at me.
“The truth.”
“And when you find it?”
“I don't know.”
I placed a fresh loaf on the counter.
“Then perhaps you're not as fearless as everyone says.”
Vincent looked at me for several seconds.
“No.”
“That's a first.”
“I'm afraid of one thing.”
“What?”
“Losing someone again.”
My heart beat faster.
Before I could respond, an alarm sounded.
Vincent stood.
His entire demeanor changed.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“You know I don't listen well.”
He grabbed a gun from the counter.
I crossed my arms.
“You're impossible.”
“So are you.”
Then he disappeared.
Five minutes later, shouting erupted outside.
I heard gunshots.
I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet.
One of Vincent's men burst into the kitchen.
“Mrs. Bennett, you need to go downstairs.”
“Don't call me Mrs. Bennett.”
He blinked.
“Sorry.”
“What happened?”
“They breached the east gate.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Then the kitchen lights died.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Someone grabbed me from behind.
A hand covered my mouth.
I kicked hard.
The attacker cursed.
I bit his hand.
He stumbled backward.
I swung the skillet.
It connected with his head.
He collapsed.
I stared at him.
“Well,” I whispered, “that worked.”
The emergency lights came on.
Vincent stood at the kitchen entrance.
He was breathing hard.
The sight of me standing over the unconscious man stopped him cold.
He rushed toward me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He touched my face.
His hands were trembling.
That frightened me more than the gunfire.
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
“I was attacked in the kitchen.”
His jaw clenched.
“I know.”
He looked at the unconscious man.
Then at me.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes.
“Who sent them?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent knelt beside the attacker.
He searched the man's jacket.
Then he found a symbol stamped into a piece of metal.
A silver crow.
He stood slowly.
Nora entered the room.
“Boss?”
Vincent handed her the object.
Her face went pale.
“No.”
I looked between them.
“What?”
Vincent answered.
“The Crow.”
“What does that mean?”
“For years, I believed the organization had been destroyed.”
“Organization?”
“The people who killed your father.”
I stared at him.
“So they're back?”
“No.”
May you like
He looked at the silver emblem.
“They never left.”
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