Chapter 1 - The Mafia Boss Covered in Flour and the Girl Who Made Him Look Human
Before I had known Roman Duca for an hour, I threw a bag of flour at him hard enough to explode across his charcoal suit.
Nobody in my Chicago bakery moved—not his guards, not his aunt, not even me—as I pointed at the most feared Mafia boss in the city and said, “Maybe now you’ll finally understand what no means.”
My name is Clare Bennett, I’m thirty-one, and I own Honey & Rye Bakery.
I’m five-foot-six, slim, permanently exhausted from waking at three-thirty every morning, and far too tired to be intimidated by a man standing in a room that smelled like cinnamon rolls.
Roman looked down at the flour covering his lapels and polished shoes.
“You’re terrible at negotiating.”
“No,” I snapped. “You’re just not used to people rejecting you.”
His aunt Sophia made a suspicious choking sound behind him.
“This is your fault,” I told her.
Sophia looked delighted.
Ten minutes earlier, she had told someone Roman couldn’t attend a family dinner because he was here with his girlfriend.
She had pointed directly at me.
“I was arguing with him,” I said, “because he tried to buy every pastry in my display case so he wouldn’t have to wait in line.”
“I offered to pay for everyone’s orders,” Roman replied.
“They wanted breakfast, not a hostile takeover of my croissants.”
One of his guards coughed into his fist.
Roman looked at him.
The man instantly stopped.
Then Sophia had made the lie worse by insisting I was Roman’s girlfriend, and instead of correcting her, Roman had calmly said, “Three months.”
That was when my patience died.
“Stop calling me your girlfriend.”
“My aunt believes it now.”
“I don’t care.”
“She’ll stop arranging introductions for me.”
“Wonderful. Find another fake girlfriend.”
“I would prefer you.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Because Sophia already believes it.”
“Wrong answer.”
I pointed at the door.
Roman should have left then.
Instead, he placed a business card on my counter.
“I have a proposal.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I’ve heard enough proposals from men who begin by lying about dating me.”
He almost looked amused.
“If you kept up the appearance for three weeks, I would compensate you.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“You want to pay me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?”
“For your time.”
“My time has a price. My dignity doesn’t.”
Then Roman named an amount.
That was when I threw the flour.
The next morning, at 8:15, his black sedan stopped outside again.
“No,” I said before he reached the counter.
“I only want coffee.”
He paid exactly what it cost and left.
He returned the next morning.
And the next.
By the third day, I was ready to point him straight back outside—until I noticed the teenage girl standing beside him.
She looked about sixteen, with dark hair twisted into a messy knot and an oversized gray sweatshirt hanging from her shoulders.
Her expression had that practiced emptiness some teenagers wore when they wanted the world to stop asking questions.
Roman opened the door for her.
Something about him changed immediately.
His shoulders softened.
Even his voice did.
“Clare, this is my niece, Lily.”
Lily looked at me.
“So you’re the famous girlfriend.”
“I am absolutely not.”
For one second, she smiled.
Roman saw it.
And I saw him see it.
The expression that crossed his face wasn’t power, amusement, or calculation.
It was relief.
Suddenly, I understood why Chicago’s most feared man had kept coming back to my bakery, and it had nothing to do with me pretending to be his girlfriend.
I slowly lowered the bag of flour in my hand.
Lily stepped toward the display case and pointed at something behind the glass.
“What’s that?”
“Cinnamon roll.”
She stared at it.
“Does it have raisins?”
“No.”
“Then I want two.”
I smiled.
“Finally, someone in this family has good taste.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
Lily looked between us.
For the first time, she seemed almost normal.
Almost.
I put two cinnamon rolls into a paper bag.
“On the house.”
Roman immediately reached for his wallet.
“No.”
“I'll pay.”
“She said no.”
Lily looked at him.
Roman stopped.
I nearly laughed.
The feared Roman Duca had apparently just been defeated by a sixteen-year-old girl and a bakery owner with flour still stuck to her hair.
But when Lily turned toward the window, I noticed the bruise.
It was faint.
Yellow at the edges.
Almost hidden beneath the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Almost.
Roman saw my eyes move toward it.
His expression changed.
“Lily.”
She immediately pulled her sleeve down.
“I bumped into a door.”
I didn't believe her.
Roman didn't either.
But he didn't challenge her in front of me.
Instead, he said quietly, “We're leaving.”
Lily looked disappointed.
“I just got my cinnamon rolls.”
“You can eat them in the car.”
She looked at me.
“Can I come back tomorrow?”
Roman answered before I could.
“No.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
Clare, don't encourage her.
I leaned against the counter.
“She can come back whenever she wants.”
Roman stared at me.
I stared back.
Then Lily smiled.
That tiny smile mattered more than I understood at the time.
Because the next morning, she came alone.
And she was terrified.
The bell above my bakery door rang at 7:42.
Lily stepped inside wearing the same gray sweatshirt.
She locked the door behind her.
I frowned.
“Lily?”
She looked over her shoulder.
“Is Roman here?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
“Good.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
She walked toward the counter.
Then she whispered, “I need you to promise you won't call him.”
“I can't promise that.”
“You have to.”
“Lily, you're sixteen.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here?”
She reached into her pocket.
Her fingers trembled.
Then she placed a small brass key on the counter.
“I found this in my mother's things.”
I looked at it.
“Your mother?”
Lily's eyes filled with tears.
“My mother told me before she died that if anything ever happened to her, I was supposed to give this to Roman.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because my mother also told me never to trust my uncle.”
I stared at her.
“Which uncle?”
Lily swallowed.
“Roman.”
My heart stopped.
Before I could respond, the bell above the bakery door rang again.
Lily froze.
A man's voice came from the entrance.
“Miss Bennett?”
Not Roman.
I looked toward the door.
Two men in dark coats stood outside.
One of them smiled.
“We need to speak with you.”
Lily grabbed my hand.
“Don't let them take me.”
And that was the moment I realized the fake-girlfriend arrangement had never been Roman's real secret.
May you like
It had been a shield.
And somehow, I had just stepped directly behind it.
Related Stories
