Chapter 2 - I Hid the Mafia Boss Inside My Bakery—Then Discovered Someone Had Already Poisoned My FlourI locked the back door.
Vincent leaned against the wall.
His blood was still flowing.
“Sit.”
“I don't need—”
“Sit.”
He stared at me.
Nobody had spoken to him like that in years.
Apparently, he wasn't used to it.
“I'm serious,” I said.
“So am I.”
“Then sit.”
He finally did.
I grabbed the medical kit from beneath the counter.
“Take off your jacket.”
He hesitated.
“I'm not interested in your dignity.”
He removed it.
The bullet had grazed his thigh.
It wasn't deep.
I cleaned the wound.
He barely reacted.
“You've done this before.”
“I burn myself at least twice a week.”
“That isn't what I meant.”
I looked at him.
“Don't ask questions you don't want answered.”
He smiled.
“You really aren't afraid of me.”
“I am.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
“Because you're bleeding on my floor.”
He looked down.
“That's your concern?”
“Do you have any idea how difficult blood is to remove from polished concrete?”
He laughed.
Then he winced.
“You shouldn't laugh.”
“You're funny.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
I finished wrapping his leg.
Then I stood.
“Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To make coffee.”
He stared.
“Coffee?”
“You almost died.”
“Exactly.”
“And I need coffee.”
He shook his head.
“You're unbelievable.”
I walked toward the kitchen.
Then stopped.
Something smelled wrong.
Not burnt.
Not spoiled.
Chemical.
I opened the flour storage cabinet.
The smell became stronger.
I checked the bags.
One was open.
My stomach tightened.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
I held up the bag.
“Don't touch it.”
He stood despite his injury.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
I pulled on gloves.
Inside the flour was a fine gray powder.
Someone had contaminated it.
Vincent's expression became lethal.
“Who has access?”
“My employees.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Names.”
I gave them to him.
He pulled out his phone.
“Don't.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Don't send your men.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever did this knows my bakery.”
He stared at the flour.
“Someone wanted you dead.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I looked toward the back door.
“They wanted me to poison other people.”
Vincent understood.
My bakery supplied bread to several restaurants.
Including two businesses owned by him.
If the contaminated flour had been used, hundreds of people could have been poisoned.
He called someone.
“Shut down every Costello-owned restaurant immediately.”
A voice answered.
“Why?”
“Food contamination.”
The man hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Now.”
Vincent hung up.
I stared at him.
“You believe me.”
“I've learned not to underestimate you.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
Then someone knocked on the front door.
Three times.
Vincent's hand went to his gun.
I froze.
Nobody should have been there.
The bakery was closed.
The sign said CLOSED.
Another knock.
Then a voice.
“Nora?”
My employee, Jamie.
I moved toward the door.
Vincent grabbed my wrist.
“Don't.”
“That's Jamie.”
“Exactly.”
The knock came again.
“Nora, open up.”
I looked at Vincent.
He whispered:
“Ask him something only Jamie knows.”
I nodded.
I called through the door.
“What did we bake this morning?”
Silence.
Then:
“Bread.”
My stomach dropped.
Jamie hated bread.
He was our pastry specialist.
Vincent raised his gun.
The man outside knocked again.
“Open the door, Nora.”
Vincent whispered:
“Back away.”
The front window shattered.
Gunfire ripped through the bakery.
I dropped to the floor.
Vincent fired back.
Then someone shouted from outside:
“Burn the place!”
My heart stopped.
May you like
They weren't here for Vincent anymore.
They were here for me.
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