Part 4
Chapter 4
I snatched the phone, my fingers leaving white chalky smudges across the glass. I dialed the single speed-touch icon marked with an anchor, speaking before the receiver even finished its first click.
"Matteo is pinned at the bakery on Elm," I said clearly, surprised by the steady timbre of my own voice. "Sergio brought four men and surrounded the front and rear exits."
A rough voice responded instantly on the line. "Hold the kitchen line for five minutes, ma'am. We are three blocks out, cutting through the old transit terminal right now."
Matteo drew a heavy breath, loosening the top button of his tailored vest. "Emily, take Sofia down to the basement flour cellar. The iron door locks from the inside with a slide bolt."
"I am not hiding like a frightened child," Sofia declared, her chin lifting with sudden defiance. "Grandmother Isabella gave this letter to Aunt Emily's mother for me to read, too. I stay."
Sergio took another deliberate step forward, pulling a slender silver fountain pen from his breast pocket. "A brave girl, just like her fallen father. Sign the release, Emily, and everyone walks away intact."
"You killed my brother," Matteo whispered, the truth suddenly clicking into place with horrific clarity. "You orchestrated the accident on the highway two years ago so you could claim Sofia's guardianship."
Sergio did not deny the accusation; he merely adjusted his cuffs with meticulous care. "Your brother was weak, Matteo. He wanted to liquidate the shipping terminals and turn everything into suburban community parks."
The betrayal hung thick in the warm bakery air, smelling of yeast and copper. Sofia let out a strangled sob, realizing her father's death had been cold corporate murder masked as bad weather.
"You won't touch a single brick of this city," Matteo snarled, lunging forward before Sergio's bodyguard could clear the doorframe. The impact threw both men against the stainless steel preparation table with immense force.
Baking trays clattered to the floor, spilling powdered sugar across the linoleum. Sergio's henchman reached into his coat, but I swung the maple rolling pin with every ounce of strength in my arms.
The solid wood connected squarely with his wrist with a sharp crack. The weapon dropped, skittering across the tile, and Sofia immediately kicked it beneath the heavy three-deck stone oven out of reach.
"Nice swing, cousin," Sofia breathed, adrenaline flushing her young cheeks with fierce color. It was the first time she had ever used that word, and the warmth of it anchored me completely.
Matteo pinned Sergio against the brick archway, his hand gripping the elder's throat with controlled fury. "Fifty years of lies end this morning on Elm Street. You are finished in this family."
Sirens began wailing in the distance, their sharp cries cutting through the dawn stillness. Headlights swept across the front window, followed by the screeching halt of three heavy black executive utility trucks.
Marco burst through the shattered front entrance, flanked by four disciplined men in dark coats. "Area is contained, boss. The municipal authorities are diverted to the perimeter as requested by the district attorneys."
Matteo did not release his hold immediately; his knuckles remained white against Sergio's collar. "Take him to the harbor warehouse cellar. He will answer for my brother's murder before the full council tonight."
Marco nodded once, disarming the remaining bodyguard with fluid efficiency before dragging Sergio outward. The elder looked back at me once, his eyes burning with silent, defeated venom before the door swung shut.
Silence descended upon the flour-dusted room, broken only by Sofia's ragged breathing and the refrigerator hum. The sun was finally rising, casting golden beams through the shattered glass across our battered kitchen floor.
Matteo slowly turned toward me, his expensive wool coat torn at the shoulder seam. He looked exhausted, yet the darkness that had shadowed his brow for days seemed completely washed clean away.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, taking a tentative step toward where Sofia and I stood together. The terrifying mafia boss looked entirely humble under the warm yellow morning work lamps of my bakery.
"I just broke an heirloom rolling pin over a mobster's wrist," I answered, letting out a wild, breathless laugh. "My mother would probably scold me for wasting good hardwood on cheap scum."
Sofia wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face into my flour-dusted apron. "Thank you for not running away, Emily. Everyone always runs away when Uncle Matteo's world catches fire around them."
"I have five batches of brioche that need shaping before eight," I muttered against her hair. "Bakers do not have the luxury of running away from work or family, kiddo."
May you like
Matteo stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a smear of white powder from my cheekbone. His touch was warm, surprisingly calloused for a man who signed million-dollar contracts for a living.
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