THE HONEY AND RYE BAKER

“Who is Leo?”

Roman’s voice left no room for hesitation. He wasn’t the quiet man who had bought black coffee for a week. He was the boss of the Duca family, and his patience had evaporated.

“He’s an old man,” I said quickly, wiping my hands on my apron to hide their shaking. “Seventies, maybe older. Walks with a cane. Heavy limp on his left side. He comes in every Tuesday for two plain croissants and black tea.”

“And you’re sure that rosary is his?”

“Positive,” I said. “He pays with exact change from a little leather coin pouch. That rosary is always tangled in it. I’ve seen those three cracked beads a dozen times.”

Lily gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. “Why would an old man have my mother’s necklace?”

“He wouldn’t,” Roman said flatly. “Unless he took it from her.”

Roman pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing a number without breaking eye contact with me. “I need an address. Now.”

“I don’t know where he lives,” I interrupted. “He just walks here.”

Roman raised a hand, silencing me as someone answered his call. “Track a burner phone,” he ordered. “The one that just texted Lily’s number. Give me a twenty-block radius around Honey & Rye. Find a man in his seventies, heavy limp, dark coat. Do not touch him. Just find him.”

He hung up and looked at his guard. “Put Lily in the SUV. Lock the doors. Nobody approaches.”

“No!” Lily cried, shrinking back toward me. “I’m not getting in a car! I want to stay with Clare.”

Roman blinked, clearly caught off guard. He looked at me, then at Lily, a complicated knot of emotion flashing across his face. For a man who controlled half the city, he had no idea how to control a terrified sixteen-year-old girl.

“Lily,” Roman said gently. “It’s not safe here.”

“It’s safer than your house,” Lily fired back. “Aunt Sophia had Mom’s phone. Aunt Sophia lives with you!”

The truth of her words hit Roman like a physical blow. He closed his eyes, a muscle feathering in his jaw. She was right. The threat wasn’t just outside; it was inside his own family.

“Fine,” Roman said, his voice gravelly. “You stay with Clare. In the back.”

He signaled his guard. “Lock the front doors. Pull the shades. Clare, take her to the kitchen.”

I didn’t argue. I wrapped an arm around Lily’s trembling shoulders and guided her toward the heavy swinging doors of the prep kitchen. The smell of yeast and vanilla, usually so comforting, now felt suffocatingly small.

I pulled out a stool for her near the massive flour bins.

“Sit,” I said softly. “You’re okay.”

She sat, pulling her knees up to her chest. “He’s going to kill her, Clare.”

“Who?” I asked, pouring her a glass of water. “Leo?”

“No.” Lily looked up at me, her brown eyes welling with tears. “My father.”

I froze, the glass of water midway to the counter. “Your father? Roman told me your father died years ago.”

Lily let out a bitter, jagged laugh. “My uncle lies to protect me. My father isn’t dead. He’s Marcus Vance. And he’s the reason my mother ran.”

The name didn’t mean anything to me, but the sheer terror in Lily’s voice made my stomach turn.

“If Aunt Sophia had the phone,” Lily whispered, “it means she’s been talking to him. She sold us out.”

Before I could process that horrifying accusation, the kitchen door swung open. Roman walked in, his phone pressed to his ear. His face was rigid, carved from stone.

“You’re sure?” Roman said into the phone. “Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and looked at me.

“They found Leo’s apartment,” Roman said. “Four blocks away.”

“Is he there?” I asked.

“No,” Roman replied, stepping closer. “But they found something else. The apartment was completely trashed. Someone got to him before we did.”

Lily let out a small, terrified sob.

“But that’s not the worst part,” Roman continued, his eyes locking onto mine with a dark, terrifying intensity. “My men found a wall covered in photographs. Clare... he wasn't just watching Lily.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper his men had texted him a picture of.