Chapter 7 - Shadows in the West Loop
The honeymoon phase of our bizarre, high-stakes arrangement didn't last. In the underworld, power vacuums never stay empty for long.
Two nights after the gala, while I was working late in the bakery’s back kitchen prepping dough for the morning shift, the front security buzzer chimed. Thinking it was Lily dropping by after a late study session, I wiped my flour-dusted hands on my apron and walked out to the front shop.
The lights in the showroom were dimmed. Standing by the glass door wasn't Lily.
It was Donata Duca, accompanied by two armed enforcers.
Before I could turn and run toward the back exit, one of the enforcers lunged forward, grabbing my arm and shoving me backward against the display case. The glass rattled violently.
“Playing high-society queen with Roman has made you bold, baker,” Donata hissed, stepping close enough that I could smell her expensive, suffocating perfume. “You think you’re untouchable because he put a ring on your horizon? Roman is weak. He’s distracted by a little girl and a flour-throwing nobody. And tonight, we’re going to teach him what happens when his weaknesses get broken.”
Panic flared in my chest, hot and sharp. I struggled against the enforcer’s grip, but he was twice my size.
“You’re making a massive mistake,” I choked out, my voice tight. “Roman will tear your entire operation apart brick by brick.”
Donata laughed, pulling a small silver switchblade from her designer handbag and flicking the blade open with a sharp click. “Not if there’s nothing left to defend.”
She raised the blade toward the glass of my display case, preparing to smash the heart of everything I had built.
I didn't hesitate. I kicked backward with all my might, catching the enforcer square in the shin with the heel of my work boot. He yelled out in pain and loosened his grip just enough for me to twist free. I lunged across the counter, grabbed a heavy cast-iron cooling tray, and swung it horizontally with the force of five years of kneading heavy dough.
Clang!
The tray caught the second enforcer across the shoulder, sending him crashing into a wooden table.
Before Donata could recover from the shock, the front door blew open off its hinges.
Roman stood in the doorway, his coat half-off, his face pale with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage. Behind him, half a dozen of his elite guards flooded the room like a tidal wave.
In less than ten seconds, Donata’s enforcers were disarmed and pinned facedown to the checkered floor.
Roman didn't look at them. He walked straight past the chaos, his dark eyes locked entirely on me. When he saw the red mark on my arm where the enforcer had grabbed me, a shudder racked his entire frame.
He stopped inches from me, his hands gently framing my face, his thumbs brushing my cheek.
“Clare,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Are you alright?”
I let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline finally ebbing away as I leaned into his touch. “I’m fine, Roman. But your cousin needs a serious lesson in bakery etiquette.”
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Roman turned his head slowly, looking back at Donata, who was being hauled to her feet by two guards. The look Roman gave her made the blood freeze in my veins.
“Get her out of my sight,” Roman commanded quietly. “Send her to the upstate warehouse. She is never to set foot in Chicago again.”
