Chapter 3 - THE MAN WITH THE BLACK-STONE RING
I stood behind the counter holding the phone until the dial tone became unbearable.
Then I hung up.
My hands were shaking.
I hated that.
Fear had always annoyed me.
Not because I didn’t experience it, but because it made everything harder. It made keys difficult to fit into locks. It made thoughts run too fast. It turned perfectly intelligent people into idiots who investigated suspicious noises in basements.
I was not going into a basement.
I was, however, going to call Roman.
Lily’s note sat beneath my palm.
PLEASE DON’T TELL UNCLE ROMAN.
I looked through the window.
The silver SUV was gone.
That decided it.
I reached for Roman’s business card.
Before I could dial, my front door opened.
One of Roman’s guards stepped inside.
The tall one.
The one who had coughed when I accused Roman of staging a hostile takeover of my croissants.
“Ms. Bennett.”
“Do you people have a group calendar for ruining my mornings?”
His face remained serious.
“Mr. Duca asked me to stay nearby.”
That irritated me almost as much as it relieved me.
“He did what?”
“Stay nearby.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a medical condition that prevents him from asking permission?”
The guard considered that.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“What’s your name?”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel, somebody just called me and threatened me.”
His posture changed instantly.
“What did they say?”
I hesitated.
Then I showed him the note.
His face went pale.
That scared me more than the phone call.
“You’re calling Roman.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Daniel did not call.
He hit one button.
Roman answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Daniel looked at me.
I took the phone.
“Your niece gave me a note.”
Silence.
“What note?”
I read it aloud.
Another silence.
This one was colder.
“Clare,” Roman said, “lock the front door.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Now.”
Something in his voice made me obey.
I turned the deadbolt.
“Done.”
“Go into the kitchen.”
“Roman—”
“Please.”
That word stopped me.
Roman Duca did not sound like a man accustomed to saying please.
I went into the kitchen.
Daniel followed.
“Where’s Lily?”
I asked.
“With Sophia.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because six men are currently making sure.”
“Six?”
“Clare.”
“Right. Mafia.”
His voice hardened.
“Do not call it that on an open phone.”
“Oh, sorry. Your extremely legitimate team of six men.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Roman made a sound that might have been frustration.
Or laughter.
I couldn’t tell.
Then his tone changed.
“Tell me everything.”
I told him about the SUV.
The ring.
The call.
When I described the black stone, Roman went silent again.
“You recognize it,” I said.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Clare—”
“You hesitate for exactly two seconds when you lie.”
Daniel stared at me.
“What?”
I said, “He does.”
Roman ignored that.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Then enjoy talking to yourself.”
“Clare.”
“What?”
“Someone knew Lily gave you something less than five minutes after she left.”
The kitchen suddenly felt much smaller.
“That means they were watching.”
“Yes.”
“Or somebody with you told them.”
Daniel’s face changed.
Roman didn’t answer.
There it was.
The thought neither of us wanted.
The danger might not be outside Roman’s family.
It might be inside it.
Roman arrived twelve minutes later.
Not twenty.
Not thirty.
Twelve.
I didn’t ask how many traffic laws had suffered.
He walked through the back entrance wearing the same suit, minus the calm expression.
Two more men followed.
Roman crossed directly to me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did anyone come inside?”
“No.”
“Did you touch anything from the caller?”
“It was a phone call.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Right.”
I stared at him.
“You’re scared.”
“No.”
“Two-second pause.”
His eyes opened.
Daniel abruptly became fascinated by a tray of muffins.
Roman lowered his voice.
“Where is the note?”
I gave it to him.
He read it once.
Then again.
The anger that crossed his face was unlike anything I had seen.
He didn’t shout.
That would have been easier.
Instead, he became completely expressionless.
“What happened to Elena?” I asked.
“Her car went through a guardrail.”
“Where?”
“Lake Shore Drive.”
“Police said accident?”
“Yes.”
“You believed them?”
“I had no reason not to.”
“And now?”
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“Now I do.”
I leaned against the stainless-steel table.
“Why wouldn’t Lily tell you?”
He looked wounded before he could hide it.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I do.”
His eyes sharpened.
“She thinks you’ll kill whoever did it.”
Daniel looked at the ceiling.
Roman said nothing.
“That silence isn’t reassuring.”
“If someone murdered my sister—”
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
I pointed at him.
“You become terrifying before you become useful.”
His voice dropped.
“You think I’m not useful?”
“I think Lily is sixteen, traumatized, and apparently sitting on information about her mother’s death. If she thinks telling you will start a war, she’ll keep protecting you from the truth.”
Roman stared at me.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
I was beginning to suspect this was one of my less healthy personality traits.
Finally he asked, “What do you suggest?”
“Let her talk to somebody who doesn’t command six armed men before breakfast.”
His gaze settled on me.
“No.”
I laughed.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“She trusts you.”
“She met me forty minutes ago.”
“She gave you the note.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It’s more than she’s given anyone else.”
That landed harder than I wanted.
I looked away.
On the prep table sat a batch of cinnamon-roll dough waiting to be shaped.
Normal life.
Butter.
Yeast.
Brown sugar.
Suddenly it felt absurd that those things still existed.
“Saturday,” I said.
Roman frowned.
“She’s already coming for the baking lesson.”
“No.”
“You just said she trusts me.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Convenient.”
“Someone threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“Because of Lily.”
“Probably.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then you stay away from her.”
Something hot rose in me.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“If being near my family puts you in danger, I do.”
“No. You get to warn me. You get to explain. I decide.”
His voice became softer.
“That is not how this works.”
“It is in my bakery.”
For several seconds, we stood nose to nose in a kitchen that smelled like vanilla.
Then Daniel cleared his throat.
“Sir.”
Roman did not look away from me.
“What?”
“We found the SUV.”
That broke the moment.
“Where?”
“Two blocks east.”
“And the driver?”
“Gone.”
Daniel held out his phone.
“There’s something else.”
Roman took it.
His face changed instantly.
“What?” I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
It showed a photograph.
Lily and Roman walking out of my bakery twenty minutes earlier.
Written across the image in red digital text were six words.
THE GIRL SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.
Below that was another photograph.
Me.
Standing behind my bakery window.
And beneath my picture:
SO SHOULD THE BAKER.
Roman looked at Daniel.
“Get Lily.”
Daniel was already moving.
Roman reached for my arm.
“We’re leaving.”
“I have four hundred dinner rolls due at noon.”
“Clare.”
“I’m not abandoning my business because some creep owns a camera.”
“This isn’t a debate.”
“It becomes one when you touch me.”
He released me immediately.
Good.
Then the bakery lights went out.
Every machine stopped.
The refrigeration units died.
The room fell silent.
Outside, brakes screamed.
Daniel shouted from the front.
May you like
Roman shoved me behind him.
A second later, the front window exploded inward.
