Chapter 4 - The Bakery on 4th StreetAt 6:00 AM the following morning, the crisp winter air of 4th Street in Queens was filled with the sweet, warm smell of baking bread.
I stood behind the glass counter of Novak's Bakery, wearing my plain white apron, wiping down the display cases. My hands were red and raw from the cold water, but my heart felt lighter than it had in four years. Every time I thought about Rosie's radiant smile when she put on those red shoes, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest.
RING-RING.
The brass bell above the bakery door chimed as the heavy door swung open.
I looked up, expecting the usual morning crowd of local dockworkers or office clerks.
Instead, three tall men in tailored dark suits stepped into the small shop. Standing in the center, wearing a long charcoal cashmere coat, his dark hair brushed back, was Dominic Moretti.
The elderly bakery owner, Mr. Novak, dropped his wooden flour scoop in surprise, staring at the imposing figure standing in his small shop.
"Mr... Mr. Moretti?" Mr. Novak stammered, his jaw hanging open.
Dominic paid no attention to the owner. His storm-gray eyes locked onto mine, searching my pale face with a quiet, intense focus.
"Good morning, Clara," Dominic spoke softly, his deep voice filling the cozy bakery.
"Mr. Moretti," I gasped, my hands freezing against the glass counter. "What... what are you doing here?"
Dominic walked slowly up to the counter, setting a small leather box and a warm paper cup of gourmet coffee onto the wood in front of me.
"I brought you coffee," Dominic said smoothly. "And I came to ask if you and Rosie would do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight."
I stared at him, my mind spinning. "Dinner? Sir, I... I have a shift until four, and then I have to pick up Rosie from daycare—"
Dominic turned his head slightly toward Mr. Novak. "Mr. Novak, I am purchasing this bakery's entire daily inventory today. And Mrs. Vance is taking the rest of the month off with full pay."
Mr. Novak blinked, then nodded frantically. "Yes, sir! Of course, Mr. Moretti! Clara, go! Take the month!"
"Mr. Moretti, please!" I whispered, my face flushing red. "You can't just buy out a bakery because you want to talk to me!"
Dominic leaned slightly across the counter, his storm-gray eyes burning with an intensity that made my heart race wildly against my ribs.
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"I didn't buy out the bakery to talk to you, Clara," Dominic murmured, his voice dropping into a velvet whisper meant only for me. "I bought out the bakery so you could rest. You've been carrying the world on your shoulders for four years. Let someone else carry it for a while."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes once more. I looked into the face of New York's most feared man and saw zero cruelty—only an unbroken, fiercely protective honor that made me feel safe for the first time in my adult life.
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