Chapter 5 - The Glass House
For three days, the yellow taxi did not park outside Monroe’s Bakery.
The lien on the property was formally released by the city recorder’s office. The two hundred and fifteen thousand dollar debt was marked as Paid in Full by Vance Development Holdings. Hadley received a certified deed to the building in the mail, clear of all encumbrances.
She had won. Her grandfather's legacy was saved. The bakery was hers, entirely and unconditionally.
Yet, inside the warm shop, the silence was suffocating.
Hadley worked through the nights, making dough she didn't eat, brewing coffee she didn't finish. Every morning at 7:00 a.m., she found herself instinctively looking through the front window, waiting for a yellow sedan that never came.
She hated him for lying to her. She hated the violence that seemed to follow in his wake, the terrifying power he wielded with a single phone call.
But most of all, she hated how empty the world felt without his quiet, storm-gray eyes watching over her.
On Friday evening, as a heavy thunderstorm rattled the glass storefront, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit stepped out, holding a large black umbrella. He walked into the bakery, the front bell chiming softly.
He wasn't Len. He was older, with graying temples and a sharp, disciplined posture.
"Miss Monroe," the man said politely, bowing his head slightly. "My name is Marco. I am Mr. Moretti’s primary chief of security."
Hadley straightened her spine, gripping her wooden rolling pin tightly. "If Lorenzo sent you to intimidate me—"
"Mr. Moretti does not know I am here, Miss Monroe," Marco interrupted gently. "In fact, if he finds out I came to see you, I will likely be reassigned to our shipping yards in Alaska."
Hadley blinked, lowering the rolling pin slightly. "Then why are you here?"
Marco took a deep breath, looking around the small, fragrant bakery. "Because for eighteen months, I watched a man die from the inside out. When Lorenzo's older brother, Matteo, was murdered in front of him, Lorenzo stopped being a human being. He became an engine of vengeance. He didn't sleep, he didn't laugh, he didn't feel."
Marco looked directly into Hadley's eyes.
"And then five weeks ago," Marco continued softly, "he drove a yellow cab onto Michigan Avenue during a thunderstorm. And he brought home a woman who complained about a loan officer named Trevor."
Hadley felt her chest tighten painfully. "He lied to me, Marco."
"He hid his name to protect you, Miss Monroe," Marco countered smoothly. "In our world, a name is a target. If the Vance family or the rival syndicates had known Lorenzo cared for a baker in Lincoln Park, you would have been kidnapped or killed within forty-eight hours."
"He drove a cab," she whispered.
"He drove that cab because it was the only place in the entire state of Illinois where he didn't have to be Lorenzo Moretti, the Mafia Don," Marco said quietly. "Inside that car, for twenty minutes a day, he was just a man listening to a woman talk about oat milk coffee."
Marco reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small silver key attached to a heavy black leather fob. He placed it on the counter.
"He is at his private residence in Gold Coast," Marco said. "He hasn't left his study in three days. He refused his meals. If you want to leave him behind forever, Miss Monroe, throw that key in the trash. The debt is clear. You owe him nothing."
Marco bowed his head once more, turned, and walked back out into the rain.
Hadley stood alone behind the counter, staring at the small silver key resting on the wood.
May you like
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Every logical, sane voice in her head screamed at her to leave the key where it was, to lock her doors, to enjoy her safe, quiet life as a baker.
Instead, she reached out, picked up the key, and walked out into the rain.
