Chapter 5 - The Night They Burned My Bakery
Sofia survived.
Stress had sent her heart rhythm into chaos, but doctors stabilized her.
Her warning remained unfinished.
Dad had discovered something worse than Gavin.
I would learn what.
First, I lost my bakery.
At 4:32 the next morning, my phone rang.
Luca.
“Maggie, don’t go downstairs.”
I was still inside Vincent’s estate.
“What?”
“Russo’s is on fire.”
I stopped breathing.
By the time we reached my street, flames had swallowed the second floor.
Firefighters worked from three directions.
Neighbors stood beneath umbrellas.
Mrs. Kowalski from the laundromat cried when she saw me.
I stepped toward the building.
Vincent grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“That’s my home.”
“The roof is collapsing.”
“My father—”
“I know.”
Everything was inside.
Dad’s photographs.
Mom’s cake pans.
My first apron.
The pencil marks on the office wall where Dad measured my height until I was eighteen.
People say belongings can be replaced.
They usually say that while standing inside rooms containing their own memories.
I started crying.
Vincent did not tell me to stop.
He simply stood beside me.
The firefighters saved the front brick facade.
Almost nothing else.
Investigators found evidence the fire had been intentionally started.
One message remained spray-painted on the alley wall.
GIVE US THE BOOK.
Not ledger.
Book.
The red recipe book.
The one stolen earlier.
Why burn the bakery for something they already had?
Because maybe they discovered it was incomplete.
Dad had hidden more.
We returned after daylight.
Firefighters allowed me inside briefly.
Water covered the floor.
Ovens twisted.
Display cases shattered.
My entire life smelled like smoke.
I walked toward Dad’s office.
Vincent followed.
“Careful.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Never.”
The desk had partly survived beneath collapsed plaster.
I opened the warped drawer.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
When I was nine, Dad created a hiding place because I kept stealing chocolate chips.
Behind one baseboard.
Childish.
Perfect.
I knelt.
Pulled away charred wood.
There was a metal tube.
Vincent crouched.
“You knew this was here?”
“I knew there used to be candy.”
Inside the tube:
A photograph.
A cassette tape.
And a sealed note.
FOR MAGGIE ONLY. NOT ANTONIO. NOT VINCENT.
Vincent read it.
Then immediately handed it to me.
“You’re not curious?”
“Extremely.”
“But?”
“It says Maggie only.”
I stared.
For a mafia boss, he was irritatingly respectful at strange moments.
I opened the note.
Dad wrote that Antonio Costello was a good man in some ways and terrible in others.
Then:
If you ever meet Vincent, do not judge him only by his father. But do not trust him merely because I trusted Antonio. Make him earn it.
I looked up.
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“Your father remains inconvenient from beyond the grave.”
I continued.
Dad had found proof that Carlo’s betrayal went beyond money.
Carlo arranged Marco Costello’s death.
He intended Gavin to be blamed.
Why?
Because Marco had discovered Carlo’s true project.
A hidden partnership not with Sebastian Vale.
With senior members of the Costello organization itself.
They planned to remove Antonio’s sons one by one and install a controllable figure.
I read the next line.
My blood chilled.
That figure was supposed to be Vincent.
“What?”
Vincent took the letter after I handed it over.
Carlo did not originally want Vincent dead.
He wanted him isolated.
Dependent.
Surrounded by men Carlo controlled.
Marco was too reckless.
Gavin too resentful.
Vincent was disciplined.
Profitable.
Publicly acceptable.
Carlo intended to rule through him.
“Your father figured it out,” I said.
Vincent looked sick.
“How much of my life did Carlo design?”
Then Dad’s final paragraph:
When Antonio learned Carlo was responsible for Marco, he planned to expose him. Carlo staged his death first. Antonio never found him. I did. That is why I was killed.
The cassette tape contained Dad’s last meeting with Carlo.
We found an old player through the fire department office.
Static.
Then Dad’s voice.
“People will know.”
Carlo laughed.
“No, Joseph. People know what powerful men allow them to know.”
“You killed Marco.”
“Marco killed himself the moment he started asking questions.”
“Antonio will destroy you.”
“Antonio is dying.”
Silence.
Then Carlo said something that made Vincent stand.
“When he’s gone, Vincent will inherit exactly what we prepared for him.”
My father answered:
“He’ll find out.”
“No. Vincent trusts Luca.”
Vincent froze.
On tape, Carlo continued:
“And Luca trusts me.”
I looked at Vincent.
Luca’s face went pale.
He had been standing behind us.
“No.”
Vincent slowly turned.
Luca shook his head.
“I didn’t know.”
The tape continued.
Dad:
“The boy thinks you paid his tuition because you loved his mother.”
Carlo:
“I did love my sister.”
“And when you tell Luca who his real father is?”
The room became still.
Luca whispered:
“What?”
On tape, Carlo laughed.
“I won’t. That knowledge would make him difficult to control.”
Luca sat down hard.
Dad’s recording revealed it.
Carlo was not Luca’s uncle.
Carlo was his father.
The man Luca believed was his father had agreed to raise him to protect the family secret.
Luca looked shattered.
Vincent approached.
“Luca.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca stood.
“All these years…”
He punched the wall.
I flinched.
He immediately stopped.
“Sorry.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Carlo placed you beside me intentionally.”
“Yes.”
“Were you reporting to him?”
“No!”
“Think.”
Luca’s face changed.
“He called sometimes.”
“When?”
“Birthdays. Christmas.”
“After his supposed death?”
Luca went pale.
“Yes.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Luca whispered:
“I thought it was somebody from his old legal office checking on me.”
“What did they ask?”
“How you were. Where we traveled. Whether you trusted new people.”
Information.
Small enough not to feel like betrayal.
Enough to track Vincent for years.
Luca sat down.
“I helped him.”
“You didn’t know.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
Vincent looked toward the burned bakery.
“No. But it changes what we do next.”
“What?”
“We stop keeping family secrets.”
That sounded almost noble.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Gavin.
I answered.
“You burned my bakery.”
“No.”
I believed him immediately.
“Carlo?”
“Yes.”
“Why call?”
“Because he lied to both of us.”
Vincent held out his hand.
I put the call on speaker.
Gavin continued.
“He told me Vincent ordered my mother killed.”
Vincent went still.
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“I found her.”
Everyone froze.
“Evelyn is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Gavin’s voice broke for the first time.
“With Carlo.”
Another captive.
Another mother.
“What does he want?”
“The ledger.”
“We have it.”
“No,” Gavin said.
“You have Joseph’s accounting ledger.”
Silence.
“There’s another one.”
“What?”
“Antonio’s.”
Vincent whispered:
“My father kept his own?”
“Yes.”
“And Carlo believes Maggie knows where it is.”
I stared at the ruins of my bakery.
“I don’t.”
Gavin said quietly:
“Then you better figure it out.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo gave me twelve hours.”
“For what?”
Gavin paused.
“To trade Maggie for both our mothers.”
Vincent’s face became terrifyingly still.
I knew his answer before he spoke.
May you like
“No.”
For once, I agreed completely.
