Chapter 4 - The tuesday woman
Dante immediately crouched down beside his daughter, his large hands hovering over the stuffed rabbit. He looked at Sophia with a mixture of hope and caution.
“Can I see it, Sophia?” Dante asked gently.
Sophia shook her head and pressed the rabbit against Maya’s leg.
“For Maya,” the little girl said firmly.
Dante’s jaw tightened, a flash of frustration crossing his handsome features. He stood up and took a step back, gesturing for Maya to proceed.
Maya knelt down, her chestnut hair falling over her shoulder. She carefully took the beige rabbit from Sophia’s delicate hands. The stitching on the back was clumsy, done with a bright blue thread that didn't match the worn fabric.
“Do you have a small pair of scissors?” Maya asked.
Dante quickly retrieved a silver letter opener from a nearby desk and handed it to her. Maya carefully slipped the sharp tip under the blue thread, breaking the stitches one by one. Sophia watched intently, her large brown eyes wide with anticipation.
Once the seam was open, Maya reached her fingers into the soft white stuffing. She felt something crisp and folded. Slowly, she pulled out a small, tightly rolled piece of thick, cream-colored paper.
Dante snatched the paper from her hand before she could unfold it. He unrolled it quickly, his eyes scanning the elegant, looping handwriting. Maya watched his face pale, the confident exterior of the powerful man cracking just a fraction.
“What does it say?” Maya asked.
Dante looked up at her, his pale gray eyes completely unreadable.
“It says: ‘The dough needs time to rise in the cold, Maya. Check the oven.’”
Maya frowned. “That makes no sense. I don’t own an oven, just a small, broken stove in my apartment.”
“She isn’t talking about your apartment,” Dante said, his voice dangerously low. “She’s talking about your dream. The bakery.”
Maya’s breath caught in her throat. For the past year, she had been keeping her eye on a small, abandoned storefront in the commercial district. It used to be a bakery, and it still had the large commercial ovens inside. She had told "Elena" all about it during their Tuesday chats, complaining that she could never afford the lease.
“There’s an old place on 4th Street,” Maya said quietly. “I used to walk past it and tell her how perfect it would be. But it’s been empty for years.”
Dante pulled out his cell phone, his large thumb pressing a single button.
“Get the car ready,” Dante barked into the phone. “We’re leaving in two minutes.”
He hung up and looked at Maya. “You’re coming with me.”
“What about Sophia?” Maya asked.
“She stays here with the guards. It’s too dangerous outside.”
The drive to 4th Street was agonizingly fast. The black SUV wove through the bright, sunlit streets of the city. Maya felt a strange, terrifying thrill sitting next to this man. He was intimidating, a known criminal, yet his desperation to find his wife and protect his daughter felt entirely genuine.
The SUV pulled up to the curb outside a brick building with large, dusty glass windows. A faded sign above the door read "Sunrise Pastries."
Dante stepped out first, his tall frame blocking the sun as he scanned the street for any threats. He nodded to his driver, who stayed by the car, before gesturing for Maya to follow him.
The front door of the bakery was locked, secured with a heavy iron padlock. Dante didn't hesitate. He pulled a small, sleek black tool from his pocket and picked the lock in less than ten seconds. The heavy chain fell away with a loud clank.
He pushed the door open, stepping into the dusty, sunlit room. The air smelled stale, filled with floating dust motes. Maya walked in behind him, her eyes wide as she looked at the empty display cases and the beautiful vintage tile floor.
“The ovens are in the back,” Maya whispered.
They walked cautiously through the swinging wooden doors into the large, empty kitchen. Against the far wall sat three massive, stainless-steel commercial ovens.
Dante approached the center oven and grabbed the heavy silver handle. He pulled the door open.
May you like
Inside, sitting perfectly centered on the rusted wire rack, was a large, heavy, cream-colored envelope. Dante reached in and pulled it out. Written on the front, in bold black ink, were just two words.
"For Maya."
