Chapter 3 - flour and gunpowder
Sophia stared at the white bakery box sitting on the polished mahogany kitchen island inside the estate's vast commercial kitchen. Morning light flooded through the tall windows, illuminating copper pots, industrial steel ovens, and rows of pristine granite countertops.
It was six in the morning. Unable to sleep after the shocking events of the wedding night, Sophia had done the only thing that brought her comfort: she had put on a clean white apron over her pale-yellow dress, rolled up her sleeves, and started baking.
The scent of warm vanilla, roasted pecans, and toasted cinnamon filled the sprawling kitchen, softening the cold, military atmosphere of the Moretti estate.
A quiet footstep echoed at the doorway. Sophia turned to see Luca standing in the frame. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his open-collar black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his broad, tattooed forearms. He looked larger than life against the doorway, his dark hair messy from sleep, his light stubble catching the morning sun.
He paused, sniffing the air in quiet surprise. "You're... baking?"
Sophia smiled, dusting flour from her hands onto her apron. "It's what I do when I'm stressed, Mr. Moretti. Or... Luca."
Luca walked slowly into the kitchen, his heavy footsteps silent. He looked at the three dozen freshly baked cinnamon brioche rolls resting on wire cooling racks. "You don't need to cook here, Sophia. We have a full staff."
"I like cooking," she replied softly, picking up a warm roll and setting it on a small plate. She offered it to him. "And you look like a man who forgets to eat breakfast."
Luca hesitated, looking at the small plate held out by her delicate hands. Taking it from her, his fingers briefly brushed against hers, making a surge of warmth rush up Sophia's arm. He took a bite of the pastry. His eyes widened slightly in genuine appreciation.
"It's incredible," Luca admitted, his rumbling voice carrying a rare tone of warmth.
Before Sophia could answer, Marco stepped briskly into the kitchen, his face grim. "Boss. We have a problem at the northern shipping yards. One of our main flour and grain supply trucks was intercepted and torched at three in the morning."
Luca’s expression hardened instantly into cold steel. "Who did it?"
"The local crew left a signature," Marco said, glancing nervously toward Sophia. "They used fuel containers stamped with the logo of Bennett Family Wholesale—your father's company, Sophia."
May you like
Sophia dropped the wooden spoon she was holding, the utensil clattering loudly against the granite floor. "What? My father runs a small neighborhood bakery supplier! He doesn't even own commercial fuel!"
Luca looked at his new bride, his sharp eyes analyzing her reaction with terrifying intensity. "Marco... bring Arthur Bennett here. Now."
