Chapter 13
The morning sun broke through the gray clouds, casting a harsh, unforgiving light over the city. Inside the Russo estate, the atmosphere was strictly business. Maya had barely slept, jolting awake at every sound. When she finally emerged from the bedroom, holding a quiet, deeply anxious Sophia by the hand, Dante was already waiting in the grand foyer.
He was dressed in a dark tactical jacket and jeans, shedding the tailored charcoal suit for something far more utilitarian and threatening. His pale gray eyes analyzed Maya’s pale face and the dark circles under her eyes, but he offered no comfort.
"The car is waiting," Dante said, his voice flat and authoritative.
They walked out to the portico, where the armored black SUV was idling. Two massive guards stood by the doors, their eyes scanning the perimeter with lethal intensity. Maya lifted Sophia into the leather car seat, buckling her securely. The little girl clung to Maya’s hand, refusing to look at her father.
Dante climbed into the front passenger seat, leaving Maya alone in the back with Sophia. As the SUV pulled out of the estate gates and headed toward Brooklyn, the silence in the cabin was suffocating.
"Mr. Russo," Maya finally spoke, keeping her voice low so as not to startle Sophia. "What are we going to do when we get to the bakery?"
"We are going to ask Mr. and Mrs. Rossi a few questions," Dante replied without turning around. His tone was chillingly calm. "If they answer them honestly, we leave. If they lie to me, I will burn their shop to the ground."
Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs. "You can't do that. They are innocent people."
"Innocent people don't pass coded messages to traumatized children," Dante countered sharply, his voice laced with suppressed rage. "Someone used that bakery to communicate. That means the Rossi family is involved, either willingly or under duress. I will find out which."
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Maya looked down at Sophia, who was staring blankly out the tinted window. The child’s silence was a heavy, agonizing weight. Maya squeezed her hand gently, praying that the elderly couple she had admired for years wouldn't end up as collateral damage in Dante Russo’s war.
The SUV navigated the busy streets of Brooklyn, finally pulling onto the quiet, tree-lined avenue where Sweet Haven Bakery stood. The familiar storefront, with its faded striped awning and display of fresh pastries, looked exactly as it always did. But today, it felt like a trap.
