Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Cellar
The footsteps above paused, lingering directly over the wooden cellar hatch. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her shoulders against the damp brick foundation, holding the heavy oilcloth package tightly against her chest as if it could shield her.
A soft, metallic click echoed down the flight of wooden stairs as the basement door swung open. A beam of warm light spilled down the steps, cutting through the heavy dust floating in the air.
"Clara?" a deep, smooth voice called down into the quiet darkness. "You really should consider installing a proper deadbolt on your back alley door. Boston is far too full of ambitious men who don't knock."
It was Roman.
Clara let out a long, shuddering breath, stepping into the beam of light at the bottom of the wooden stairs. She kept the heavy ledger hidden behind her apron folds. "You are trespassing, Mr. Valenti."
Roman descended the stairs slowly, his polished leather dress shoes making a steady, deliberate sound against the worn steps. He took in her flour-dusted clothes, her pale, terrified face, and the dark, open hole in the brick foundation where the brick had been pulled free.
"I spotted the light flickering through the sidewalk grate from my car," Roman said, stopping three paces away. "And I knew you were far too stubborn to be sleeping at two in the morning."
His gray eyes drifted down to her hands. He didn't demand the book. He didn't reach into his coat for a weapon. He simply stood there in the damp chill of the basement, observing her with a quiet, motionless stillness.
"Your father was a remarkably clever man, Clara," Roman said softly. "When my father attempted to squeeze him for protection money twenty years ago, Thomas realized that the only real leverage a normal man has against wolves is knowing where those wolves bury their skeletons."
"He was trying to protect us," Clara whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "He never wanted any part of your violent world."
"I know he didn't," Roman replied quietly. "Which is precisely why I am standing in your basement at two in the morning. The Southie crews have finally figured out that this ledger exists. They know your father hid it somewhere inside this building before his heart gave out. They aren't coming to buy your bakery, Clara. They are planning to burn this entire block to the ground with you and your niece upstairs so that no prosecutor ever gets a chance to read what is written inside those pages."
May you like
Clara looked into his silver-gray eyes, searching for a trace of deceit, but found only a cold, uncompromising truth. "And what about you, Roman? What do you want?"
"I want to make sure you survive to bake my sourdough tomorrow morning," he stated simply. "Give me the book, Clara. Let me deal with the wolves."
