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That was high praise coming from Maria. “These are amazing.”
She smiled. “I agree. Are you going to make Mediterranean bread today?”
“I am.” There were a few recipes that still needed work, and that was one of them. I’d been working on scaling it up. It was one of the things I remembered my grandmother making, but Maria hadn’t made it since my grandmother died. My father had insisted she streamline the menu.
The bread contained spinach, feta, and olives. No matter how much I dried the spinach, the additional water content was still messing with the structure of the bread.
I was determined to conquer the problem, and focusing on bread was a hell of a lot better than thinking about Angelo and why he hadn’t woken me last night.
Before I got started, I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked around the kitchen. I was amazed by the transformation. Fresh paint had brightened it up, and the terra-cotta color I’d chosen made it feel warm and cozy, something my grandmother had been able to do just with her presence.
Everything in the storeroom and office was organized and easy to find. The front of the house was equally impressive. Nick had done an amazing job repairing the tables that had seen better days, installing a new refrigerated case, and painting the walls my grandmother’s favorite shade of turquoise. We’d ordered a new awning that was turquoise and white striped. Nick had said he would put it up today. I was embarrassed by how I’d doubted him. He’d understood my vision perfectly. I might be nervous as fuck about our opening, but at least the place looked good now.
I prayed the people in the neighborhood who remembered the bakery in its glory days would come back and tell their friends and family to come too.
I tensed when the back doorknob rattled, but it was Nick, returning from his errand.
“Good morning,” he said as he pushed the door shut behind him.
“Good morning. I’m so sorry I was late and didn’t answer your text. The Marchesis had some family issues last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”
Nick smiled. “It’s fine. Maria helped me with a few things, and now I just need to see those pictures you had of the old window displays so I can make the pedestals for them. I’m going to finish these lights and get the awning up first.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll get them.”
I stepped into the office and bent down to unlock the safe. I’d put all my grandmother’s old photos in there along with various important records. Opening the safe made me think about the necklace my father had taken from the Romanos. Had Angelo or Lucien learned anything else from it?
I grabbed the pictures Nick needed and headed back into the kitchen. “Here you go.”
He looked through them, smiling as he did so. “I’ll be able to fix these up, no problem.”
He set the photos on the counter and began making a few sketches. I topped off my coffee and considered the issue of my overly moist Mediterranean bread. Before I could start mixing the dough, someone knocked at the front door.
“Are we expecting a delivery?” Maria asked.
“No.” My heart pounded. What if someone had found out about what happened last night? What if the man Angelo and Devil killed last night wasn’t the only one after them? No, if Angelo had any doubt about my safety, he wouldn’t have let himself get so drunk he passed out. He would have been awake to take me to the bakery himself.
When I pushed through the swinging door into the area behind the counter, I saw a man standing at the door. He was maybe five or so years older than me and dressed in a disheveled-looking suit. The scruff on his face indicated he hadn’t shaved that morning. He looked tired, but not the kind of tired that comes from a single night of missed sleep. He looked like he hadn’t slept well for months.
I would have been leery about approaching the door after what had happened the night before, but Six was sitting at one of the tables, sampling one of Maria’s pastries, and I saw Muffin across the street.
“Anyone you know?” I asked Six.
“No, but he’s a cop.”
His words made my stomach drop. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Just do.”
“We’re closed,” I called as I approach the door. The man reached into his jacket, and I tensed. Six’s hand went to his gun, but the man pulled out a thin wallet and flipped it open. It was a badge. Six had called it. He was Boston PD.
Had they found out two men had been killed here last night? Why had I assumed it would be as easy to get away with as Angelo had said? I should’ve woken his hung-over ass and grilled him.
