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“You know I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re like a daughter to me.”
Vlad’s voice was scratchy, a sign he was getting emotional. He and Tati didn’t have kids, but I wasn’t sure if it was by choice or not. And ever since he first started working for me, he’d taken me under his wing, saying I needed someone to look out for me while my dad wasn’t there.
I turned to face him and put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I know you can keep me safe.”
The white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel eased. “Then get rid of him.”
“I can’t.” I tightened my hold when he opened his mouth, most likely to protest. “But we can ignore him.”
Vlad cursed under his breath but didn’t continue the argument. He knew me well enough to realize when I couldn’t be swayed.
The restaurant came into view, mostly looking like it always had from the outside. Some of the bricks were slightly darker. But if I didn’t know there had been a fire, I’d think everything was as it should be. Vlad parked, and Pete appeared seemingly out of nowhere, glaring at Vlad, who pointedly ignored him.
We walked around the building and to the front, where a pale guy in an ill-fitting blue suit was waiting for us.
“Miss Lombardo,” he greeted me, holding out a bony hand. His shake was limp and his palm damp. After brief contact, I dropped my hands to my thighs, wiping them under the guise of brushing off my pants.
“Mr. Salter, thanks for meeting us.”
“Of course. It’s always good to get these things over and done with.” He eyed Vlad and Pete, and I introduced them. “This is Vlad, my sous-chef. And Pete.”
Vlad didn’t offer his hand, and neither did Mr. Salter, who was shifting from foot to foot, looking at everything but us. Pete stood next to me, unmoving.
Vlad stomped past the inspector and ripped the door open, nodding inside. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mr. Salter stepped past him, hugging the other side of the door, staying as far away from Vlad as the small entrance allowed. I didn’t blame him. Vlad was being an intimidating asshole.
I slapped his chest as I walked past. “Behave.”
Sniffing, Vlad followed me inside, slamming the door in Pete’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The front of the restaurant didn’t look too bad. We’d still have to replace all the furniture and repaint because of the smoke, but at least the fire hadn’t made it past the kitchen.
But the farther we walked into the space, the worse the damage was, my legs growing heavier and heavier. The kitchen was melted, part of the wall missing, water pooling on the ground.
My eyes burned from unshed tears, my hands curled into tight fists. I didn’t know how I’d repair everything.
“The building has sustained no structural damage, but as you can see, you’ll have to replace that wall.” Mr. Salter pointed to the gaping hole looking out over the restaurant floor. “And, of course, everything in the kitchen needs to go.”
Vlad took my hand in his gigantic paw, offering his support when he knew I needed it most. There were no words that would make me feel better. And I was glad he wasn’t saying them.
Mr. Salter handed me a stack of papers. “Everything that needs to be replaced is detailed in here. But in cases like these, I recommend gutting the whole place.” A white business card joined the stack of papers.
I nearly dropped it, my jerky movements making me look like a robot.
“Call me if you have any questions. You’ll also have to set up a final inspection before you can reopen your business.”
And with that, he left, leaving me amid the chaos that had once been my dream.
Vlad led me to a barstool and poured me a shot of limoncello. “Amara is going to meet us here. She is bringing cleaning supplies. I also organized a dumpster that’ll get dropped off later today. And someone is coming out tomorrow to look at the wall.”
The burn of the limoncello usually helped take my mind off things, but today I didn’t even feel it. “I can’t afford to fix the restaurant.”
Vlad drank his own shot of vodka, then refilled our glasses. “That’s why you have insurance.” He tapped the top of the bar to make sure he had my attention. “Call them.”
“They don’t pay if it was arson.” My voice was high-pitched, and I sounded like I was on the edge of a breakdown. Which I probably was. But so far, the alcohol was doing its job, stopping my brain from short-circuiting.
Vlad stilled, then finished his shot. “They ruled it an accident.”
