Chapter 1 - THE FLOUR
The first thing Maeve heard was Dominic Vale laughing.
The second thing she felt was twenty pounds of flour crashing over her head.
The sack split open above her.
White powder exploded through the bakery like smoke after a bomb.
Maeve gasped as flour filled her hair, coated her eyelashes, slid down the front of her blue dress, and poured into her shoes.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then Dominic shook the empty sack over her one last time.
“There,” he said. “Now you look useful.”
Maeve stared at him.
She was sixteen years old, barely five feet tall, and had been helping her mother in the bakery since sunrise.
Her hands were still red from washing trays.
Her apron carried a small embroidered name her mother had stitched years ago.
MAEVE.
Now even that was buried under white dust.
Around them, three customers stood frozen near the counter.
No one said a word.
Dominic looked at the floor.
Flour covered everything.
He reached into the sink, grabbed an old cleaning cloth, and threw it at Maeve’s feet.
“Clean it up.”
Maeve swallowed.
“My mother will be back in a minute.”
“I didn’t ask where your mother was.”
Dominic stepped closer.
He was forty-seven, dressed in a dark wool coat that probably cost more than the bakery made in a month.
He owned Vale Properties.
Half the block belonged to him.
And according to the notice taped to the bakery window, he was trying to own the other half too.
Maeve’s voice shook.
“You ruined an entire sack.”
Dominic smiled.
“Then maybe you should’ve been more polite when I asked about the rent.”
“I told you I didn’t know anything about it.”
“That sounded rude to me.”
Maeve looked toward the customers.
An older woman immediately looked away.
A delivery driver suddenly became very interested in his phone.
Maeve felt her throat tighten.
Dominic pointed at the mess.
“On your knees.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
His smile disappeared.
“Clean it up, then I’ll buy bread from your mother’s bakery.”
Maeve’s face burned.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
But he was.
Maeve slowly bent down.
Her knees touched the cold tile.
She picked up the cloth.
Flour smeared into paste beneath her trembling fingers.
She wiped once.
Twice.
A tear fell from her cheek and made a small dark circle in the white powder.
Dominic noticed.
“Oh, come on. Don’t cry.”
Maeve pressed her lips together.
“I’m not.”
The bell above the front door rang.
Nobody paid attention at first.
Then the entire bakery went silent.
A man stood in the doorway.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Rain on his shoulders.
A scar running beside his left eyebrow.
Rocco DeLuca had come in for coffee.
Instead, he found Maeve on her knees.
He looked at the flour.
He looked at the cloth.
Then he looked at Dominic.
“Maeve.”
She froze.
Rocco’s voice became quieter.
“Why are you on the floor?”
Dominic turned around.
His expression barely changed.
Maeve tried to stand too fast.
“I’m fine.”
Rocco walked directly past Dominic.
He crouched beside her.
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
He took the cloth out of her hand.
Maeve whispered, “Please don’t make this worse.”
Rocco looked into her red eyes.
“Who did this?”
Dominic answered for her.
“I did.”
Rocco slowly stood.
Dominic lifted his chin.
“She needed to learn some manners.”
Rocco helped Maeve onto her feet.
Then Dominic gave a small shrug.
“She’s only the baker’s daughter.”
Rocco stopped moving.
For the first time since entering the bakery, something cold appeared in his face.
He turned toward Dominic.
May you like
And said four words that made every person in the room step back.
“You should leave now.”
