Chapter 9 - Something Dead Behind My Bakery
I vomited in the alley.
Roman held my hair.
Neither of us mentioned the irony.
When I finished, I wiped my mouth.
“I am not closing.”
“Yes, you are.”
I turned.
His expression told me Roman Duca had finally reached the edge of his willingness to follow my rules.
“No.”
“Someone entered your bedroom.”
“Or photographed me through the window.”
“Is that supposed to improve the situation?”
“No.”
“Then you're leaving Providence.”
I stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“Clare—”
“You don't get to turn fear into authority.”
“This isn't about authority.”
“Then stop issuing commands.”
His breathing changed.
He looked away.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“What do you want me to do?”
There.
That was the question.
“Help me do this legally.”
He hated it.
But he nodded.
We upgraded cameras.
Changed locks.
Hired a lawyer.
Preserved every message.
Police took statements.
The health department inspected the bakery voluntarily at my request.
I wanted documentation proving the contamination had been isolated and the business was safe.
Receipts.
Always receipts.
Then online reviews appeared.
Dozens.
Rats.
Food poisoning.
Dirty kitchen.
All posted within hours.
Someone was trying to destroy Bennett's Bakery.
Roman offered money.
I stared.
He immediately said, “Loan?”
“No.”
“Investment?”
“No.”
“Gift?”
“Roman.”
“I was listing categories.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then he did something better.
He bought one cinnamon roll.
At full price.
Sat by the window.
And stayed.
Customers saw him.
Then Sophia came.
Then Lily.
Then regulars.
By noon, the bakery was full.
Not because Roman ordered anyone there.
Because people chose to come.
That evening, my lawyer called.
The fake reviews shared patterns.
Several accounts had previously promoted businesses connected to a public-relations firm.
Vane Strategic.
Celeste's company.
Roman became very still.
“We have her.”
“No,” I said. “We have evidence worth investigating.”
“Same thing.”
“Not remotely.”
Detective Ellis obtained what she needed.
The next morning, she called me.
“The review campaign was purchased.”
“By Celeste?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Then who?”
“A shell company.”
“Owned by?”
“We're working on it.”
Later that night, my camera alerted.
Motion behind the bakery.
I opened the feed.
A man in a hood approached the back door.
He looked directly into the camera.
Then lowered the hood.
Roman leaned over my shoulder.
His entire body went rigid.
May you like
It was Marco.
And he was holding a key.
