Chapter 5 - THEY CAME FOR THE BAKERYVincent Hale was arrested.
Michael cooperated.
Elena's case reopened.
For several weeks, Claire believed the worst was over.
Then she arrived at the bakery one Monday morning and found red paint across the front windows.
LEAVE PITTSBURGH.
Her stomach dropped.
Roman arrived seven minutes later.
She hadn't called him.
Lily had.
He stared at the damage.
Then at Claire.
“You're closing today.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“This is a threat.”
“Yes.”
“Then you're not opening.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“My name is on the deed.”
His jaw tightened.
“This isn't about ownership.”
“It becomes about ownership when you tell me what I'm doing with my bakery.”
Roman exhaled.
“Security stays.”
“Outside.”
“Inside.”
“Outside.”
“Claire.”
“Roman.”
Lily stood between them.
“You're both exhausting.”
Roman looked at her.
Claire looked at her.
Lily pointed outside.
“Two outside. One in the kitchen pretending to be an employee.”
Claire frowned.
“Can he bake?”
Roman's guard, Anthony, looked alarmed.
Lily smiled.
“He can learn.”
That was how a six-foot-four former Marine spent Monday morning wearing Claire's pink bakery apron.
Customers loved him.
By noon, someone posted his photograph online.
By evening, Claire's bakery had the busiest day in its history.
The attempted intimidation backfired spectacularly.
Then things became serious.
At 6:20 p.m., Claire smelled smoke.
Not from the ovens.
Basement.
“Everyone out!”
Anthony moved instantly.
Customers evacuated.
Smoke filled the back hallway.
Firefighters arrived.
The fire was contained quickly.
Accelerant had been poured near the basement stairs.
Arson.
Claire stood across the street watching firefighters break through part of her wall.
Her bakery.
Everything she had built.
Roman arrived.
Claire didn't cry until she saw him.
Then she hated herself for it.
He approached.
“Claire.”
“My ovens.”
“I know.”
“The new mixer.”
“I know.”
“My grandmother's recipe books were upstairs.”
“Anthony got them.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
Roman pointed.
Anthony stood nearby holding a smoke-stained metal box.
Claire ran to him.
The recipes were safe.
She hugged Anthony.
The huge man looked terrified by affection.
Roman almost smiled.
Then Claire looked at the bakery.
“How long?”
“Fire marshal says several weeks.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Payroll.
Rent.
Suppliers.
Lost orders.
Roman knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I can—”
“No.”
He stopped.
She looked at him.
“I know you can pay for everything.”
“I do.”
“But don't.”
Roman nodded.
“What can I do?”
Claire thought.
“Help me find temporary kitchen space.”
“Done.”
“And don't buy it.”
He almost smiled.
“Understood.”
By morning, Roman found three commercial kitchens.
Claire rented one herself.
Then something unexpected happened.
The community responded.
Customers placed orders.
Local restaurants offered equipment.
A school organized a fundraiser.
An elderly woman brought Claire seventy-three dollars in cash and refused to take it back.
Claire cried in the parking lot.
Roman stood beside her.
“This is what you built.”
She shook her head.
“It's just a bakery.”
“No.”
He looked toward the line of people waiting to help.
“It's somewhere people feel welcome.”
Claire looked at him.
Roman continued.
“Do you understand how rare that is?”
Nobody had ever described her work that way.
She took his hand.
Not because she needed rescuing.
Because she wanted him there.
Then the fire investigator called.
They had identified the arsonist.
Not Vincent.
Not Michael.
Victoria.
Claire stared at Roman.
“That doesn't make sense.”
It didn't.
Because Victoria was under federal protection.
When investigators confronted her, she denied everything.
Then security footage surfaced.
A woman wearing Victoria's coat.
Victoria's hair.
Victoria's car.
But the timestamp revealed something impossible.
Victoria had been with federal investigators at that exact moment.
Someone had deliberately framed her.
And Roman knew only one person with access to Victoria's belongings.
May you like
His mother.
Margaret Duke.
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