Chapter 5 - THE TASTE OF FIRE
"Well, well. Look who moved up in the world," Marcus sneered, his eyes darting around the pristine bakery before settling on me. He looked exactly the same. The same slicked-back hair, the same charming, boyish face that hid a monster. "I've been looking all over the city for you, Rosie."
The air in the room vanished. I couldn't breathe. The trauma response was instantaneous and paralyzing. My vision tunneled. I pulled my hands away from Alessandro, shrinking back into my chair, trying to make myself as small as possible. The confident pastry chef vanished, replaced by the broken girl who used to beg for mercy on a kitchen floor.
"How did you find me?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
"You're sloppy, Rosie. You still use the same Netflix account. Traced the IP," Marcus smirked, stepping fully into the shop. He didn't even seem to notice Alessandro sitting across from me, his back to the door. "You’re coming with me. We have a lot to talk about. You think you can just leave me and block my number? You owe me."
Marcus took a step forward, reaching into his jacket.
He never made a second step.
Alessandro rose from his chair with a terrifying, fluid grace. He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He simply turned around, placing his massive frame between me and Marcus.
Marcus stopped, his arrogant smirk faltering slightly as he took in the bespoke suit and the sheer, intimidating size of the older man. "Who the hell are you? Her new sugar daddy? Back off, old man. This is between me and my girlfriend."
The temperature in the bakery dropped to absolute zero.
Alessandro tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto Marcus with the cold, dead stare of an apex predator looking at a very stupid piece of prey.
"She is not your girlfriend," Alessandro said, his voice a low, lethal purr. "And if you ever refer to her as such again, I will personally ensure you lack the physical capability to speak."
Marcus laughed, a nervous, bravado-fueled sound. "Listen, buddy. You don't know who you're dealing with. Move." He reached out to push Alessandro aside.
It happened so fast I barely registered the movement.
Alessandro’s hand shot out, wrapping around Marcus’s throat with blinding speed. He lifted Marcus—a grown, athletic man—an inch off the floor with one arm. Marcus gasped, his hands flying up to claw desperately at Alessandro’s iron grip. His legs kicked frantically in the air.
"I know exactly who I am dealing with," Alessandro whispered, leaning in close to Marcus’s turning-purple face. "You are Marcus Chen. You are a coward who raises his hands to women. You are a rat who stalks the shadows because you cannot survive in the light. And you have made the fatal mistake of stepping into my line of sight."
"Please," Marcus choked out, his eyes wide with genuine, unadulterated terror. He finally realized this wasn't a fight he could win. This was a man who killed for a living.
"Alessandro," I gasped, finally finding my voice. I stood up, my knees shaking violently. "Stop. Please, you're going to kill him right here."
Alessandro didn't look at me. His eyes remained locked on Marcus, watching the pathetic struggle with clinical detachment. For a second, I truly thought he was going to snap his neck in the middle of my bakery.
Then, the bell above the door chimed wildly as two of Alessandro’s men—the ones from the black SUV—burst into the room, their weapons drawn.
"Boss," the taller one said, assessing the situation instantly.
Alessandro held Marcus for three more seconds, letting the fear completely saturate the younger man's soul. Then, he dropped him.
Marcus collapsed onto the floor, gasping and coughing violently, scrambling backward like a terrified crab.
Alessandro stepped over him, looking down with supreme disgust. "Take out the trash," he ordered his men. "Ensure Mr. Chen understands that if he ever sets foot within the city limits of Boston again, he will not leave them alive. Explain it to him... thoroughly."
"Yes, sir."
The two massive guards grabbed Marcus by the arms, dragging the sobbing, pleading abuser out the door and into the rain.
The bakery fell silent again.
Alessandro turned back to me. The lethal, terrifying mafia boss vanished, replaced instantly by a look of profound, agonizing concern. He crossed the space between us in two strides, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tightly against his chest.
I broke.
I buried my face in his expensive suit, sobbing uncontrollably. The terror, the relief, the adrenaline—it all poured out of me in violent, shuddering waves. Alessandro held me, one hand rubbing soothing circles into my back, the other pressing my head against his heart.
May you like
"I have you," he murmured into my hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. "He is gone, Roslyn. He is a ghost. He will never touch you again. I swear it on my life."
I clung to him, inhaling the scent of cedar and rain and danger. He was a monster to the rest of the world. But right now, standing in my bakery, he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
