Chapter 2
The next morning, I blow in with a wintry wind before five a.m. There’s a bottle of Strega on the countertop, sitting on the ripped scrap of paper that holds the recipe.
“Mr. Rossi?” I call. “Did you leave this here?”
“No, I thought you left it.” He sidles up to Big Bernadette, as I have named the espresso maker, inspired by Royal’s she’s a woman, no? comment. “You got the machine working!”
“Um, sorta.” With a lot of help from a gorgeous customer.
“Soon, we will be printing money! And look,” he holds up the tip jar, “one hundred seventeen dollars, for your college fund.” He beams before disappearing into the back.
“Yay.” I pick the scrap of paper up. “Strazzate.” I try the word out, mimicking Royal’s lilting pronunciation.
If you make me strazzate, Royal said, I will marry you.
I drop the card with a shiver. Somehow, Royal got me a bottle of Strega for the authentic recipe. Either that, or little Italian fairies delivered it.
I bet I’ll get a Royal visit later today. I could make the cookies… and text him? His card is burning a hole in my pocket, but after the morning rush, I have my college class. If I text him, he’ll know when to come.
That’s the plan then. I tuck Royal’s business card back in my pocket where it will keep my phone company until the appointed time. My heart is skipping as I head back to start on a batch of cinnamon rolls.
Royal
The little baker rushes around the small space behind the counter, making espresso and filling orders.
Every so often, I think she’s going to finally look up and see me watching her through the front windows, but she never does.
She’s totally focused on the customer in front of her, giving them one hundred percent of her generous smile.
“You’re watching her again,” Enzo mutters at my back. “It’s been every week for a year. She doesn’t even know it.”
“Does the prey know the hunter?” I murmur absently. I didn’t expect Leah to recognize me yesterday. It had been a year since I last entered her place of work, after all.
Enzo shakes his head. “Enough already.”
When it comes to Leah, I’ll never get enough. She got my gift, but she hasn’t called or texted. Maybe she’s too busy.
Maybe’s she’s afraid.
Enzo takes my silence to mean he can keep blabbing. “Just ask her out. You know she’ll say yes.” He lights a cigarette.
My fingers itch for a cigarette of my own, but I’ve quit. New year, new me. My aunt looked me in the eye as she dealt the cards. This is the year you claim it all.
“I don’t date.”
“Then ask her to fuck.” Enzo blows smoke. “No woman’s turned you down before.” His smirk fades when I turn and he sees my expression. He raises his hands. “No offense.”
I turn back to the bakery. Today, Leah looks tired, but she’s pointed her megawatt smile towards a customer.
When it comes to Leah, I don’t want a date. I don’t want a fuck. I want so much more. “This isn’t about a fuck,” I say. “This is fate.”
Enzo rolls his eyes, but he’s smart enough not to say anything.
They don’t understand, mia zia said. But you do. That’s why I'm the chosen one.
“Your father won’t like it.”
I say nothing. My father’s likes and dislikes don’t matter to me. They haven't for a long time. If La Famiglia thinks they can control me through him, they’re in for a nasty surprise.
Enzo knows this. He tries again, making a show of looking around. “Stefanos has men close by. You know he knows you’re here. He’s watching.”
“So?”
“This is his territory. He’s playing nice, out of respect for your father. But soon, he’ll make a move…” Enzo’s words fade as I turn back to the bakery again. Leah’s forehead is pinched. I’m standing too far away for her to see. Does she know how long I’ve been watching her? Does she sense it?
It’s been a year of watching, waiting, setting up the dominos. Soon, it’ll be time to flick one over and let them all fall.
“Are you listening, Royal?” Enzo says. He’s my second in command, but he knows nothing of the plans I’ve made. No one does.
“No,” I reply. “But I heard you. Stefanos doesn’t like me hanging around.”
Enzo puffs his cigarette more rapidly. “He’ll make a move.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Then it’s time we make ours.”
“Seriously?” Enzo tosses the cigarette into the snow. I’m already striding away.
“Yes. Today,” I tell him. By tonight, I’ll have everything I want. My kingdom, my throne. But every king needs a queen.
This is the year you claim it all. Starting with her.
Leah
This morning is officially a dumpster fire. Nothing goes right. An oven breaks, a timer doesn’t go off and I burn a batch of lemon poppyseed muffins—and of course our best customers are all disappointed that their favorite is out of stock.
The morning rush is more frantic than usual but Mrs. Rossi is doing so poorly, Mr. Rossi has to stay upstairs to help her for half an hour at a time.
Then one of my former friends from high school walks in. I say former because Piper only hung around me because of my popular boyfriend. Until he dumped me.
“Oh, Leah, it’s you,” she says. Her backpack and sweatshirt are both branded with a Princeton logo. “I didn’t realize you still worked here.” She glances at the chalkboard menu. “I’ll have a grande Americano.”
Wrong bougie coffeeshop. I bite my tongue until it pinches to keep from snapping at her. After she pays, I dump regular coffee into a regular sized cup—we only have one size. Most Americans can’t tell a drip coffee from a watered-down espresso.
When I set Piper’s order in front of her, she glances up from her phone. “Are you still in touch with Josh?”
“No.”
“He’s at Empire University now, right?” She shifts her weight, straightening her Princeton backpack.
“I think so.” With his new girlfriend.
“K. See ya.” Piper takes the cup and trots off. I stomp to the back to take out my frustration on the dirty baking bowls soaking in the sink.
Mr. Rossi pops his head into the bakery. “Doing all right, Leah?”
I swallow a sharp response. It’s not Mr. Rossi’s fault he’s had to help his wife all morning and leave me with the morning rush. Nor is it his fault my ex-friend Piper dropped in and made me feel two inches tall.
“All good here.” I force my tone to be light.
“Sei un angelo.” The stress falls from Mr. Rossi’s voice. It takes a toll on him—his wife’s condition. There are dark circles under his eyes but he wears a tired smile. “I haven't forgotten you have class today. Cedella still needs me but I’ll be back down soon, okay?”
“Okay.” I mash my lips into something that’s more smile than frown.
“You making the pink cupcakes?”
“No,” I say warily. “Should I?”
“You always make them for Valentine’s Day.”
Right, it’s almost Valentine’s Day. The worst holiday ever invented by the American candy and greeting card industry.
Last year, my boyfriend dumped me the day before, and stopped by on February fourteenth to pick up coffee for himself and his new girlfriend.
“Pink cupcakes. Right. I’ll get started on those when I get back, okay? ”
“Va bene,” Mr. Rossi says distractedly, and ducks out of the bakery again.
So much for making strazzate today. It’s not like Royal would be back anyway, even if I called him.
Why would he want to?
Happy endings aren’t for a girl like me.
Leah
On the way back from class, my boots are soggy again. I really need to replace them, but I also have to pay my phone bill and rent. Then I have college tuition, which is way more than a hundred and seventeen dollars a credit.
Why am I even bothering with college? At this point it’ll take me seventy-five years to graduate, and several lifetimes to pay off the debt.
When the pale pink store front is in view, I try to shake my sadness. Why am I feeling like this? It's not because I'm single. It's not because I'm working at a bakery. It's because when I add up the pieces of my life, the total sum equals pathetic.
Is this what my life is going to be like?
I'm so caught up in thoughts, I’m almost at the bakery when I realize the Closed sign is flipped and the lights are off, but the door is half cracked.
That's odd. Maybe Mrs. Rossi took a turn for the worse and Mr. Rossi didn't want to have to deal with any customers.
I walk in and carefully close the door behind me so as not to let the heat out. Something crunches under my cheap boots. Glass.
I turn and gasp. The front cases are smashed. Broken glass covers the floor and countertop. Glinting shards coat the remaining cupcakes and muffins. Big Bernadette is lying on her side on the floor, dented. Coffee’s pooled on the floor, looking like black blood.
“Mr. Rossi,” I cry. There’s a faint groan from the kitchen area. I fly over the shattered glass to the back.
Mr. Rossi is crumpled in a corner, surrounded by the pots, pans, and whisks littering the floor. I race through the piles of spilled flour to crouch at his side.
“Leah, he groans. The skin around his eyes is bruised. His cheek is red and swelling. “I tried to call you,” he mumbles through swollen lips. “Tell you not to come in.”
“Easy.” I take his arm gingerly, wincing when he does, and help him sit up. We both stare at the wreckage of the bakery. “What happened?”
“Stefanos came.”
“Stefanos? Who is Stefanos?” Where have I heard that name before?
“Said I owed him.”
“What? I thought you owned the place.”
“Not rent. Protection.”
“Protection,” I repeat. “From whom?”
“From him. Told him I didn’t have the money. They didn't take no for an answer.”
“Shhh,” I murmur, patting his bruised hand. He winces and I feel like an idiot. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you to the hospital and then call the police—”
“No.” Mr. Rossi grabs my hand and squeezes, despite his bruises. “No hospital. No police.”
“But…”
“No. They’re coming back.”
A chill spreads through the pit of my stomach. I ignore it and say briskly, “Let’s get you up and into a chair. I can get you some ice for your head—”