8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Ronan
I should’ve learned to take no for an answer. Instead, I was walking into a bakery for the third time this week. The bell ringing and the familiar scent of vanilla made my mouth water. There was a line of customers separating me from the counter, and I stuffed my hands into my pockets and waited.
Nellie’s friend flitted between the cases, packing boxes with intricately decorated cupcakes and offering each customer an even sweeter smile before they left. I watched some of them take their boxes and walk toward the door with an extra bounce in their step while others found a table, barely waiting until they were seated to dig into the frosting. They all looked excited, like they were familiar, and I couldn’t fathom how the shop wasn’t able to stay afloat.
When it was my turn, I approached the counter. She smiled, starting her spiel before she looked up from the register. “Welcome to Sugar & Spice! Are you here to treat yourself with something—” Then, she saw me. “Oh, it’s you.”
“It’s me,” I agreed with a slight shrug . Judging by the way she straightened her back and puffed out her chest, I assumed she was the one behind the spicy moniker. “Whatever that means.”
Ava cleared her throat, replacing the customer service smile on her face. It looked more forced, almost scared. “Sorry, that was rude of me. What can I do for you?” She blushed, and her hands twitched against the counter. When she swallowed, she looked almost threatened. Was she more scared than she was letting on?
“I’d like to talk to Nellie.” I looked over her shoulder toward the back of the bakery, trying to steal a glance of her.
She shook her head. “She’s not here.”
“Where is she?” I asked, and Ava leaned back slightly. She narrowed her eyes, glaring suspiciously for a second and pursing her lips like she was stuck in a deep thought.
“I shouldn’t tell you that,” she finally said, reaching for one of the cupcake boxes. I knew there was a line of people starting to form behind me—I had heard the bell ring more than once. It wouldn’t be long before Ava was telling me I needed to buy something or get out. I needed to talk to Nellie.
I lowered my voice, leaning forward so only she could hear me. “But you’re going to.”
“That depends.” Ava shrugged, opening the cupcake case.
“On?” I took a slow deep breath, clenching my hand into a fist in my pocket to stay calm. I could feel my heartrate increasing with my growing frustration—it was that short fuse I was often accused of having.
She reached in, grabbing a chocolate cupcake with bright pink frosting piled on top and what looked like white and green glitter. She put the cupcake into the box. “Are you going to hurt her?”
“I want to help her,” I said while she reached into the case for a different cupcake—one with bright green frosting. I bit back a scowl.
Ava put the cupcake in the box next to the pink one, shaking her head. “That didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.” I groaned when she grabbed another cupcake. “Make the last three the wedding cake.”
“Fine,” she said, reaching into the case. She placed the last few cupcakes in the box, folding the lid shut and sliding it to me across the counter. “I’m not going to tell you where she is, though. Your total is thirty-five dollars and sixty-three cents…before tip.”
There was no way I was going to keep going into the bakery and buying cupcakes I didn’t want to eat but was eating far too many of. Even the one with the green frosting had been delicious—who would’ve thought to put mint frosting with vanilla?
I scrolled through the list of places Nellie had run her card at over the past week, hoping to find one that would tell me where she was when she wasn’t covered in flour. So far, it was a bunch of basics: the grocery store, some supply store, and a bar called Dan’s Pub.
“Earth to Ronan. Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Giaco said, snapping his fingers. I clicked to minimize the screen, drawing my focus back to my now angry brother.
I nodded. “Aren’t I always?”
“Is that a serious question?” He wasn’t amused, and he was even less so when Enzo chortled next to me. “Some days, you’re on it, and some days, you’re off in your own little world thinking about who knows what. What are you over there looking at?”
Shaking my head, I scoffed. “Nothing. Are you saying something important or not?”
Giaco’s face grew redder, and the lines in his forehead and next to his eyes got deeper. Since he took over as the head of the family business, he has looked older than his forty-two years. I stood, putting my hands up and preparing to offer him a truce before he started to yell. As much as I loved to rile my brother up, I didn’t have time for the aftershock that followed.
“You’re in for it now,” Enzo said, confirming my exact thought.
Before I could diffuse the situation, Giaco’s phone rang, and his attention snapped to his pocket. “Yes,” he said, hitting the button on the screen. I couldn’t make out who it was, just semi-frantic mumbling that had to be bad news based on the shade of red that colored Giaco’s face. “ Marone! ” he yelled, hanging up and shoving the phone in his pocket. He was seething, and his chest heaved with each angry breath.
“What was that?” I asked when he didn’t automatically fill us in. Enzo puffed his chest out, ready for a fight we knew nothing about. If there even was one.
Giaco huffed. “Someone set one of the cars on fire. It’s burning outside of the old warehouse off Commercial Street. Elliott called it in. He said the fire department was headed over there already.”
“ Cazzo ! Son of a bitch!” Enzo yelled. He slammed his fist against Giaco’s desk, earning a scowl. I cocked my head to the side, slightly confused by his outburst. “Someone set one of our cars on fire. Our cars. You know what that means?” He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flicking it and igniting the tip.
I chuckled, and Giaco pinched his nose between his thumb and finger. “You’re not lighting anything… or anyone on fire, you fucking pyromaniac.”
“Yet.” Enzo smirked, blowing the fire out. “But I make no promises.”
He shoved the lighter back in his pocket, and a laugh burst from my chest. “You’re insane,” I chuckled, grabbing his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re on our side. Jesus.”
Enzo wiggled his eyebrows, a sinister smile stretching his cheeks, and Giaco groaned. “Don’t start any shit I’m going to have to finish. I mean it,” he demanded coolly. Enzo rolled his eyes but finally nodded, knowing Giaco wasn’t going to release his glaring hold on him until he did. “We need to get down there before someone else beats us to it.”
Smoke was still rolling off the car when we pulled up, and the flashing red and blue lights from the emergency responders reflected off the burnt black paint. “Fucking hell,” Giaco grumbled in clear annoyance. There wasn’t much he liked less than a heavy police presence around the business. Understandably, though. The police weren’t a huge fan of our family. “What a cluster fuck.”
He continued to curse under his breath while he climbed out of the car, and Enzo practically vibrated when he threw open the door to the back seat. He bounced from one foot to the other like a child who couldn’t wait to get somewhere exciting, but his face was cool and collected when he scanned the area. Enzo was explosive—always ready to cause a ruckus, but terrifyingly calm to anyone on the outside.
“I’m going to go sniff around,” he said, strolling casually away from us and into the crowd of emergency workers. He meant it literally and figuratively. I knew Enzo would come back knowing more about what started the fire than the fire chief himself did, but he’d also have likely heard something helpful in addition. He was quiet and easily stayed in the shadow. Most of the time, people didn’t know he was there until he already had the information he wanted.
He was barely out of sight before we heard the steps behind us. “You guys made it,” Elliott Black said, reaching his hand out to Giaco. “Though not preferred circumstances. It could always be worse.”
Elliott had been there for our family through much worse than a car fire, including a laundry list of crimes we all managed to get away with scot-free. He was one of the best criminal lawyers in Boston, and we had him exclusively on retainer. Seeing Elliott was usually bad news and a relief all in one—today, it felt like more of the former.
“Could be,” Giaco said, shaking his hand and grunting. “What do you know?”
“I heard one of the police talking about having seen Luca Cassidy and that friend of his, Elijah Ashford, hanging around here recently. Word has it they’ve been spending time over at The Full Spread too.” He shrugged, checking briefly over his shoulder, as if to make sure nobody behind him overheard. Then, he nodded at a group of men in suits taking turns glancing our way. “I’m not the only one who has gotten that word. The FBI is poking around. You guys need to watch your back.”
I nodded. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Elliott.”
“That’s not how they’ll see it.” He cleared his throat with a quiet cough. “This is a clear statement from the Cassidys. We already know how well the Irish and Italians in this area get along. Do what you can to not make it worse, huh?”
“I’ve got it under control, Black.” Giaco skipped to using his last name—a usual sign that he was done listening to what he had to say. Elliott nodded, knowing better than to continue pushing. “But I’m not going to allow an attack on my business. Or on my family.”
Elliott opened his mouth to respond, closing it again when one of the men in a suit approached us. “You must be the infamous Moretti brothers,” he said with a half-forced, friendly chuckle.
“We are,” I said, fixing the cuff on my jacket. Neither of us moved to take his outstretched hand. “And you are…?”
“Detective Nelson Stanton.” He paused, putting his hands up in faux surrender when he realized we weren’t shaking it. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. I’m not here to cause any issues for you.”
Giaco narrowed his eyes in a way I knew mirrored my own, clearly skeptical of Detective Stanton. Every cop wanted to take down the head of the Moretti family. I had no doubt this one was the same.
“What can we do for you, Detective?” I asked, and he relaxed, dropping his shoulders.
He gestured vaguely behind him at the crowd of officers and firemen who seemed to outnumber what was really needed for the smoking car. The fire was out completely, but the flashing lights still illuminated more of the street as the evening dusk settled over Boston. “It appears we’ve got a bit of a problem here. Cars don’t just explode on a quiet street on a Sunday.” He laughed, like he was trying to convince us we were old friends, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It never did me any favors when I did. “Do you know what happened?”
“You just watched us pull up five minutes ago,” Giaco snapped. “What makes you think we have any more idea about this disaster than you do? Judging by the size of the crowd of your buddies over there, you have been here a lot longer than we have.”
I smiled at Detective Stanton and clapped my hands together once, folding my fingers. “Listen. I think what my brother is trying to say is that you have all the resources needed to find out who did this and why. So do it.”
“Sure,” Stanton laughed, “but it would be so much faster if you helped us out. I know there’s some tension between you and the Cassidys. Do you think they’re sending you a message?”
“You sign your messages, don’t you?” Giaco glared at him until he shrugged a single shoulder. “With all due respect, Detective, if they were sending a message, don’t you think they’d sign it too?”
Stanton looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was considering the angle. Then, he rocked his head side to side. “I think we both know you clearly know something about it. Something you could share with us that would make this whole thing a lot easier.” He glanced behind him at the security cameras hanging on the side of the building—the ones we would be checking later.
“As much as we’d love to make your search easier, we don’t know anything. That would still be your job, right?” I winked at him like he was an old friend, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
I stepped past him in the direction of the car, and the detective chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” he said, staying where he stood. “Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”