Chapter 6 - Christmas Eve Dawn
The sun rose over Boston on December 24th like a spotlight shining across an arctic wasteland. The storm had passed, leaving behind three feet of pristine, blinding white snow that blanketed Beacon Hill, burying cars up to their windows and silencing the city in a cathedral-like hush.
I woke up in the guest suite of the carriage house, wrapped in silk sheets and heavy down comforters, the scent of fresh-brewed Kona coffee and cinnamon drifting up the staircase.
When I came down to the kitchen wearing my laundered apron and a pair of wool trousers Nico had provided, I found him standing by the marble island, reviewing a tablet in one hand while holding a steaming mug in the other.
"Morning, Clara," he said, looking up. His dark eyes swept over me with an expression of quiet appreciation that made my stomach flutter. "Sleep well?"
"Like I was actually safe for the first time in my life," I admitted, taking the mug he offered. "What’s the status?"
Nico tapped the screen of his tablet. "At 8:00 AM, my corporate counsel filed formal criminal charges against Julian Cross and Brenda Mercer for corporate fraud, embezzlement, and falsification of federal tax documents. At 8:15 AM, the Boston Police Department executed a warrant on Julian’s Back Bay apartment."
I stared at him over the rim of my mug. "You didn't waste any time."
"Time is the only commodity you can't buy back, Clara," Nico said smoothly, walking around the island to stand right in front of me. "Furthermore, the commercial lease for Winter & Rye has been officially transferred to your sole ownership, free and clear of all previous encumbrances, debt, or management oversight."
I dropped my mug onto the counter, spilling a drop of coffee. "My... my ownership? Nico, I don't have the capital to buy a bakery in Beacon Hill."
"You didn't buy it," Nico said, reaching out to gently cup my face in his warm, strong hands, his thumbs sweeping across my cheekbones. "I bought it. And I am formally appointing you as the sole executive director and majority shareholder, with a guaranteed operating budget for the next five years."
"I can't accept that," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It's worth millions—"
"Shh," Nico whispered, pressing his thumb gently against my lips to silence me. "For twenty-eight years, people have taken your labor, your kindness, and your patience without giving you what you deserve. This isn't charity, Clara. This is an investment in a woman who built an empire of joy out of flour and sugar while everyone else around her took her for granted."
Before I could answer, my cell phone—which had been sitting silently on the kitchen counter—suddenly began to ring with a shrill, frantic vibration.
I looked down at the screen.
Mom calling.
I froze.
May you like
Nico looked down at the screen as well. A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his chiseled features, but his grip on my face remained steady and reassuring.
"Answer it," Nico murmured softly. "Let her hear what a mistake looks like."
