Chapter 1 - The Kiss That Started a War
I KISSED THE MAFIA BOSS IN FRONT OF THIRTY DINNER GUESTS—BECAUSE MY HUSBAND WAS WALKING STRAIGHT TOWARD ME, AND I KNEW WHAT HE WOULD DO IF HE CAUGHT ME. BUT WHEN THE MAFIA BOSS HEARD WHY I WAS RUNNING, HE WOULDN'T LET ME GO.
The first time I kissed Lorenzo DeMarco, three men reached inside their jackets.
The second thing I did was apologize.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered against his cheek. “Please, just pretend you know me.”
He didn't move.
He was sitting in a red leather booth, wearing a black suit with his collar open. Dark tattoos climbed his neck and covered the hand resting beside his whiskey.
One of his bodyguards stepped forward.
Lorenzo raised two fingers.
The man stopped.
Then Lorenzo looked at me.
“Who are you?”
“Rebecca.”
“Rebecca what?”
“Rebecca Hayes.”
His eyes moved to my trembling hands.
“Rebecca Hayes, why are you kissing strangers?”
I almost laughed.
Then I saw my husband entering the restaurant.
My stomach turned.
“Because that man told me if I ever left him again, he'd make sure nobody believed a word I said.”
Lorenzo looked over my shoulder.
“Which man?”
“The one in the gray suit.”
He studied my face.
Then he quietly pulled out the chair beside him.
“Sit down, Rebecca.”
***
I'm thirty-eight years old.
For twelve years, I ran a little bakery with my father in the suburbs of Chicago.
Nothing fancy.
We opened at five every morning.
Dad made the cinnamon rolls.
I handled the customers.
On Saturdays, we gave away whatever hadn't sold to the retirement home down the street.
It wasn't much.
But it was ours.
Then Dad had a stroke.
And my husband, Eric, offered to handle the business while I cared for him.
At first, I was grateful.
Eric paid the bills.
Answered the phone.
Told me not to worry about anything.
Six months later, my name was gone from the bakery's accounts.
Dad's old employees had been replaced.
And whenever I asked questions, Eric would sigh.
“Rebecca, sweetheart. You don't understand business.”
Last Tuesday, I found a realtor's sign outside the bakery.
PROPERTY FOR SALE.
When I confronted him, he didn't even look ashamed.
“Your father's never coming back to work, Rebecca. It's time you accepted that.”
I told him I wanted a divorce.
He smiled.
“You can leave whenever you want.”
Then he placed a set of papers in front of me.
“But the bakery stays with me.”
I refused to sign.
That evening, he locked my purse and car keys in his office.
Tonight, I finally escaped through the back door of the restaurant where he'd brought me to meet his business associates.
I thought I'd made it.
Until he found me.
***
“Rebecca!”
Eric stopped beside Lorenzo's table.
He was handsome.
Always had been.
That was part of the problem.
People saw his smile before they saw anything else.
“There you are, honey.”
I moved closer to Lorenzo.
Eric noticed.
His smile tightened.
“Mr. DeMarco. I'm terribly sorry. My wife's been going through a difficult time.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Eric lowered his voice.
“Her father's illness has affected her badly. She's been making some very strange accusations.”
My cheeks burned.
“I'm not making anything up.”
Eric sighed.
“See what I mean?”
Lorenzo turned toward me.
“Rebecca, do you want to go with him?”
I shook my head.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
My eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Lorenzo looked at Eric.
“She said no.”
Eric gave a nervous laugh.
“With respect, Mr. DeMarco, she's my wife.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“And?”
“She's not well.”
“Is she injured?”
“No.”
“Has she threatened anyone?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you trying to make her leave?”
Eric stopped smiling.
“This is a private matter.”
Lorenzo set down his whiskey.
“Not anymore.”
***
I didn't start crying until Eric was escorted outside.
Lorenzo noticed immediately.
He moved his glass aside and placed a folded napkin near my hands.
“Did he hurt you?”
I looked down at my wrist.
There was a purple bruise beneath my watch.
“He says I make him angry.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“That's not what I asked.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes,” I whispered.
For a moment, he looked genuinely furious.
But when he spoke again, his voice was gentle.
“Have you eaten today?”
I shook my head.
He glanced toward one of his men.
“Matteo. Get her something warm.”
I tried to protest.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I can pay.”
“I'm sure you can.”
He pulled out a chair across from me.
“Eat first. Then we'll talk.”
Something about that simple kindness nearly broke me.
For months, every conversation with Eric had felt like a test I was failing.
And here was a man I'd met ten minutes ago, asking whether I wanted dinner.
***
When the food arrived, I told Lorenzo about the bakery.
About Dad.
About the papers Eric wanted me to sign.
Lorenzo listened quietly.
Until I mentioned the bakery's name.
“Hayes Family Bakery?”
I nodded.
His expression shifted.
“On West Addison?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward.
“Your father's name is Walter?”
My fork stopped.
“How do you know my dad?”
Lorenzo didn't answer immediately.
Then he said something that made my heart ache.
“When I was seventeen, I slept behind that bakery for three nights.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Your father found me there one morning. I hadn't eaten in two days.”
His voice grew quieter.
“He brought me inside and gave me a bowl of oatmeal.”
My eyes filled.
Dad had done things like that his entire life.
“He never asked for anything,” Lorenzo continued. “Just told me I could wash dishes if I wanted to earn breakfast.”
I smiled through my tears.
“That sounds like him.”
Lorenzo looked down.
“I went back a few years later to thank him. The bakery was closed that day.”
He paused.
“I never forgot him.”
***
His security chief returned twenty minutes later.
“Boss, we found something.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“What?”
“Eric Hayes filed documents transferring ownership of the bakery three months ago.”
I felt sick.
“Three months?”
The man nodded.
“The transfer was supposedly authorized by Walter Hayes.”
I stood.
“That's impossible. Dad could barely hold a spoon three months ago.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“Where's your father now?”
“At Rosewood Rehabilitation Center.”
His security chief glanced at him.
“Boss... that's the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The center says Walter Hayes was discharged this morning.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
“He was picked up at nine forty-five.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“By who?”
The man hesitated.
“Eric Hayes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I reached for my phone.
Then remembered.
Eric still had it.
Lorenzo was already standing.
“Matteo. Bring the car.”
***
We were halfway to the doors when an older man appeared in the restaurant entrance.
Gray hair.
A worn brown cardigan.
One hand gripping a wooden cane.
He was leaning heavily against a security guard.
“Dad?”
My voice broke.
Walter Hayes lifted his head.
“Becky?”
I ran.
He almost fell when I threw my arms around him.
“Oh, Daddy.”
He held me as tightly as his weakened arm would allow.
“I've been trying to find you.”
I pulled back.
“Eric said you weren't well enough to leave the center.”
Dad's expression changed.
“Eric told me you didn't want to see me anymore.”
My heart shattered.
“What?”
“He said you sold the bakery. Said you were moving away.”
I shook my head.
“No, Dad. I'd never leave you.”
He started crying.
And when I looked over his shoulder, Lorenzo was standing completely still.
His eyes were wet.
He approached slowly.
“Mr. Hayes?”
Dad looked up.
For a moment, he seemed confused.
Then his face changed.
“Little Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
Dad reached for his hand.
“You got your breakfast.”
Lorenzo laughed once, shakily.
Then he knelt beside my father's chair.
“Because of you.”
***
For the first time that night, I thought everything might be all right.
Dad was safe.
Eric couldn't keep us apart anymore.
And Lorenzo had promised to help us find out what happened to the bakery.
Then my father took my hand.
“Becky, there's something I need to tell you.”
I leaned closer.
“What is it?”
He glanced toward Lorenzo.
Then toward the doors.
“Your husband came to see me yesterday.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he want?”
Dad's eyes filled again.
“He told me if I didn't sign those papers, something terrible would happen to you.”
Lorenzo straightened.
“Did he say what?”
Dad nodded.
Then he looked directly at me.
“Rebecca, Eric wasn't the one who wanted our bakery.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He was working for somebody.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Who?”
Dad's trembling fingers tightened around mine.
“I heard him talking on the phone. He said the buyer would be coming tonight.”
I looked toward the restaurant entrance.
Then back at Lorenzo.
“Dad, who was buying it?”
My father looked at the most feared man in Chicago.
And suddenly began to shake.
“Becky,” he whispered, “that's why I came here.”
Lorenzo's face went pale.
Dad reached into his cardigan pocket.
He pulled out something small and wrapped in an old kitchen towel.
I'd seen that towel a thousand times.
It hung beside the oven at our bakery.
But what he'd hidden inside it made Lorenzo take a step backward.
“No,” Lorenzo whispered.
My father began crying.
“I'm sorry, son. I promised your mother I'd never show you.”
I looked between them.
“Dad... what are you talking about?”
Lorenzo couldn't speak.
May you like
And when my father finally unwrapped what he'd been hiding for twenty-one years, I realized my husband's betrayal was only the beginning of a secret that connected our two families long before I was born...
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