Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF THE BAKERY
Dante said no before I finished reading the message.
I looked at him.
“I didn’t ask.”
“No.”
“You cannot forbid something I haven’t proposed.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Apparently everyone does.”
“You’re not going.”
I held up the phone.
“Your wife is alive.”
“I see that.”
“They want me.”
“I see that too.”
“So—”
“No.”
His voice cracked through the sugar room.
Sophia was not there.
Good.
I stepped closer.
“Do not use that voice on me.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Then he lowered it.
“I am asking you not to go.”
“Better.”
“Mia.”
“What?”
“If Bianca is alive, the person holding her has had three days to hurt her and has chosen leverage instead.”
“That’s good.”
“It means they are controlled.”
“Also good.”
“It means they planned this.”
I stopped.
He was right.
I hated when dangerous men were useful.
Tony leaned against the desk.
“They want the property.”
“Why?” I asked.
Dante looked through the ledger.
“Harbor Light has been buying the block.”
“For what?”
“Development.”
“What kind?”
“Luxury residential, probably.”
Tony laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Marco checked public records on his phone.
“Harbor Light owns four adjacent parcels. Missing this one.”
“My bakery.”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t a bakery.”
Tony looked at me.
“It could be.”
The thought hit harder than it should have.
Not now.
I focused.
“Could Luca force a sale?”
“If he controlled Bianca’s old interest, maybe,” Dante said.
“But she transferred it to me.”
“Yes.”
“Can he challenge it?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why kidnap her?”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Because the property is not the real reason.”
He tapped the ledger.
“The room contained records tying the family debt system to his shell companies.”
“So he wants the evidence.”
“And the building.”
“Two birds.”
“Yes.”
Tony muttered, “Terrible saying in this context.”
Nobody asked.
Dante began giving Marco instructions.
I listened.
Trace message.
Pull traffic cameras.
Identify room from photograph.
Locate newspaper distribution.
All efficient.
All controlled.
Then I noticed one thing.
Dante never said call police.
I waited.
Then:
“Why aren’t we calling the police?”
The room went quiet.
Dante looked at me.
“Because some of them work for Luca.”
I laughed once.
“Of course.”
“He has city contracts.”
“Of course.”
“Two detectives who handled Bianca’s disappearance also receive consulting money from companies connected to Harbor Light.”
I stared.
“You know this and haven’t reported it?”
“To who?”
“Internal Affairs.”
He gave me a look.
“Fine. Federal authorities.”
“We have contact.”
“Then use it.”
“Not until Bianca is out.”
There it was.
Private solution.
Control.
I thought of my mother’s lies.
Different family.
Same disease.
“If you keep this inside the family, you are doing exactly what everyone before you did.”
Dante stared.
Tony became very interested in dust.
I continued.
“You already know Luca used Sophia’s trust.”
“Yes.”
“You have financial records.”
“Yes.”
“You have a hostage photo.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think you can manage it privately.”
His face hardened.
“I think my wife’s life matters more than building a case.”
“Those are not opposite goals.”
“They can be when the wrong person learns we contacted authorities.”
“Then contact the right person.”
He did not answer.
That meant there was one.
“Who?”
Dante looked at Marco.
Marco sighed.
“Agent Naomi Price.”
“FBI?”
“Yes.”
“Trustworthy?”
Dante said, “Bianca thought so.”
That decided it.
“Call her.”
“No.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because the message says come alone.”
“And you think I’m actually doing that?”
“No.”
“Then call her.”
Dante looked at me.
The room tightened.
Then something changed in his face.
He took out his phone.
“Marco. Get Price.”
Tony whispered, “She just won an argument with Dante Russo.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want to survive the night?”
“No commentary.”
Agent Naomi Price arrived forty minutes later in jeans, boots, and a coat that looked like she slept in it.
She was maybe forty-five.
Short black hair.
No visible patience.
She looked at Dante.
“You finally decided federal law enforcement was fashionable?”
Dante said, “Bianca is alive.”
Everything in her face changed.
“Show me.”
We did.
She studied the photo.
“The newspaper is today.”
“Yes.”
“Window?”
“None.”
“Floor?”
“Concrete.”
“Pipe behind her shoulder.”
Marco nodded.
“We’re running warehouse interiors.”
Naomi looked at me.
“You’re Mia.”
“How does everyone know me?”
“Bianca.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“She contacted me two months ago.”
Dante turned sharply.
“What?”
Naomi did not flinch.
“She asked questions about Harbor Light.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“She specifically told me not to.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was also an adult cooperating confidentially.”
Dante looked like he wanted to argue with the Constitution.
I liked Naomi immediately.
“What did she give you?”
“Enough to open a preliminary review. Not enough for warrants.”
I handed her the flash drive.
“Now?”
She looked through the folder list.
“Maybe enough to ruin several people’s week.”
Tony smiled.
“I like her.”
Naomi continued.
“But the priority is Bianca.”
Dante nodded.
The phone buzzed again.
LOCATION IN ONE HOUR.
MIA ALONE.
BRING ORIGINAL DEED.
I stared.
“What original deed?”
Tony opened the metal deed box.
Inside was one folded document.
The rear parcel.
My name.
I had never seen it before.
“Mia Anna Vale.”
Owner.
Age twelve at transfer.
Trustee: Anna Vale until age twenty-one.
No later transfer.
I owned it.
My bakery.
At least the shell of one.
I touched the paper.
A dream can feel different when it becomes an asset.
Heavier.
Less pure.
People could value it in dollars.
Fight over it.
Steal for it.
But to me it was still flour on my grandmother’s cheek.
Dante said, “We copy it.”
Naomi nodded.
“Bring a duplicate.”
“What if they check?”
“They will.”
“So?”
“We give them enough authenticity to believe the original is nearby.”
I looked at her.
“You’re actually considering sending me.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m considering letting them believe we are.”
Dante relaxed slightly.
Naomi noticed.
“Do not.”
He frowned.
“You are not in charge of this.”
His eyes went cold.
“Bianca is my wife.”
“And Mia is not your employee, your family, or your asset.”
He looked at me.
Something softened.
“I know.”
Naomi nodded once.
“Good.”
The location arrived.
An abandoned commercial bakery in Red Hook.
Tony stared at the map.
“You have to be kidding.”
“What?”
“It belonged to a company called Santoro Foods.”
Bianca’s maiden name.
Dante looked at him.
“You knew?”
“No. But Rosa bought flour from them years ago.”
The circle tightened.
Naomi’s team moved.
No sirens.
No marked cars.
I waited in a surveillance van three blocks away.
Dante sat beside me.
I looked at him.
“You are terrible at following instructions.”
“You are not going in.”
“Neither are you.”
“We agree.”
“That feels suspicious.”
He almost smiled.
On the monitor, agents approached the building.
No movement.
Side entrance.
Clear.
Front.
Clear.
Then radio.
“One female located.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“Alive?”
A pause.
“Alive.”
He closed his eyes.
I grabbed his hand without thinking.
His fingers closed around mine.
“Is it Bianca?”
Naomi listened through her earpiece.
Then frowned.
“No.”
Dante’s eyes opened.
“What?”
The agent continued.
“Female, late fifties. Conscious. Says her name is Anna Vale.”
My entire body went cold.
“No.”
My mother had died eight years ago.
Cancer.
I buried her.
I chose the dress.
I watched the coffin close.
Naomi looked at me.
“Mia?”
I could not speak.
Dante’s hand tightened around mine.
“That’s impossible.”
Radio crackled.
“She has identification.”
“What kind?”
“New York State driver’s license. Anna Vale.”
Naomi looked at me.
“Date of birth?”
The agent read it.
Correct.
My mother’s birthday.
I stood so fast I hit my shoulder against the van roof.
“No.”
Dante caught my elbow.
I pulled away.
“Don’t.”
He let go.
Good.
The radio continued.
“She says she needs to speak to Mia.”
My heart hammered.
Naomi asked, “Any sign of Bianca?”
“No.”
Then another voice came over the radio.
“Found a message.”
“What?”
“Written on flour sacks.”
The camera shifted.
Black marker across white paper bags.
MIA, YOUR MOTHER LIED BETTER THAN MINE.
I stared.
Dante looked at the screen.
Naomi’s face went hard.
“This is staged.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“But by who?”
I knew the answer before anyone said it.
Not Luca.
Not entirely.
This was personal.
Family.
Someone knew my mother.
Someone knew Bianca.
Someone knew Rosa.
And if the woman inside that warehouse was really Anna Vale, then the coffin I stood beside eight years ago had contained another secret.
The van door opened.
An agent stood outside.
“Mia.”
I looked at him.
“She keeps asking for you.”
I stepped down.
Dante followed.
Naomi blocked him.
“She goes with me.”
He looked furious.
Then at me.
I nodded.
For once, he listened.
Inside the warehouse, the woman sat under a work light.
Gray hair.
Thinner face.
Scar along her jaw.
But when she looked up, I saw the same eyes that used to watch me sneak cookie dough from a mixing bowl.
My knees stopped working.
“Mia.”
I could not breathe.
She started crying.
“My baby.”
I took one step backward.
“No.”
Her face broke.
“I can explain.”
Every parent in my life seemed to believe that sentence could survive anything.
I looked at Naomi.
“Ask her the question.”
“What question?”
I stared at the woman who wore my mother’s face.
“The one only Anna Vale would know.”
The woman closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
“You were eleven when you burned Rosa’s orange cake because you used salt instead of sugar.”
My chest cracked.
“No one knew that.”
She opened her eyes.
“Rosa did.”
“No.”
“She ate a whole slice anyway.”
Tears blurred everything.
“She told you it was ‘interesting.’”
I laughed and sobbed at the same time.
It was her.
My mother.
Alive.
May you like
And suddenly Bianca was not the only woman who had disappeared.
She was simply the second.
