Chapter 1 - THE NAME DOMINIC FEARED
Maeve Carter was too small to carry the flour sack.
Dominic Bellini knew that.
That was why he took it from the bakery table himself.
The three-year-old stood beneath him in a pale cardigan, simple dress, worn sneakers, and a small white apron dusted with flour from helping her mother shape bread.
Her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the ovens.
She held both hands together against her stomach.
Dominic looked toward the half-empty bread shelves.
“Your mother still thinks this place deserves Bellini business?”
Maeve did not understand the question.
“My mommy makes good bread.”
Dominic smiled without warmth.
Then he lifted the flour sack.
He turned it upside down over her.
White flour collapsed across Maeve’s head and shoulders.
She gasped.
Her knees struck the bakery floor.
Flour covered her dress.
Her hair disappeared beneath white powder.
A cloud rolled across the tables and settled over the wooden boards her mother had scrubbed before dawn.
Dominic laughed.
“Clean it up, then I’ll buy bread from your mother’s bakery.”
Maeve stared at him.
Her eyes filled.
She did not cry loudly.
That somehow made the scene uglier.
Dominic took a cleaning cloth from the counter.
He threw it beside her.
Then pointed toward the floor.
“Go on.”
Maeve picked it up.
Her hands were tiny.
She began wiping at a pile of flour far too large for the cloth.
Tears gathered along her eyelashes.
She kept working.
The bakery door opened.
Rocco Bellini stepped inside.
He stopped.
The bell above the doorway gave one final soft ring behind him.
Then everything became silent.
Rocco wore a tailored dark three-piece suit.
His silver signet ring rested against one hand.
Two bodyguards stood behind him.
Neither moved.
They knew his face too well.
Dominic turned.
“Rocco.”
Rocco did not answer.
He looked at the flour.
At Maeve.
At the cleaning cloth.
Then at his cousin.
He crossed the bakery slowly.
Maeve looked up when polished black shoes stopped beside her.
Rocco crouched.
He took the cloth gently from her hand.
Then helped her stand.
Flour fell from her dress in small white clouds.
Dominic gave a dismissive shrug.
“She’s only the baker’s daughter.”
Rocco looked at him.
Something changed in the room.
He removed his suit jacket.
He shook the flour from Maeve’s hair as carefully as his large hands allowed.
Then he placed the jacket around her shoulders.
It nearly reached her ankles.
Maeve clutched the lapels.
Rocco looked toward the half-full flour sack.
No one spoke.
He picked it up.
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Rocco.”
The sack turned over.
Flour exploded across Dominic’s expensive suit.
He stumbled backward into the bakery table.
His watch disappeared beneath white powder.
His hair turned gray.
Flour rolled down his shoulders and across his polished shoes.
One bodyguard looked away to hide the beginning of a smile.
The other remained perfectly still.
Rocco dropped Maeve’s cleaning cloth at Dominic’s feet.
Then pointed toward the floor.
“Clean it up.”
Dominic stared.
Rocco stepped closer.
“Then I’ll tell you who this baby’s father is.”
The color vanished beneath the flour on Dominic’s face.
That reaction told Rocco something.
Dominic already had a suspicion.
Maeve did not.
She stood inside Rocco’s oversized jacket and watched the adults with confused eyes.
Then a woman rushed from the rear kitchen.
“Honey.”
Hannah Carter dropped beside her daughter.
She wiped flour from Maeve’s cheeks.
Checked her knees.
Then pulled her into her arms.
Rocco had met Hannah privately six days earlier.
That conversation was the reason he came to the bakery today.
Not Dominic.
Not bread.
Maeve.
Hannah looked toward Dominic.
Her face hardened.
“You touched her?”
Dominic said nothing.
Rocco answered.
“He humiliated her.”
Hannah stood.
Maeve remained behind her skirt.
Dominic tried to recover his authority.
“She shouldn’t have been out here. This is a working bakery.”
Hannah stared.
“She lives here.”
Dominic’s mouth closed.
The Carter bakery occupied the first floor.
Hannah and Maeve lived upstairs.
Dominic knew that.
Rocco turned toward the two bodyguards.
“Outside.”
They obeyed.
Dominic looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because what comes next is family.”
Hannah’s expression tightened.
Rocco looked toward Maeve.
“Except her.”
He crouched again.
“Maeve.”
She looked at him.
“Would you like to go upstairs for a minute?”
She glanced at Hannah.
Her mother nodded.
Maeve took three steps.
Then stopped.
She turned back toward Rocco.
“Your jacket.”
“Keep it.”
“It’s too big.”
“That’s temporary.”
Maeve considered this.
Then disappeared up the stairs.
Rocco waited until her small footsteps faded.
He turned.
Dominic was still covered in flour.
The ridiculous sight did nothing to soften Rocco’s expression.
Hannah crossed her arms.
“She doesn’t know.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Know what?”
Rocco watched him closely.
Hannah answered.
“Who her father was.”
Dominic’s breathing changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Rocco stepped closer.
Six days earlier, Hannah had come to his house after nearly four years of silence.
She carried no demand.
No accusation.
She showed him a photograph of a young man standing behind this same bakery counter.
Dark hair.
Bellini eyes.
Sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Flour across one cheek.
Rocco had recognized his son before Hannah spoke.
Gabriel Bellini.
Rocco’s only child.
Dead for three years and nine months.
Maeve was three.
The arithmetic had nearly stopped Rocco’s heart.
Hannah had told him Gabriel asked her to keep the pregnancy away from the Bellini family if anything happened to him.
Rocco hated hearing that.
Then Hannah told him why.
Gabriel had not feared enemies.
He had feared what his own family might turn the child into.
Dominic stepped backward now.
“No.”
Rocco’s voice remained quiet.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You looked frightened before I said the name.”
Dominic wiped flour from his eyes.
“Hannah could have slept with anyone.”
Hannah crossed the room so fast Rocco nearly stopped her.
She did not hit Dominic.
She stood inches from him.
“Say that again.”
Dominic looked at her.
He did not.
Rocco reached into his vest pocket.
He removed a small silver chain Hannah had given him six days earlier.
A Bellini medal hung from it.
Not expensive.
Not official.
Something Gabriel had worn since he was sixteen.
Rocco had given it to him.
Hannah found it beneath her pillow the morning Gabriel died.
Dominic stared at the medal.
His face changed again.
Rocco saw fear.
But beneath it was something else.
Grief.
“Maeve’s father,” Rocco said, “was Gabriel.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
Dominic did not move.
Rocco continued.
“My son.”
Silence filled the bakery.
Then Dominic whispered:
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
Rocco’s eyes hardened.
Hannah looked sharply toward him.
Dominic seemed to realize what he had admitted.
Too late.
Rocco stepped forward.
“Supposed to?”
Dominic looked toward the staircase where Maeve had disappeared.
Then back at Rocco.
His voice dropped.
“Gabriel made me promise.”
Rocco stopped.
“What promise?”
Dominic swallowed.
The fear on his face was no longer about losing status.
It was older.
May you like
Deeper.
“He told me about the baby the night he died.”
