Chapter 3
Rocco went to Vance Bakery himself.
No convoy.
Two guards remained across the street.
The shop looked worse than he remembered.
One display case was empty.
The second held six muffins and a tray of day-old rolls.
Maeve ran inside first.
“Daddy!”
Thomas Vance came from the kitchen wearing a flour-stained apron.
He was thirty-two.
Too thin.
One hand had been wrapped because of a burn.
He stopped when he saw Rocco.
Recognition came slowly.
Then fear.
“Mr. Castellano.”
Rocco watched his shoulders tighten.
That reaction bothered him.
“I’m not here to collect anything.”
Thomas looked toward Maeve.
She held up the paper bag.
“He gave my money back.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Embarrassment passed over his face.
He crouched.
“You weren't supposed to give strangers money.”
“He looked hungry.”
Rocco looked away for a moment.
The sentence hit harder than he expected.
Thomas stood again.
“What do you want?”
Rocco placed the transfer agreement on the counter.
“Did you sign this?”
Thomas’s face changed.
His breathing stopped.
Then resumed slowly.
“No.”
Rocco watched his eyes.
“You're certain?”
Thomas laughed without humor.
“I’d remember giving away the only thing my father left me.”
He took the document.
His burned hand trembled.
“That looks like my signature.”
“It is your name.”
“It isn't my hand.”
Rocco studied him.
Thomas pointed at the date.
“I was in the hospital that day.”
“For the burn?”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“Maeve had pneumonia.”
Rocco’s jaw tightened.
Thomas continued.
“I spent three nights at Mount Sinai with her.”
“Can you prove it?”
Thomas stared at him.
Rocco immediately corrected himself.
“That came out wrong.”
The baker’s eyes remained guarded.
Rocco lowered his voice.
“I need enough that nobody can call you a liar.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“Yes. Hospital records. Parking receipts. My sister stayed here.”
Rocco folded the agreement again.
“What did Dominic want from you?”
Thomas leaned both hands against the counter.
“For almost a year?”
He laughed once.
“The building.”
“Why?”
“He says the club needs the whole block.”
Rocco looked toward the front windows.
Vance Bakery sat between a tailor, a small pharmacy, and a closed florist.
Directly behind them stood the Castellano Club.
Thomas continued.
“First they offered to buy us.”
“How much?”
“Half market value.”
“And when you refused?”
“Deliveries started getting delayed. Inspectors appeared. Our club account stopped paying.”
Rocco’s eyes darkened.
Thomas looked directly at him.
“And every time I complained, Dominic said the same thing.”
Rocco waited.
Thomas’s voice lowered.
“He said he was doing exactly what Rocco Castellano ordered.”
For the first time since entering the bakery, Rocco had no immediate response.
Thomas watched his face.
“You really didn't know?”
Rocco's hand slowly closed around the forged agreement.
“No.”
Thomas’s eyes remained on him.
May you like
Then he said something that shifted the shame back where Rocco could not avoid it.
“Everybody else thought you did.”
