Chapter 10: The Walk-In

At four on Wednesday morning, Domenico Bellandi was standing in my bakery in a charcoal suit.

He held two paper cups of coffee and looked at the ovens.

"I could not sleep," he said. "I wanted to see where you work at the hour you do it."

"That's a statement," I said.

"It is," Domenico said.

"It's also four in the morning," I said.

"One of these is for the driver. He is parked outside and refuses to come in."

I took the cup, and it was exactly how I take it.

I did not ask him how he knew.

The bakery at four is the loudest quiet there is.

The big mixers turn, the proofing racks tick as they cool, and flour hangs in the air long after anyone has stopped working.

"I need butter from the walk-in," I said. "You may come, if you want to see everything."

"I would be glad to."

The walk-in cooler is a steel room at the back, eight feet by ten, kept at thirty-eight degrees.

That morning it held six racks of rye dough waiting to proof, two hundred and forty loaves' worth.

It also held a hundred pounds of butter on a pallet.

I walked in and Domenico followed.

The door swung shut behind him with a heavy click, and I felt the latch drop.

I knew that click.

It had not made that sound since my father fixed it.

"Domenico," I said. "Try the handle."

He tried the handle.

"It is stuck," he said.

"Try it again."

"It remains stuck."

I put my shoulder to the door.

The door did not care.

"There's an emergency button inside," I said, and pointed to a red plastic square on the wall.

He pushed it, and a little light went on and nothing else happened.

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Mob Fiance Offered Exits, So I Took Them from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.