Chapter 5 - The Price of the Bakery
Mara did not cry.
Not immediately.
She locked herself in the bakery office and stared at the photograph for twenty minutes.
Thomas Bell.
Uncle Tommy.
The man who brought her birthday presents.
The man who helped repaint the bakery after her mother's death.
The man who stood beside Mara at Daniel's funeral and said, "Your dad loved you more than anything."
Mara felt sick.
Vincent arrived before sunset.
He found her sitting behind the desk.
She handed him the photograph.
His reaction was quieter than hers.
"Thomas."
"You know him."
"Yes."
"Of course you do."
"Mara."
"Everyone knows everyone except me."
Vincent sat across from her.
She laughed once.
Ugly sound.
"My father lied about his life. My uncle apparently helped kill him. Your dead father created the company buying my neighborhood. Your brother may or may not be innocent."
Vincent waited.
Mara leaned forward.
"And twelve men almost killed you behind my bakery."
"Technically eleven."
"What?"
"One ran before the shooting."
She stared.
Vincent raised a hand.
"Bad timing."
Mara threw a pen at him.
He caught it.
That made her angrier.
Then, against her will, she laughed.
A real laugh.
Short.
Exhausted.
Vincent set the pen down.
"You needed that."
"Don't become emotionally intelligent now. It doesn't suit you."
His expression softened.
"Thomas needs to believe we suspect Anthony."
Mara stopped laughing.
"You want to use me."
"I want to use what he believes."
"Same sentence wearing a nicer coat."
Vincent nodded.
"Fair."
The plan was simple.
Which meant Mara hated it.
She would contact Thomas and say she had found Daniel's records.
She would tell him Vincent believed Anthony was responsible.
Then she would ask Thomas for help.
Vincent would track his response.
Mara made the call.
Thomas answered on the second ring.
"Sweetheart."
The word hurt.
"Uncle Tommy."
"You okay? I heard about the shooting near the bakery."
"I found Dad's things."
Silence.
Tiny.
Then concern.
"What things?"
"Records."
Another pause.
"Where are you?"
"Baking."
"Mara."
"I don't know who to trust."
"Trust me."
She closed her eyes.
Of course he would say that.
"I think Vincent Costello killed Dad."
Thomas exhaled.
"I always worried you'd find out."
Mara gripped the phone.
"You knew?"
"Daniel got mixed up with dangerous men."
"Can you come?"
"Tonight."
Vincent shook his head.
Too fast.
Thomas continued.
"I'll come alone."
They ended the call.
Vincent said, "He won't."
He didn't.
Thomas arrived with no visible escort.
But three vehicles followed at a distance.
Vincent's people tracked them.
Thomas entered through the front door carrying Mara's favorite childhood candy.
That nearly broke her.
"Still like these?" he asked.
Mara looked at the paper bag.
"Yeah."
He hugged her.
Mara stood stiffly.
"Show me."
She brought him upstairs.
The ledger on the table was a copy.
Thomas flipped through pages.
His hands were steady.
"Where did you find this?"
"Dad's storage."
"Anything else?"
"USB."
His eyes changed.
There.
Mara saw it.
Greed.
Fear.
"Where?"
"Vincent has it."
Thomas's expression twisted.
"You met him?"
"He came here."
"Mara, listen to me. Vincent is dangerous."
"So was Dad?"
Thomas looked wounded.
"Daniel made mistakes."
"Did you?"
He froze.
Mara couldn't help it.
Too direct.
Vincent's voice sounded through the hidden earpiece.
Easy.
Thomas recovered.
"We all did."
Mara poured coffee.
Her hands shook.
Thomas watched her.
"You've always been terrible at lying."
Her blood ran cold.
"What?"
He smiled sadly.
"Even when you were little."
Mara stepped backward.
Thomas reached inside his coat.
Vincent's men moved downstairs.
But Thomas didn't draw a gun.
He pulled out a photograph.
Daniel.
Thomas.
Mara at age nine.
"Your father wanted out."
Thomas said.
"I wanted in."
Mara looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because baking bread doesn't pay for power."
"My father built a life."
"He built a cage."
Thomas's voice hardened.
"You think this place is noble? He spent every day sweating over ovens while men like Costello owned blocks."
"So you killed him?"
Thomas looked away.
"I didn't order it."
"Did you stop it?"
Silence.
Mara knew.
"No."
He whispered.
"No."
Footsteps came from below.
Thomas noticed.
"Vincent?"
Mara didn't answer.
Thomas looked toward the window.
"You chose him."
"I chose the truth."
"You don't understand what the truth costs."
He moved suddenly.
Not toward Mara.
Toward the wall.
Pressed a fire alarm.
The building erupted in noise.
Outside, engines roared.
Vincent's guards shouted.
Thomas threw a chair through the side window and climbed onto the fire escape.
Mara ran after him.
Vincent appeared.
"No!"
Too late.
An explosion rocked the neighboring laundromat.
Glass blasted into the alley.
Mara hit the floor.
Vincent covered her.
Smoke filled the windows.
Thomas escaped.
By morning, investigators blamed an electrical fault.
Mara knew better.
The explosion destroyed the neighboring building.
Worse, inspectors declared Mara's bakery structurally unsafe.
Closed indefinitely.
Mara stood behind yellow tape.
Bell & Daughter Bakery.
Dark.
Empty.
The place her parents had built was gone without actually being gone.
Vincent stood beside her.
"I'll pay for repairs."
"No."
"Mara."
"No."
"This happened because of me."
"This happened because of Thomas."
"He moved because we pushed."
"We."
Vincent looked at her.
Mara exhaled.
"You're right. We."
He said nothing.
Mara turned toward him.
"If you want to help me, don't buy my bakery."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Don't protect it with guns."
He waited.
"Then what?"
"Help me expose them."
Vincent looked toward the building.
"That may destroy my family."
Mara thought of Daniel.
"Maybe your family needs destroying."
He almost became angry.
Then something changed.
"Maybe."
That answer mattered.
That night, Anthony Costello disappeared.
His car was found near the river.
Blood inside.
No body.
Rafe sent Vincent a message.
A photograph showed Anthony tied to a chair.
Alive.
Behind him stood Thomas Bell.
The message beneath it contained six words.
SELL THE BLOCK OR LOSE YOUR BROTHER.
Vincent stared at the screen.
Mara watched him.
May you like
Power or family.
For the first time, Chicago's most feared man looked afraid.
