Chapter 3 - The Shootout at the Bakery, the Underworld Don’t Bloody Vengeance, and the Triumphant New Dawn of an Unlikely Syndicate QueenThe splintering crash of the downstairs door echoed up the stairwell like a gunshot.
“Stay behind the oak table,” Nathaniel muttered, his voice a low, unyielding command.
He didn't wait for my answer. He pivoted, slipping out of the small kitchen area just as heavy boots pounded onto the wooden stairs leading to the second-floor landing.
I gripped the edge of the scarred table, my knuckles turning white, my breath trapped in my throat. I had spent my entire life trying to stay out of the way, trying to be invisible, trying not to take up too much space in a world that always seemed to find my body an inconvenience. Now, automatic gunfire tore through the ceiling boards of the pub below, sending shards of plaster raining down over my hair, and I was standing in the dead center of a syndicate warzone.
Bang! Bang-bang!
The sharp, concussive cracks of Nathaniel’s sidearm echoed through the stairwell, followed by a heavy, breathless grunt and the unmistakable sound of a body collapsing against the wooden steps.
“Clear!” Nathaniel’s deep voice roared through the smoke-filled corridor.
I stepped out from behind the table, coughing against the drifting dust. Nathaniel stood in the doorway of the apartment, his charcoal overcoat stained with a splash of dark blood that wasn't his, his dark hair slightly ruffled, holding his smoking weapon with absolute, terrifying calm.
Two of Sullivan’s enforcers lay motionless on the landing outside.
Nathaniel holstered his gun, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned away every lingering trace of my fear. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing my shoulders to inspect me for injuries.
“Are you hit?” he demanded, his voice tight with a raw, fierce urgency that shocked us both.
“I’m fine,” I breathed, shaking my head, my hands coming up to rest against the lapels of his blood-spattered coat. “Are you?”
“I don't bleed easily, Abigail,” he murmured, a rare, breathtaking ghost of a smile curving his lips. He let out a long, heavy exhale, pulling me gently against his solid chest. “That was the last clean sweep Sullivan could manage tonight. By sunrise, my captains will secure the docks, and Declan Sullivan will realize his nephew’s little game cost him everything.”
“And me?” I whispered against his chest, the reality of my ruined ordinary life sinking in. “What happens to the night manager of O’Halleran’s Pub?”
Nathaniel pulled back slightly, his dark eyes burning with an absolute, unshakeable devotion. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy set of keys attached to a silver keychain.
“You walk away from this bakery,” Nathaniel stated firmly. “You move into my estate on the North Shore—fully secured, fully protected. You can bake all the sourdough you want in a professional kitchen, and nobody will ever look at you with anything less than absolute respect.”
I stared at the keys in his hand, then looked up into the face of the most feared man in Chicago. He hadn't asked me to hide. He hadn't treated me like a prop or a liability. He had offered me an empire built on truth, protection, and a reckless, midnight kiss that had rewritten both our lives.
“Only if I get to pick the kitchen tiles,” I teased softly, a bright, triumphant smile blooming across my face.
May you like
Nathaniel let out a rich, deep laugh, wrapping his arms securely around my waist and capturing my lips in a fierce, undeniable kiss that sealed our fate against the chaos of the city.
The underground war was over, the ghosts of the past were buried in the dark, and as Nathaniel led me out of the smoke-filled pub toward a waiting town car, the ordinary baker from the South Side knew she had finally found a world where her presence was never, ever something to apologize for.
