Chapter 4
Morning arrived reluctantly, gray light seeping through storm clouds that had finally begun thinning after hours of relentless rain.
Claire woke Maddie gently, the little girl blinking sleepily before noticing the unusual collection of adults still occupying the cafe’s booths and tables.
“Mommy, why are there so many people?”
“They got stuck in the storm, baby. They’re leaving soon.”
Maddie studied the room with open curiosity, her gaze eventually landing on Dorian, still seated at his corner table, looking as though he hadn’t slept at all.
“Are you the scary one?” she asked directly.
Petra choked slightly on her tea. Toby grinned into his coffee cup.
Dorian, to Claire’s surprise, answered seriously. “Some people think so.”
“You don’t look that scary. You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
Maddie considered this. “My mommy gets tired too. She works too much.”
Claire felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Maddie.”
“It’s true, though.”
Dorian’s expression remained unreadable, though something in his posture had shifted, softened slightly around this small, fearless child speaking uncomfortable truths without hesitation.
By mid-morning, the storm had cleared enough for the roads to become passable, Dorian’s men beginning careful preparations to depart, towing the disabled SUVs and clearing floodwater from around the remaining vehicles.
Before leaving, Dorian approached Claire directly, something formal in his posture despite the previous night’s unexpected warmth.
“The purchase offer from Halvorsen Holdings,” he said. “I’d like to look into it properly.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is, actually. Companies like that rarely stop pressuring small business owners once they’ve decided on a target. You’ll need considerably more support than good intentions to keep this cafe.”
“I don’t need charity, Mr. Ferrante.”
“This isn’t charity,” he said. “Consider it delayed repayment for a debt my family has carried for eleven years, finally coming due.”
Claire hesitated, pride warring against practical necessity given her genuinely precarious circumstances.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.
Dorian nodded, apparently satisfied with partial acceptance rather than complete refusal.
As his convoy prepared to depart, Bull returned briefly, pressing a folded napkin into Claire’s hand. “My number,” he said simply. “In case anything happens here that worries you. Anything at all.”
“Why would anything happen?”
Bull’s expression turned careful, measured. “Halvorsen’s methods have gotten more aggressive lately. Just… keep the number.”
The warning settled uneasily as the convoy finally pulled away from Halsted Street, leaving Claire standing in her cafe’s doorway, uncertain exactly what had shifted overnight, though certain something significant had.
Three days later, she understood exactly what Bull’s warning had meant.
