Chapter 11 – FOR MY HANNAH, WHEN HE FINALLY ASKS

“Caroline, the alley!” I screamed, dropping the broom.

We ran through the kitchen and threw open the back door.

Flames were licking up the side of the brick wall, climbing rapidly toward the wooden eaves of the roof.

Someone had tossed a Molotov cocktail directly into our dumpster, pushing it against the building.

“Call 911!” I yelled, grabbing the heavy fire extinguisher off the kitchen wall.

I pulled the pin and sprayed the foam desperately, but the fire was spreading too fast.

The heat was intense, blistering my skin.

“Hannah, get back!” Caroline screamed, pulling on my shirt. “The roof is going to catch!”

I couldn’t lose it.

I couldn’t lose my mother’s dream.

“No!” I sobbed, keeping the hose aimed at the flames until the extinguisher sputtered and died.

The fire leaped higher, catching the wooden overhang above the back door.

Suddenly, tires screeched in the alleyway.

Luca’s SUV slammed to a halt.

Before the car even stopped moving, Daniel and three other guards jumped out, hauling massive industrial fire extinguishers from the trunk.

Luca sprinted toward me, wrapping his coat around my shoulders and pulling me away from the smoke.

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly, holding me against his chest as I coughed.

Daniel and his men attacked the fire with military precision.

Within two minutes, they smothered the flames completely.

Only a scorched black mark remained on the brick wall.

The bakery was safe.

Sirens wailed in the distance as the fire department finally arrived.

I leaned heavily against Luca, my legs shaking violently.

“Marcus Bellini,” I coughed. “He drove by. He did it.”

Luca’s eyes darkened with a terrifying wrath.

“He just made the biggest mistake of his life,” Luca said quietly.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Daniel,” Luca ordered over the phone, watching the firemen inspect the alley. “Find Marcus Bellini. Do not involve the police. Bring him to the warehouse.”

Luca hung up.

He looked down at me, his expression softening.

“Go home, Hannah. Rest. I’ll handle this.”

“I want to stay,” I insisted. “We have to open tomorrow. I won’t let them ruin this.”

Luca smiled, a look of profound respect crossing his face.

“Your mother raised a fighter,” he murmured.

The next morning, Saturday, the sun rose over 4th Avenue.

The smell of smoke in the alley was gone, scrubbed away by Luca’s crew overnight.

Inside the bakery, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air.

At exactly 8:00 AM, I unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to ‘OPEN’.

I expected a few people.

Maybe some neighbors.

I did not expect a line wrapping around the block.

Teresa Moretti stood at the very front of the line, wearing a beautiful floral coat, holding a massive pair of ceremonial scissors.

“Are we ready to cut the ribbon, my dear?” Teresa asked, beaming proudly.

I looked at the crowd.

Half of the neighborhood was there.

People who remembered my mother from the school cafeteria.

People who had heard the story of the brave woman who stood up to the mob.

They had all come to support her daughters.

My heart swelled until I thought it might burst.

I walked out onto the sidewalk.

Caroline handed me one side of the large red ribbon.

Teresa held the other.

“To Dorothy,” Teresa said loudly, her voice carrying over the cheering crowd.

“To Mom,” Caroline and I said together.

The crowd erupted into applause.