Tulip In The Mafia s Grip

"Another early morning, Mom. What would you say if you were here? Probably something about my hair being a mess again."  

I nudged the bakery door open with my shoulder, the small bell overhead ringing as the aroma of flour and sugar welcomed me like a familiar companion. It was serene indoors, the sort of tranquility I cherished before the day's activity started.

Switching on the lights, I paused to glance around. The scratched hardwood floors, the faint aroma of cinnamon hanging in the air, and the glass display case that had experienced better moments-this location was more than just a store. It was a place to call home.

Slipping behind the counter, I grabbed the apron that was on its regular hook. The cloth was gentle from years of wear, adorned with my mother's initials in the corner.

 She'd worn it every morning, her voice cheerful as she hummed along to the radio. Now, it was mine.  

"Let's make her proud today," I whispered.  

The first batch of dough was ready to be mixed. My hands moved instinctively, measuring flour and sugar, cracking eggs, and kneading the blend into soft, flexible perfection. The cadence was calming, a dance I had picked up beside my mother.

"Kaia, gentle hands," her voice echoed in my memory. "Baking is love, not a chore."  

I smiled faintly, the memory bittersweet.  

The oven timer buzzed, snapping me back to the present. I slid the first tray of croissants inside and turned to prepare another. The heat from the oven filled the tiny room, driving out the cold of the early morning.

Just as I was preparing the second batch to proof, the bell over the door chimed.

"Kaia!"  

"Lila, what are you doing here so early?"  

My best friend waltzed in, her red scarf bright against her dark coat. She leaned on the counter, her usual mischievous grin firmly in place.  

"Couldn't resist. Smells like heaven in here, as usual." She reached over and snatched a croissant from the cooling rack.  

"You're impossible," I said, shaking my head.  

Lila shrugged, taking a big bite. "By the way, I heard something weird last night at the diner."  

I looked up from rolling out dough. "Weird how?"  

"Some guy was talking about buying up a bakery in town. Sounded like it was happening soon. I figured it couldn't be yours, though, right?"  

I laughed, though uneasily. "Of course not. Who'd want to buy this place?"  

Lila gave me a look. "Don't sell yourself short. This place is charming. I mean, you've practically turned it into a landmark. But seriously, you haven't heard anything about that?"  

"No," I said firmly, brushing off the thought. "It's probably some other bakery. We're not exactly the only one in town."  

The dialogue lingered longer than I preferred. I tried to overlook it, focusing instead on preparing the pastries for the day ahead.

The oven chimed once more, prompting me to take out the golden-brown croissants. I was busy organizing them in the display case when the doorbell chimed again.

I looked up, anticipating the sight of another recognizable face. Instead, two individuals walked in, their orange safety vests shining in the morning light. One of them was holding a clipboard, while the other appeared anxious to be anywhere else.

"Can I help you?" I asked, straightening.  

The man with the clipboard scanned the room before finally turning to me. "This the bakery?"