The bell above the bakery door chimed, cutting through the heavy silence left by Adrien Moretti’s departure. Lena let out a long, shuddering breath, her fingers still resting on the glass counter where the blank check had been.

The ride to Adrien Moretti’s estate took forty minutes, most of which Lena spent glaring at the tinted privacy glass of the Maybach and clutching her canvas bag like a weapon.

The estate sat behind wrought-iron gates in a heavily wooded suburb north of the city, an imposing limestone fortress that looked less like a home and more like a modern-day palazzo. Armed guards stood at attention near the double mahogany front doors. When Lena stepped out, she refused to let her knees shake, marching up the stone steps with her chin high.

Marcus led her past a sweeping marble foyer and into a sprawling, fire-lit study lined with dark wood bookshelves.

Adrien stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the dark gardens. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt rolled up at the elbows to reveal forearms corded with muscle and pale, faded scars that hinted at a violent past.

"Your window," Adrien said without turning around.

"Someone threw a brick," Lena snapped, dropping her bag onto a velvet armchair. "And unless you’re about to confess to suburban vandalism, I suggest you explain why your little visit this morning painted a target on my back."

Adrien turned slowly. His dark eyes caught the amber firelight, sharp and unreadable. "My grandmother’s recipe wasn't lost by accident, Lena. It was stolen. The night she died, her kitchen was ransacked. The men who did it were looking for a ledger containing more than just pastry measurements."

Lena’s blood went cold. She instinctively pressed her hand against the canvas bag containing Clara’s journal.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave.

Adrien walked toward her, closing the distance until she could feel the radiating heat of his presence. "Teresa Moretti wasn't just a baker. Before she married into the family, she was the keeper of the family’s true assets—codes, accounts, and names hidden in plain sight through proprietary ratios. When she tried to cut ties with the syndicate, they silenced her."