Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF THE BAKER’S FORTRESS
Three months after the engagement, the grand opening of the Brooks International Pediatric Deaf Center in downtown Manhattan was only two days away.
The three-story historic brick building had been completely restored into a masterpiece of modern architecture—featuring state-of-the-art baking classrooms on the ground floor and advanced auditory and manual communication suites upstairs.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the building was mostly empty, save for Emma, two security guards stationed at the front entrance, and seven-year-old Sophie, who was eagerly helping Emma decorate the main bakery display case with colorful sugar flowers.
Suddenly, the building’s main power cut out.
The bright overhead lights flickered once, twice, and plunged the grand bakery into dim, shadow-filled silence.
Emma froze, her maternal instincts instantly screaming an alarm. She reached out, pulling Sophie behind her broad frame, her hand instinctively dropping to touch the silent panic button mounted beneath the wooden counter—a direct, encrypted line to Julian’s personal phone.
Outside, a heavy black delivery van pulled up to the front entrance.
Four men clad in unmarked tactical gear, carrying suppressed pistols, burst through the front glass doors!
THWACK! THWACK!
Suppressed gunshots echoed through the lobby as Julian’s two front guards were neutralized before they could draw their weapons!
“GET THE GIRL!” a harsh voice barked in a thick Eastern European accent.
It was Dimitri Rostov—the head of a rival Russian syndicate that had been losing territory to Julian Vance over the past six months. Realizing he couldn't beat Julian in open street warfare, Rostov had decided to execute a desperate, cowardly kidnapping to force Julian into surrendering the Manhattan shipping ports.
“Sophie! Go to the flour pantry! Lock the heavy door!” Emma whispered urgently in ASL, shoving the little girl toward the back kitchen.
Sophie’s eyes were wide with terror, but she obeyed instantly, sprinting through the double doors toward the reinforced storage room.
Rostov walked into the main display room, his weapon raised, a cold, cruel grin on his scarred face as his eyes landed on Emma standing alone behind the counter.
“Ah, the fat bride,” Rostov sneered, stepping over the shattered front glass. “Where is the little girl? Give her to me, and maybe I won't put a bullet through your soft stomach.”
Emma didn't run. She didn't cry. She didn't beg.
She stood tall behind the marble counter, her broad hips pressed against the edge, her hands reaching down into the lower shelf where a heavy, thirty-pound solid steel rolling pin—specially custom-made for heavy artisan dough—was resting.
“You’re in the wrong bakery, Rostov,” Emma said, her voice dropping into an ice-cold, steady register that surprised even the mercenary leader.
“Stupid bitch,” Rostov spat, stepping behind the counter to grab her by her hair—
SMASH!
Emma swung the thirty-pound solid steel rolling pin with all the raw strength built from fifteen years of kneading heavy dough!
The heavy steel hit Rostov squarely across the side of his jaw with terrifying force!
Bones shattered! Teeth flew! Rostov let out a strangled shriek of agony, falling backward over a display table, his gun clattering across the floor!
“YOU BITCH!” the second mercenary roared, raising his pistol at Emma—
CRASH!
The heavy brick front wall of the building exploded inward in a shower of dust, red mortar, and glass!
A matte-black armored military vehicle literally smashed through the front facade of the building, crushing the rival syndicate’s delivery van into scrap metal!
Through the dust cloud, Julian Vance stepped out from the armored vehicle’s side door.
He wasn't wearing a suit. He was clad in full heavy tactical armor, holding a massive shotgun, his face transformed into a mask of pure, demonic rage.
Behind him, thirty Vance syndicate enforcers swarmed through the breach like a wave of dark death!
Julian didn't fire a single shot.
He walked through the dust cloud like a nightmare made flesh. He grabbed the second mercenary by his tactical vest, lifting the grown man off the floor with one hand, and smashed him head-first through the solid marble display counter!
Marble shattered into dust! The mercenary went completely limp!
Julian turned his burning charcoal eyes toward Rostov, who was crawling frantically across the floor, covered in his own blood, trying to reach his dropped weapon.
Julian stepped on Rostov’s hand, the heavy combat boot crushing the mercenary’s fingers into the floorboards with a horrifying CRUNCH!
Rostov screamed in agonizing, ear-splitting pain!
Julian leaned down, grabbing Rostov by his collar and pulling his bloody face inches from his own.
“Did you really think you could touch my family in my city?” Julian whispered, his voice low enough to freeze water.
“Vance... please...” Rostov choked out, tears of terror streaming down his face. “Mercy...”
“My wife gave you mercy when she used a rolling pin instead of a gun,” Julian growled coldly.
He looked over at Marco. “Take him to the harbor basement. I will deal with his family personally tonight.”
As the enforcers dragged the screaming mercenaries out of the ruined building, Julian dropped his shotgun onto the floor and sprinted toward the back kitchen.
“SOPHIE! EMMA!” Julian roared.
The heavy flour pantry door slid open.
Sophie ran out, throwing herself into her father’s arms. Julian caught her, hugging her tight, checking her frantically for any injuries.
Then he looked up and saw Emma standing by the counter, holding the blood-stained steel rolling pin, her hair slightly messy, her breathing heavy, but completely unhurt.
Julian handed Sophie to Marco and crossed the kitchen in two massive strides.
He pulled Emma into a fierce, crushing embrace, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking with overwhelming, desperate relief.
“I thought I lost you,” Julian rasped against her skin, his large hands cupping her face, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips over and over again. “I thought I was too late...”
Emma wrapped her soft, warm arms tightly around his neck, holding the terrifying mob king as he trembled against her.
“You’re never too late, Julian,” Emma whispered softly, a warm, reassuring smile on her face. “Besides... I told you. I’m very tough.”
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Julian pulled back slightly, looking at the bloody steel rolling pin resting on the counter, then looked at his broad, incredible bride, and burst into a loud, booming laugh filled with absolute adoration.
“God, I love you,” Julian growled, pulling her back into a passionate kiss that made the whole world disappear around them.
