A Mafia Boss Found His First Love Selling Her Family’s Last Jewel — Then Discovered His Own Company Was The Reason She Lost Everything.

PART 2

“Three hundred and ninety-eight thousand dollars.”

Julian stared at the records. “What did he spend it on?”

“That’s the strange part. He didn’t.” Damon set another sheet on the desk. “Most of it sat untouched until three days before his death. Then the account got drained completely.”

“Transferred where?”

“Unknown. Ran through a private trust and disappeared.”

“And Corinne?”

“No evidence she knew anything. She’s been paying his legitimate debts out of bakery revenue — credit cards, personal loans, a second mortgage he took against their house. Collections added the missing corporate funds after his death because of a liability clause in his employment contract.”

Julian closed the file. Reyes Logistics was legitimate — moved freight, employed six hundred people, paid taxes, had outside shareholders. The missing money couldn’t simply vanish from the books.

“What assets does Corinne own?”

“The bakery property. Her parents left it to her free and clear.” Damon hesitated. “The cleanest solution is foreclosure. We seize the building, sell it, apply the proceeds to Warren’s liability.”

“No.”

“Julian—”

“She does not lose that bakery.”

Damon studied him carefully. Twelve years together — he knew Julian’s decisions when they were strategic, and he knew them when they came from somewhere more dangerous.

“You know her.”

Julian looked at the city. He remembered being seventeen, sitting behind Corinne’s parents’ bakery while she tried to convince him burnt cookies had character.

“I did.”

“And now?”

Julian didn’t answer.

Damon exhaled. “The shareholders will want an explanation for the missing funds.”

“I’ll replace it personally.”

“Nearly four hundred thousand dollars.”

“Pull it from my private investment account. Record it as settlement from an internal insurance review tied to Warren’s death.”

“That could work — but Sebastian Voss monitors large corrections.”

Julian’s expression hardened. Voss had served Julian’s father for over twenty years, believed fear was the only reliable loyalty and mercy a disease that eventually killed leaders. Since Julian took control three years ago, Voss had fought nearly every attempt to steer the Reyes empire away from unnecessary violence.

“Make the correction clean.”

“And if Voss notices?”

“Then he’ll learn to mind his own accounts.”

—

That afternoon Julian drove to the Sugar & Salt bakery. It looked smaller than he remembered — the red awning faded, one front window cracked, a handwritten sign apologizing for reduced hours. Inside, the smell of burnt sugar hung heavy.

Corinne stood in the kitchen staring at a ruined tray of scones, unpaid invoices pinned to a board behind her. *Final notice. Past due. Immediate payment required.*

The bell above the door rang. “We’re not open yet,” she called.

“I’m not here for muffins.”

She froze, then turned. Julian had left his tie and rolled his sleeves, hoping to look less like the man who frightened employees with a glance. Didn’t seem to be working.

“What are you doing here?”

“I represent a private investment group.”

“Yesterday you represented a jewelry appraisal company.”

“I have varied interests.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“It usually does.”

He set a folder on the counter. “My group invests in established neighborhood businesses in temporary financial trouble. Sugar and Salt has strong reviews, valuable property, a recognizable local brand.”

The proposal offered to pay every outstanding invoice and fund repairs, ingredients, and staff for a year. In exchange, fifteen percent ownership, no operational control.

“This can’t be real.”

“It is.”

“Why would anyone invest this much in a bakery that might close next month?”

“Because it won’t close next month.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I remember your sourdough.”

Her defensive expression softened for the first time. “That was my mother’s recipe.”

“Best bread in the city.”

“You used to steal half a loaf every Friday.”

“I paid occasionally.”

“You left coins that covered maybe one slice.”

“Difficult financial period.”

She almost laughed, then looked back at the folder. “I can’t take another loan.”

“It isn’t a loan.”

“What is it, really, Julian?”