“My mother sanded every table herself,” I manage. “She picked the paint color because it looked like the inside of a cream puff. She wanted the town to have a place where people could rest.”
“She made one,” Luka says low.
I nod. “I left recipe cards in a box in the office. The last card had notes about her secret blue velvet frosting. A tiny pinch of baking soda. I don’t even know if I wrote that part down.”
“Someone will find the box,” he says. “We already have two teams on site. They will take everything that survived. They will speak with the fire captain, and I’ll pay to rebuild it.”
“Don’t touch what’s left,” I manage, brushing the wetness from my cheeks. “If there is anything to salvage, I’ll decide what to do.”
His gaze holds mine for a moment. “Very well.”
I climb back into the chair and reach for the mug. The tea is cold, but I take a swallow for no reason except to feel something that matches the ache inside me. Luka moves across from me, his presence heavy and quiet, like he’s holding the room together by force alone.
“Tell me what started it.” My voice is composed, but my hands betray me. They tremble around the mug, a small quake I can’t stop.
Luka leans back slightly, studying me with a detached calm that unnerves me. “A witness saw a man in a dark jacket go into the alley behind the café thirty minutes before the first sign of smoke. He left carrying nothing. Which tells me he didn’t need anything. He was sent to make a point.”
My stomach knots. “A point for who?”
“Ray Bellamy,” Luka replies, quiet but certain.
I blink at him, disbelief pushing through the haze. “Why do you think Ray did this? Why would he burn down the café? I’m no one to him.”
“Because he knows exactly how to strike where it hurts most,” Luka answers, his tone darkening. “And because he wants me to see what happens to anyone close to me.”
“You said he was dead.”
“I believed he was.” Luka’s eyes flick to the fire, the reflection of it briefly sharpening his features before he meets my gaze again. “Since you came into my world, we’ve started pulling threads. Locals have seen a man who fits his description. Our contacts say he’s been moving under a false name out of New Mexico.”
I stare at him, the mug slipping slightly in my hand. “And that makes you think it’s him?”
Luka nods once. “Our contacts said the man spoke about Colorado. Aboutyou.He didn’t name you, not outright, but he described a woman who ran a small business in a mountain town whose bloodline tied to the Bellamys. The moment I heard it, I knew the past had risen from its grave.”
My throat tightens. “So, Ray’s been alive all this time… just hiding?”
“Hiding. Waiting.” Luka’s tone is low, laced with deadly menace. “Aligning himself with anyone who can give him reach. The Sokolovs have been trying to move into Colorado for years. They want my routes, my docks, and my foothold in the mountains. If Ray has resurfaced under their protection, he’s not just settling old grudges, he’s selling them a way to hurt me.”
“So, he burns my café to… what? Get your attention?”
Luka’s expression hardens. “To draw me out. To prove he can still touch the Barinovs through you. He’s counting on your grief to make you unpredictable, and on me to make a mistake.”
“And you think this is just the start,” I say quietly.
“It always is,” Luka replies. “Fire is only ever the first warning.”
Misha appears at the doorway, his pale blue eyes moving from my face to Luka. “The chief thinks there was accelerant,” he says. “Too early to confirm. The block is secure. We have people on both ends.”
Luka’s phone rings, slicing through the quiet. He pauses, eyes narrowing before he answers. “Da.”
He listens. His jaw tightens, and he closes his eyes for a breath. “Put the caller through.”
My heart senses the fall before I see the drop. The air tightens, and Misha steps into the room.
Luka extends the phone toward me and puts it on speaker. “It’s for you.”
My hands don’t cooperate, and I nearly drop it. “Hello?”
“Is this Sage Bellamy?” The voice is female, clipped and professional, with a backdrop of beeping monitors and hurried footsteps.
