“I understand your position.” His voice was smooth again, almost pleasant. “Just don’t say we didn’t warn you. Have a good day, Ms. Muniz.”
He turned sharply and walked out, the other two men following. The bell chimed again as the door closed behind them, leaving the bakery in a heavy, unpleasant silence.
Only then did I exhale—deeply—my body finally reacting to the tension. My heart was racing. My hands trembled at my sides.
But one thing was crystal clear:
I wasn’t backing down.
Not no matter what Ferrara tried to do.
Nothing would freeze me into submission again.
SEVEN
ENRICO FERRARA
I’ve never liked small towns.
They have an irritating way of looking perfect—peaceful streets, old buildings, people smiling like they don’t have real problems. It’s a façade.
I know that better than most.
Under the quiet surface, there’s always something rotten. Something hidden. Something waiting for the right moment to crawl out.
Tiradentes was no different.
My driver slowed as we entered the historic center. The uneven cobblestones forced the car into an even slower crawl, the leather seat shifting beneath me with every bump.
My patience—already scarce—was hanging by a thread.
I checked my watch, irritated by the delay.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ferrara,” my assistant, Pedro, murmured beside me, his tone uneasy. “City hall is just up ahead. It shouldn’t take long.”
“It had better not,” I replied coldly. “I didn’t come all the way to this town to waste time. Handle whatever needs handling, Pedro.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the car inched forward, movement up ahead caught my attention.
The narrow street leading directly to city hall was partially blocked by a crowd of protesters holding handmade signs, chanting with visible enthusiasm.
My jaw set instantly, irritation sharpening into controlled anger.
“What is this?” I asked quietly—my voice low, measured, and far more dangerous than any shouting would have been.
Pedro shifted uncomfortably, staring out the window.
“It looks like they found out about your meeting with the mayor. There were rumors in town, but I didn’t think it would get to this.”
“Rumors,” I repeated, flat. “You should’ve contained it before it became a problem.”
My gaze cut to him like a blade.
“Fix it. Now.”
Pedro nodded quickly, pushed the door open, and stepped out to negotiate. I watched through the tinted glass as he spoke, gestured, attempted reason—getting nowhere.
