13. Eddie

Chapter 13

Eddie

I can’t shake the feeling that the new owner of the building is bad news. I could just tell from the look on Mitch’s face that this was not a good situation in the slightest.

But…

The customers are here, and they want their regular array of tasty treats.

I need to keep working and serving up the good stuff.

But it’s not easy to focus when I can see how badly distracted Mitch is. I mean, I know it’s Mitch who will suffer the most if he has to shut the bakery down, but I’ll be out of a job too.

I know I could probably find work at another bakery – but nowhere in the whole city can hold a candle to East Side Sugar!

I’ve worked here for so long and have played my part in building the business up and making it such a go-to place for regulars and tourists too.

The threat of having to shut the shop is horrible.

But right now I have other things to focus on…

‘Mitch, the customer asked for three boxes of triple glazed,’ I say, trying not to sound too stressed out. ‘This is two boxes of single glazed with a side of raspberry twirlers?’

‘ Argh . Shit. Sorry, my bad,’ Mitch replies, the tension in his voice clear for all to hear. ‘One second, I’ll box up the right order.’

‘No problemo,’ I shout back, smiling at the customer as he patiently waits for the right order.

I think that if we can just get through the morning rush, both me and Mitch can sit down and take a moment to discuss the options.

I might be a baker by trade now, but I did study business at college many years ago. I can’t say I ever wanted a career in finance or anything like that, but I can still remember some of the stuff I studied.

Maybe what we need is a brainstorming session to come up with a plan.

I’ve also got a Little friend who is a lawyer too, maybe he can see whether this sale is legal or if it’s possible that as an existing business we can insist on seeing out our lease.

I don’t know if any of these things will lead anywhere, but I know that I have to keep positive and not give up hope.

But just as I’m about to go back to the storeroom to help Mitch out, a hush comes over the bakery…

‘Um… hello?’ I say, my eyes fixed on the three men who have just entered. ‘Mitch? I think you need to come out front. Like… right now.’

I don’t know who these men are, but I know that I don’t like the vibe they’re giving me – and neither do the customers as every one of them scuttle out of the bakery at super-sonic speed like frightened mice who have just seen three big, hungry cats walk in.

‘Can I help you?’ Mitch says, standing next to me and putting on a brave voice even though I can tell he is nervous.

‘The name’s Conte,’ the man says. ‘But you can call me Mr. Landlord.’

I don’t like the look of Conte, or the sound of him either – he sounds mean and evil.

He’s dressed all in black apart from a thin dark purple tie. He’s older than me, maybe in his early fifties.

The thin scars on his face tell me that Conte is a man who isn’t scared of getting in a fight – and probably wins most of them too.

If Conte has those scars and is alive to tell the tale, I dread to think what happened to the other guys!

The two thugs with him are big and mean too. They both look like they’re in their early thirties and are wearing black jeans with black t-shirts.

Judging by the fact that neither of the two thugs have a full set of front teeth, these two men aren’t afraid of throwing punches with their heavy, hammer-like fists.

I’m scared.

But I need to listen to what Conte is saying to Mitch…

‘You’ve got two weeks to clear your crap,’ Conte laughs. ‘When I said you could call me Mr. Landlord, that was probably a bit misleading. You should probably call me Mr. Eviction.’

‘Two weeks? But I’ve got a contract!’ Mitch says, his voice trembling as he tried to stand up to the bully.

‘Contract?’ Conte bellows. ‘Here that guys? The man says he has a contract?’

The two thugs laugh along with Conte before one of them swipes his hand across a shelf and sends several rows of fine Danish pastries flying.

‘That’s what I think about contracts,’ Conte says. ‘And unless you want us to start throwing you about, or worse, I’d accept your fate.’

This is bad.

This is even worse than bad.

I need to message my Daddy and I need to do it quickly.

Typing as quickly as I can and fitting in as much information as I’ve got, I update Nico on the fact that Conte is here.

But I don’t have time to wait for a reply…

‘Over here, now,’ Conte says, instructing the thugs to drag me over toward him. ‘Don’t even think of trying to run or call the police. I own these streets now, and you’d be wise to play by my rules.’

I don’t say anything.

I’m not going to give Conte the satisfaction of seeing how scared I am or hearing the fear in my voice.

I’m going to be a big boy and make my Daddy proud of me – he’s not the only one who can be strong when the tough times happen.

But as I feel the grip of Conte on my shoulder, I know that this is a serious situation.

I need my Daddy.

I’ve got a young Mafia Daddy and now is the time for him to show me exactly who he is and what he can do…

‘Daddy!’ I squeal, the sight of Nico and his friend Rico bursting into the bakery filling me with every emotion possible. ‘You came!’

I feel Luca Conte squeeze my shoulder, but somehow I wriggle free and scurry behind the bakery counter and snuggle up next to Mitch.

It’s only been a couple of minutes since I messaged Nico, he must have driven here at a billion miles per hour – well, maybe not that fast, but close!

‘You stay where you are, baby boy,’ Nico says, his hand poised inside his jacket pocket. ‘Daddy’s going to make this right.’

‘Daddy? Baby boy?’ Conte smirks. ‘What the fuck is this? Some kind of weird fetish shit?’

The two thugs laugh at their boss, but I can see that Conte’s attempt to unsettle my Daddy aren’t going to work.

‘It’s over Conte,’ Nico says, his voice firm and otherwise emotionless. ‘Unless you’ve got a sniper hiding in the donut aisle, I think you know that we ain’t backing down.’

This is tense.

I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life before.

If there was even a slight doubt about what my Daddy did for a living, then I don’t have to wonder any longer.

My Daddy is one hundred percent gangster – and judging by the top of the gun I can see poking out from his jacket, things are about to go to the next level any moment now.

‘Make a move,’ Conte snarls, his own hand now poised inside his jacket. ‘It’s three versus two. And I know that me and my men have taken down better opponents than you two young fools.’

I watch on, my mouth open wide and the adrenalin coursing around my body.

This is scary.

But my faith in my Daddy to protect me is too strong to really be afraid.

‘Come on, you young piece of crap,’ Conte says, exchanging a look with his thugs. ‘Either of you two losers got the guts to move first? Or are you just waiting for a real man to blast you away?’

‘Keep talking, just keep talking,’ Nico growls, his fingers hovering over his gun. ‘It didn’t have to be like this. You could have stayed in your own territory.’

‘But you got greedy,’ Rico chimes in. ‘And unfortunately for you, you got greedy in the wrong borough.’

This is all kinds of tense.

I feel like I’m in at the movies watching a gangster movie right now – but instead of popcorn and chips, I’m surrounded by cakes and super-tasty, frosted cream horns.

It’s only a matter of time before gunshot rings through the air.

Things are about to get crazy, I can just sense it – and I’m talking Shootout At The Cupcake Corale kinda crazy…