Love in the Eye of the Storm

My entry into the Literotica

Crime & Punishment 2023 Story Event

.

Enjoy!

xo, DG

.

.

Love in the Eye of the Storm

Tempestuous Hearts: A Mobster and Baker's Tale

.

.

.***.***.***.

Wren

.***.***.***.

.

FOUR AM ON THE DOT, I UNCOVERED BOTH FRONT WINDOWS AND DOOR, flipped the Closed to Open, and tied my pristine white apron.

"Welcome to Wren's Bakery, officially open," I whispered with a content smile. Using sourdough as a natural leaven was a point of pride for me since customers appreciated its purity without any additives. Opening this bakery had been a dream come true.

Bread, warm and fresh out of the oven, filled the little storefront with the heavenly sourdough scent. The bell on the door tinkled, and I looked up and smiled at my early morning regular.

"Looks like a storm is brewing, Harold," I said, having his order bagged by the time he limped to the counter.

"Saw some lightnin' flashin' out west, so it's a no-go for fishin'." He placed the exact change on the counter and picked up his bag. "I'll just have to have these at home today. You be careful out their Wren lady."

"You too! Enjoy!"

Someone appeared behind him, but the friendly greeting died on my lips as the man strode inside and forcefully shoved my regular out the door. He yanked the shades down over the windows and windows and flipped the sign to Closed.'

"Hey! Are you nuts!?," I hollered, frowning.

Black eyes swung towards me, their piercing gaze latched onto my soul like daggers poised to strike. Oh my god, he's here to rob me. Or kill me!

"I don't have anything in the cash register yet! Harold was my first customer!" I slid the four one-dollar bills and change across the counter toward him. My heart was slamming against my ribs.

The corner of his mouth hiked up in amusement.

"I'm not here to rob you." It was then that he noticed the real fear in my eyes. "For god's sake," he hollered, throwing his arms up. "Do I look like someone who would bust in at four in the morning to thieve bread?" He looked at me incredulously.

I scanned his clothing. A bespoke black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, a soft Sea Island shirt, polished ebony cufflinks, a diamond gleaming watch, hand-stitched Italian leather shoes, and---

Well, okay, maybe slasherman isn't a robber.

"Hey, you're bleeding! I have a first aid kit back by the sink. Don't drip on my floor, please."

What am I thinking? I'll fix his wound, and then he'll kill me.

I hooked a stool with my toe and pulled it to the sink. After the water cleared the blood, it wasn't as bad as it first seemed. I quickly opened the first aid kit and pulled out two large bandages. It looked like a knife cut to the back of his hand.

Oh my god, he must have a switchblade.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket with his free hand, which swung back, revealing a dull black pistol tucked in a holster at his waist.

He is going to murder me! I knew it! He'll neutralize me! I'm gonna get iced right here in my bakery!

With shaking hands, I taped him up and stepped back, fully expecting him to whack me now that I saved his life.

That quirk of his lips again and amusement in those black eyes.

He's making fun of me.

I scowled.

"Okay, so..." Sweaty hands wiped my apron.

He scanned my face, his gaze lingering on my lips. The drops of rain still clung to his coal-black hair. The cut was short, traditional. I guessed him to be late thirties or early forties. Square solid jaw with a hint of a five o'clock shadow, and if he weren't about to kill me, I'd call him a handsome Italian.

Oh my god, a mobster. A gangster. A godfather—or whatever they are

.

He stood up, and I cringed back. He frowned. He acted as if he would touch me but in a non-killing way. Instead, he dropped his hand and moved toward the front of the store.

Maybe I did overreact.

He pulled the edge of the shade back and peered out, then went to the counter.

I watched him pick up a business card, smile when he read it, then carefully tuck it into his inner suit pocket.

I remained in the doorway between the store and the kitchen. He turned and moved to the door.

"Thanks for the medical help," he grinned, holding up his bandaged hand. He hesitated for a moment, just looking at me. "See you soon, Wren."

He looked out the edge of the shade before disappearing into the darkness.

My heart was pounding, and my cheeks were flushed. As I gathered my nerves, I grabbed the edge of the shade and hesitantly pulled it back to take a peek outside. The storm was right on us.

The rain lashed against the storefront windows, creating a watery blur, distorting my view of anyone out there. Thick, dark clouds dominated the sky, obscuring any sign of sunrise. Lightning streaked across the sky like electrified veins. The thunder rolled across the water that echoed the storm's intensity.

The wine was relentless, rattling the windows and howling like a banshee. The streets were turned into small rivers, and the puddles reflected the lightning flashes.

I almost felt sorry for Mafiaman.

For anyone out to brave the storm, I flipped the sign again and opened the shades, hoping he got to wherever he was going before the storm hit.

.

.***.***.***.

Jam

.***.***.***.

.

LIGHTS SHINING FROM THE BAKERY WINDOWS WERE LIKE A BEACON. I knew I was bleeding, so I needed a place to hole up for a few minutes and find something for my hand.

He fought back harder than I expected and caught my hand with the blade. I usually send Joey to collect because he likes to put the squeeze on them, as he called it. I happened to be in the neighborhood from another visit and figured it was a good time for collection.

One thing I didn't count on was that frightened shop owner. She was sweet and didn't deserve it, but I had no choice but to seek temporary refuge in her bakery.

​"Wren Isabella Rose" I tested her name by saying it aloud.

Having cut back to my car, I was safely ensconced in my black Lexus behind the privacy-tinted windows while the storm rolled across the water and rocked the car.

The name fit her perfectly. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a fat bun, and the bright bakery lighting highlighted auburn glints. Those velvety brown eyes had glints of gold that sparked in the light. Her cheeks had a rosy flush from the heat of the ovens but no makeup to mar her creamy skin.

She was adorable, sweet, and vulnerable. I should run the other way. I'm not attracted to adorable, sweet, and vulnerable.

I knew the moment she saw the gun. She mentally shrunk back, but with shaking hands, she still continued to care for my wound. I wanted to gather her into my arms. Sooth her. Tell her I wasn't a bad guy. Well, not a bad guy that would mean her any harm. Quite the opposite.

The pelting rain finally let up, allowing me to creep down the empty city streets toward my office.

I smiled to myself, thinking of her in that apron. Her curves in all the right places reflected her love of good food. That's good because she will enjoy my excellent Italian cuisine.

What are you thinking, Jam? Run. Run fast. The other way. She's too sweet and too vulnerable for you. You will do nothing but put her in danger, I admonished myself, but I wasn't sure I was listening.

.

.

JOEY WAS IN HIS OFFICE WHEN I WALKED IN THE DOOR. We bought a small building tucked in the middle of a residential area. Back in the day, it would have housed a small grocery and maybe a woman's dress shop with a couple of apartments on the second floor. I rented the other half to an insurance agent who was low-key by nature.

"Hey boss, da fuck you do to your hand?" Joey called out when I walked by.

His name was ​Giuseppe Vittorio Luca, but he thought it sounded too cosa nostra, so he was Joey.

"The guy over on Wright Avenue decided to give me some crap. He caught me with his blade," I said, sitting down to a pile of mail. "It got messy for him."

"Why didn't you call me? I'd have gone after him," he complained, nearly pouting.

"I was in the neighborhood." And it turns out it was most fortunate, I thought, remembering the fire dancing in her eyes. I wanted to forget the fear I put in those gorgeous eyes.

"Hey, we got a bid on that old warehouse up in the Heights." I heard papers rattle. He had piles of documents stacked everywhere on his desk. "Oh yeah, here it is... Uhm, yeah, I think we will take it."

Joey may not have been computer savvy, but at the top of his list of accomplishments was that he owned The Syndicate Equalizer. A one-of-a-kind handgun handcrafted by an elusive master gunsmith known only as The Artificer. Its sleek, matte-black frame is composed of an advanced, lightweight alloy. The handle is wrapped in supple, midnight-blue leather, bearing the ornate silver insignia of the family.

​It's chambered for a rare and potent cartridge called Silent Fury and designed exclusively for the Syndicate Equalizer. The rounds are sleek and armor-piercing, capable of subsonic flight. The cylindrical magazine has intricate engravings and holds eight rounds.

The firing mechanism is a whisper-quiet, electromagnetic propulsion system. The advanced technology eliminates the need for traditional gunpowder, producing near-silent shots. The weapon's report is reduced to barely detectable, making it the perfect tool for swift and silent persuasion.

​And Joey was one of the few family members that did something to be rewarded with the Syndicate Equalizer. And even I don't know what, but I can tell you that I was glad to have him on my side.

"We need to get rid of some of this money."

We launder millions of dollars annually through seemingly innocent real estate transactions in a medium-sized town. It was easy to blend in, and New York was only a few hours' drive from the money exchanges.

But it can be dangerous and not an association for a sweet girl like Wren.

I frowned as to how much she was in my thoughts this morning. I couldn't afford distractions in my business. And I didn't want to put anyone in danger. I was born into this life. I know nothing else. My Dad taught me early on how to be an earner like himself, and I could command any place I wanted in the organization. It works well. I'm low key, make big money for the bosses, I answer to my Dad. Otherwise, I'm left alone. I may not be big-time, but I'm happy where I am.

"I have three appointments today. Oh," he looked at his watch. "I gotta run, boss. I'll keep you posted." He popped his head back in the door. "Let me have some fun next time," he said, grinning with evil intent.

I watched him go out the door and jump in his bulletproof black Bentley.

Joey was my right-hand man. My right arm. He grew up in a rough neighborhood; tough guy was his DNA. I trusted him with my life.

.

.***.***.***.

Wren

.***.***.***.

.

I SOLD OUT EARLY, LOCKED UP, AND WALKED THE BLOCK TO MY APARTMENT. It was so hot that I dripped with sweat when I got home.

My apartment building was in a transitioning neighborhood. A giant in the rubber industry built a facility to offer housing for their employees.

My parents lived in a tract home that was part of the plan. Everyone knew everyone, and I had a great childhood. Thankfully, the neighborhood is returning to that again and is a melting pot of people. I love it here.

I unlocked the door to my little apartment. Built-in glass-fronted oak bookcases held my collection of cookbooks. Of-the-era rich, warm oak woodwork was throughout the entire apartment.

I tossed my bag on the chair and went right to the bath. It had an old claw-foot tub, which I adored. I quickly brushed my teeth in the pedestal sink and stepped under the spray of the added shower.

I dripped the shampoo in my hand and worked the thick suds through my waist-length hair. I rarely let it down because I was in the kitchen most of my life. After rinsing and conditioning, I poured the Jasmine body wash on the washcloth.

Even though I was usually frugal, it was expensive, but it smelled decadent and was a gift of self-care to me.

After dinner, I picked up the half-read romance novel

Sinister Syndicate

and turned on the television.

I don't know who I was kidding. Every moment today revolved around the mysterious man that broke into my bakery this morning to nearly kill me. I had gone over every moment with him in minute detail. All day long.

He was older but gorgeous. He was dangerous, and I sure didn't need a man like that. I don't even know what I was thinking. I'm not going to see him again anyhow. He came out of nowhere and disappeared the same. Consider yourself, lucky Wren! Like you need slasherman hanging around.

I put my book aside to watch Al Pacino. I must have dozed because I woke up to rain pelting the balcony doors. Lightning flashed through the glass while the thunder rumbled through the apartment.

I ran and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over my head.

When I woke, it was daylight, and I wondered why my alarm didn't go off. Once I cleared my head, I remembered the bakery was closed today. I flopped back down on the bed and promptly fell asleep again.

After mixing the dough, it would ferment for twelve hours. My big mixers made quick work of it. I shaped the loaves, rolled in oatmeal and seeds, and put them in the refrigerator to proof until I came back to load the oven for tomorrow's opening.

Deciding to splurge, I went around the corner to a little café. I enjoyed a glass of red wine with my lasagna and strolled back to my apartment, watching the dark clouds forming more thunderheads in the distance.

It was hot and humid, and I was a sweaty mess when I returned. Thunder rumbled, and I hurried to shower.

The air conditioning in the apartment struggled to keep up, and I opened the doors to the balcony welcoming the breeze. I wore a thin tank top and panties; the breeze helped me cool.

Suddenly the wind picked up, and the rain started. I was getting ready to close the doors when the lightning flashed and lit up the figure on my balcony.

I screamed, but my throat was frozen with an overwhelming grip of terror, and nothing came out. For the second time in so many days, someone was going to kill me.

When the doors closed, it created a vacuum. It felt like the moment when the plane changes altitude, and you're deaf and mute simultaneously in the exact second.

"Why do you have your doors open, Wren?" he glowered.

I leaned my head back to look at him towering over the sofa.

"What the hell are you doing?" I finally forced out when my voice returned.

"Locking your doors so some dangerous man doesn't sneak in to kill you." The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Oh, you are so not funny! Not funny at all!"

Angry, I jumped up and stood with my hands on my hips. His eyes were like black holes in the dim light, but when I saw him looking, I realized he could see right through the t-shirt. I crossed my arms in front of me.

"Do you always wear a suit, for god's sake?"

He laughed. "Well, yes, I do. I will add that I very much like what you're wearing."

"I don't even know your name!" I huffed.

"I'll tell you." He hesitated for effect, I'm sure. "When you're ready to scream it out when I'm inside you."

My jaw dropped. "Oh, you are quite the comedian, aren't you?" I said, rolling my eyes.

"Hmm, you know what happens to little girls that roll their eyes at me?" I shrugged, disinterested. "They get spanked."

"You are just all kinds of cocky, too, aren't you?!" I harumphed.

I knew he'd enjoy that gaff the minute that left my mouth. And he did. He laughed heartily.

"I think I'll let you find out just how cocky I am, Wren." I just rolled my eyes and went to the kitchen. "That's two."

I pulled an open wine out of the refrigerator, pulled the cork, and took a couple of swigs out of the bottle. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the door jamb.

"You don't have to leave by the balcony. You can use the front door," hoping he'd take the hint but knowing that wouldn't happen.

I tipped my head back and finished off the wine. Admittedly it was almost empty anyhow, but he didn't know that.

"When I'm ready."

Big surprise there.

The thing is, me and men and sex don't mix. I had my first and last time sex on prom night. It hurt, and I bled. He was unsympathetic. I was humiliated and swore that was the last time I'd let any man touch me.

I dropped the bottle into the trash can with a loud clunk.

He was still taking up the door space, and I could not get by without touching him. That wasn't going to happen. I'd stay in my kitchen until I got old and wrinkly. I was angry. I was nervous. I was hostile. My breath came in gasps, and my chest heaved, my tits calling for his attention.

"Come in and sit down, Wren," he said with concern.

"I'm fine." I leaned on the back of the kitchen chair.

He was in front of me two steps, one arm behind my knees, the other around my back, and striding through my apartment to my bedroom and on the bed.

"I should add the spanking to this, but I think you'd like it too much, so I'll wait."

I groaned and rolled on my stomach, hiding my face in the pillow. It was mortifying to have a drop-dead gorgeous Italian male seeing me at my worst.

The bed moved when he sat on the edge, his hip pressed against mine. Why can't he leave? I want to be humiliated in peace.

"Wren," he said softly. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about." I moaned in the pillow. "There are plenty of twenty-something virgins."

WHAT? He thinks I'm a virgin. Oh my god. It's not like something I'm going to announce. Let him believe what he wants. He's not interested in me that way. Or maybe he thinks he's going to Pretty Woman me. Makeover the poor bakeshop girl.

"Are you leaving?" I asked after uncovering my mouth.

My leg jerked when he ran a finger up the back of my leg to the edge of my panties. It felt like an electric current running from his fingertip to my cunt. He did the same thing on the other leg, then around the edge of my panties.

"Wren, you have a great ass," he sighed. To me, it had a few too many sourdough buns on it. "Just perfectly rounded." He cupped his hand over an ass cheek.

The thunder rumbled, and lightning hit at the same time, and I jumped.

"I thought the storm was over," I said, muffled in the pillow.

"Are you afraid of storms, my little Wren?"

"Mmmph." I had my face in the pillow and wasn't about to talk.

The bed moved with his weight off of it. He's leaving. Finally, I heard him walking around the apartment. The toilet flushed. His footsteps came closer. Those Italian leather shoes cost him what a year's rent would be for me.

The room plunged into darkness. I lifted my head and looked around. His shadowy figure was on the other side of the bed. I saw the sheets lift at the same time his weight came down on the bed.

"Come here, my little Wren," he said softly, encouraging me to roll to my side. He spooned in behind me. "You won't need to be scared anymore, not now that I'm around. I'll keep you safe."

He wrapped his arm around me, and in minutes I heard his soft even breathing. He was sleeping already. And he didn't try to cop a feel or make any moves, I thought wondrously. I fell asleep in his arms to the rolling thunder and hammering rain outside the window.

.