Chapter 3 - Freezing Winds Sweep Across Chicago's Dark Streets
The sub-zero wind howled off Lake Michigan, biting sharply through heavy wool coats and freezing rain into fine sleet as midnight approached. Chicago’s streets wore a desolate, icy coat, deserted by everyone except those who had no choice but to brave the elements.
Maya stood over the stainless steel baking table, her forearms covered in sticky flour and wet dough. Her muscles screamed in agony, begging for a single hour of uninterrupted sleep that she knew would not come.
“Maya, you can finish wrapping those cinnamon rolls tomorrow morning; go take a ten-minute break,” Rosa called out from the back counter. Maya forced a tired smile, wiping her forehead with the back of her flour-dusted wrist.
“I'm almost done, Rosa; just need to prep the final trays for the morning rush,” Maya replied, her voice sounding raspy even to her own ears. The small bakery hummed with the steady drone of ancient industrial refrigerators and glowing neon signs flickering outside.
Every time the front bell chimed, Maya’s heart skipped a beat, terrified that it might be one of the men from the loan agency checking her progress. The debt had grown like a cancer, feeding on missed payments and exorbitant penalty fees that multiplied by the week.
She pulled her phone from her apron pocket, staring at the cracked screen that still displayed zero missed calls from Julian. Part of her felt immense relief that he had stayed behind in his luxurious penthouse cocoon.
Another part of her felt a sharp, unfamiliar pang of loneliness wondering if he even cared where she had disappeared to tonight. She pushed the thought aside, focusing entirely on the rhythmic motion of kneading dough to block out her mounting panic.
Outside on Milwaukee Avenue, the low, throaty rumble of a custom V12 engine cut through the howling winter wind. A sleek black sedan pulled up directly in front of the bakery, idling smoothly against the salted slush on the curb.
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Maya didn't hear the car door open above the sound of the mixers, nor did she notice the heavy shadow falling across the glass storefront. The bell above the door chimed softly, breaking the ambient hum of the kitchen.
“We’re actually closed for the night, sir, but I can pack up a pastry if you—,” Maya began without looking up from her flour trough.
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