3llie

Lorenzo

To anyone passing by the bakery, he was just a family man. He stood behind the counter in a flour-dusted apron, laughing warmly with an elderly customer and carefully boxing up a dozen cannoli. But beneath the linen shirt, the sharp lines of a shoulder holster were hidden. As the customer left, his smile vanished like smoke. He wiped his hands on a towel, walked into the windowless back office, and locked the door. In the dim light, he pulled a ledger from a floor safe, his warm neighborhood persona instantly replaced by the sharp, calculating glare of a seasoned racketeer