Chapter 1 - Blood Among the White Roses
At seven in the morning, Bloom & Stems belonged to Lena Kowalska.
The delivery trucks had not yet clogged Court Street. The espresso machine at Angelo’s Bakery next door had only begun hissing. Inside Lena’s shop, the air smelled of damp leaves, eucalyptus, and the sweet green bite of freshly cut rose stems. It was the hour she loved best, before customers arrived with apologies, anniversaries, funerals, proposals, and all the complicated reasons people bought flowers.
Lena stood behind the marble counter turning a bouquet of white roses beneath the window light.
“Too much baby’s breath,” she murmured to herself.
She removed three stems, tilted the arrangement, and smiled.
At twenty-five, she had built a life small enough to hold in both hands. The flower shop. The greenhouse behind it. A one-bedroom apartment three blocks away. Sunday dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Zielinski downstairs. Coffee with her best friend Sophia, who treated dating like a dangerous competitive sport.
It was not glamorous.
It was hers.
Her phone buzzed.
SOPHIA: Noon. Emergency coffee. Last night’s date brought his life coach.
Lena laughed and typed back.
LENA: Pastries are on me. Emotional damages are on you.
She tucked the phone into her apron and carried a bucket of orchids toward the greenhouse.
That was when the back door slammed once against its frame.
Lena stopped.
The door rattled again.
Not a polite knock. Not a delivery.
A heavy body hitting wood.
She set the orchids down.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Another impact shook the frosted glass.
Every sensible thought told her to call the police before touching the lock. Instead, she moved closer and saw the shadow beyond the pane sag lower.
Someone was hurt.
“Great,” she whispered. “This is exactly how women die in terrible movies.”
She grabbed the heavy pruning shears anyway.
Then she opened the door.
A man nearly fell across the threshold.
He caught himself with one hand against the brick wall. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black suit that had probably cost more than Lena’s monthly rent. Rain darkened his hair. Blood darkened the left side of his white shirt.
His eyes found hers.
Almost black.
Controlled, even through pain.
“Please,” he said.
Then his knees folded.
Lena lunged forward and caught as much of him as she could.
“Oh my God.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re falling into a flower shop at sunrise while bleeding through your clothes.”
“I’ve had better mornings.”
His attempt at humor came out through clenched teeth.
Lena hooked his arm over her shoulders and dragged him to the wooden bench beside the potting table. He sat heavily, breathing shallowly.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
His hand closed around her wrist before she reached her phone.
Not violent.
Desperate.
“No hospitals.”
Lena stared at him.
“No police either,” he added.
“That is the least reassuring sentence anyone has ever said in this building.”
His grip loosened immediately.
“Sorry.”
He released her.
Lena should have stepped away.
Instead, she saw how pale he was.
“Let me see the wound.”
“No.”
“Then bleed somewhere else.”
For the first time, something almost human flickered across his face.
A tired hint of amusement.
“Bossy florist.”
“Bleeding stranger.”
He leaned back.
“Fine.”
Lena carefully pulled his jacket open. The injury was high on his left arm, near the shoulder. A bullet had apparently grazed him rather than entered cleanly, tearing fabric and skin. It looked ugly, but not instantly fatal.
She exhaled.
“You got lucky.”
“That depends on your definition.”
She retrieved the first-aid kit she kept beneath the counter.
When she returned, he was looking toward the front windows.
“Expecting company?” she asked.
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Lena knelt beside him.
“Hold still.”
Antiseptic met torn skin.
His jaw tightened, but he did not flinch.
“You have definitely done this before,” she said.
“Been disinfected?”
“Been shot.”
His gaze returned to her face.
“Grazed.”
“You say that like it’s a parking ticket.”
She wrapped the bandage firmly around his arm.
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated long enough to make the question interesting.
“Dante.”
“Just Dante?”
“For now.”
“Very normal.”
“What about you?”
“Lena.”
His eyes shifted toward the gold lettering painted across the front glass.
BLOOM & STEMS — LENA KOWALSKA.
“I guessed.”
She tied the bandage.
“There. You need actual medical care when you decide to stop being mysterious.”
“Thank you.”
The sincerity in his voice surprised her.
Lena stood and began gathering the bloodied towels.
“Whoever did this—are they coming here?”
“No.”
Another answer too fast.
She looked at him.
“Dante.”
“They don’t know where I went.”
“But they know you were hurt.”
“Yes.”
“And you walked into my shop.”
“Yes.”
“So from my perspective, I should be worried.”
He studied her for a long moment.
“From your perspective, I should leave.”
“Can you?”
He pushed himself upright.
Made it one step.
Caught the worktable before he fell.
Lena folded her arms.
“Excellent demonstration.”
His mouth tightened in frustration.
“I only need an hour.”
“You need rest.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Everybody has time when their body refuses to cooperate.”
She pointed toward the narrow door behind the greenhouse.
“There’s a storage room. Cot, sink, no windows. I use it when wedding season turns me into a hostage.”
Dante stared at her.
“You’re offering me a place to hide?”
“I’m offering you somewhere to stop bleeding on things I sell.”
“Why?”
The question landed differently than the others.
Not suspicious.
Almost bewildered.
Lena looked at the flowers surrounding them.
“My grandmother used to say kindness doesn’t require a background check.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“She survived Warsaw during martial law and raised four children. She was dangerous.”
Dante looked down.
“You don’t know what I am.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“No.”
“I could be a terrible man.”
Lena considered him.
“You could. But right now you’re an injured man in my greenhouse.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then he said, “I’ve walked past this place before.”
Lena frowned.
“What?”
“My company owns buildings on this block. I come through sometimes.” He looked around the greenhouse. “You’re always here before everyone else.”
“You own my building?”
“Through a property company.”
“So my landlord arrives shot in the shoulder and asks not to call police.”
His expression became dry.
“When you say it like that, it sounds suspicious.”
“It is suspicious.”
A car door slammed somewhere in the alley.
Dante’s posture changed instantly.
Not fear.
Training.
He stepped toward Lena despite the pain.
“Go to the front.”
“What?”
“Lock the greenhouse door behind me. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me.”
Her pulse jumped.
“You said nobody followed you.”
“I said they didn’t know where I went.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
The admission was calm.
Too calm.
Lena looked toward the alley.
Then at the blood on her floor.
“Storage room. Now.”
“Lena—”
“Move.”
For the first time that morning, Dante obeyed without argument.
He disappeared through the narrow door.
Lena locked it, wiped the bench, pushed the bloody towels into a trash bag, and arranged three buckets of hydrangeas in front of the back entrance.
Her hands were still shaking when the bell over the front door rang.
A man in a dark coat walked inside.
He did not look at the flowers.
He looked at Lena.
“Morning,” he said.
“Can I help you?”
He smiled without warmth.
“I’m looking for somebody.”
Lena forced herself to smile back.
“Then I hope he likes flowers.”
May you like
The stranger’s gaze moved past her toward the greenhouse.
And for the first time since opening Bloom & Stems, Lena wished her little shop had fewer doors.
