Chapter 3 - Flowers for a Dangerous Man
By lunchtime, Lena had told Sophia almost everything.
Not Dante’s name.
Not the gun.
Not the black card in her apron.
But enough.
Sophia sat on the greenhouse worktable with a croissant untouched in her hand.
“So a bleeding stranger falls through your back door, refuses a hospital, hides in your storage room, and then leaves in a convoy of black SUVs.”
“Yes.”
“And you reopened the shop.”
“I had a memorial order.”
Sophia stared at her.
“You are the reason emergency warning labels exist.”
Lena sighed.
“He was hurt.”
“So are raccoons. I don’t invite them into storage.”
“He wasn’t a raccoon.”
“Did the raccoon have cheekbones?”
Lena threw a ribbon spool at her.
Sophia caught it.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You like him.”
“I met him for ninety minutes.”
“Women have made worse decisions in less time.”
Lena returned to stripping leaves from rose stems.
“I don’t like him.”
“Good.”
“I’m curious.”
“Worse.”
The bell rang.
Both women froze.
A delivery boy entered carrying twelve boxes of white roses.
“Lena Kowalska?”
“Yes.”
“Prepaid.”
“By whom?”
He checked the tablet.
“D. Moretti.”
Sophia’s head turned slowly.
“Moretti?”
Lena closed her eyes.
“Please don’t.”
“Dante Moretti?”
The delivery boy looked delighted.
“Oh, is that who—”
“Thank you,” Lena said quickly, signing.
When he left, Sophia waited three full seconds.
Then exploded.
“DANTE MORETTI?”
“Inside voice.”
“He is a mafia boss!”
“He owns restaurants.”
“He owns men who own restaurants!”
“That is not legally meaningful.”
“He was questioned in a federal racketeering case two years ago.”
“Not charged.”
Sophia stared.
“You researched him already.”
Lena looked away.
“Basic landlord due diligence.”
“You Googled him because he bled handsomely.”
Lena opened one of the rose boxes.
Inside was a small envelope.
She read the note.
For replacing what I ruined. No strings attached. — D
Sophia leaned over.
“That is unfortunately charming.”
Lena hated that she agreed.
Over the next week, no more armed men appeared.
No threats arrived.
Life returned to its rhythm.
Except Dante began appearing in it.
Never dramatically.
Never with an entourage inside the shop.
Tuesday afternoon, he came in wearing a dark overcoat and bought a bouquet for an elderly woman named Mrs. Bellini.
Thursday morning, he arrived before opening with coffee from Angelo’s.
“You know I sell flowers, not forgiveness,” Lena said through the locked glass.
He held up the cups.
“Bribery.”
She let him in.
His wound was healing. The bandage beneath his shirt was barely visible.
“You should still see a doctor.”
“I did.”
“A real one?”
“One with diplomas.”
“Progress.”
Dante leaned against the counter.
“Vale hasn’t returned?”
“No.”
“Anyone unusual?”
“You.”
His mouth tilted.
“That was almost a joke.”
“It was exactly a joke.”
He looked around.
“Shop looks normal.”
“It is normal.”
“Does that matter to you?”
“Very much.”
He nodded as if storing the answer.
Lena set coffee between them.
“What happened that morning?”
Dante looked at the cup.
“I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”
“That sounds vague on purpose.”
“It is.”
“Was Vale involved?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He works for Victor Vescari.”
Lena knew that name too.
Vescari Logistics. Vescari Construction. A family that seemed to own half the trucks at the Brooklyn docks.
“Our companies have been fighting over waterfront contracts for years,” Dante said. “Not always legally.”
“Your companies?”
“My family.”
“So this is organized crime.”
He did not insult her by denying it.
“My father built things one way. I inherited them.”
“And you?”
“I’m trying to change them.”
She studied him.
“Into what?”
“Businesses that can survive without bribes, threats, or people disappearing.”
“That is a very low ethical starting point.”
“It is.”
“And Vale shot you because you wanted taxes?”
Dante almost smiled.
“Because changing the system means somebody loses money.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make ten men a cost of doing business.”
The simplicity of his answer frightened her.
Lena folded her hands.
“Why tell me this?”
“Because Vale entered your shop. You deserve to understand what he represents.”
“And what do you represent?”
That question took longer.
“Something unfinished.”
She respected the answer more than she wanted to.
That evening, Dante returned to his office in Brooklyn Heights and met with Marco.
Marco placed surveillance photographs on the desk.
Vale outside a warehouse.
Vale meeting a man in a gray cap.
Vale entering a building owned by Moretti Hospitality.
“Inside our property?” Dante asked.
Marco nodded.
“Someone is feeding him movement schedules.”
“Who knew about the waterfront meeting?”
“Six people.”
“Reduce it.”
“I’m trying.”
Dante’s eyes moved to another photograph.
Lena locking Bloom & Stems after dark.
Marco noticed.
“She’s exposed.”
“I know.”
“You want a guard on her?”
“She’ll see him.”
“Of course she’ll see him. She notices everything.”
Dante rubbed his jaw.
“Discreet.”
Marco sighed.
“She told you not to decide her life.”
“I remember.”
“So?”
“So make it neighborhood coverage. Not her.”
Marco’s smile was faint.
“You like her.”
Dante looked up.
“I owe her.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“Then say less.”
Marco left laughing.
Two days later, Lena discovered the protection accidentally.
A familiar customer, Mr. Russo, arrived for tulips and mentioned the same black sedan had been parked across the street for three mornings.
Lena walked outside.
The sedan pulled away before she reached it.
Her anger arrived before fear.
She called the number on Dante’s card.
He answered immediately.
“Lena?”
“You put people outside my shop.”
Silence.
“Not outside your shop.”
“Across from it.”
“Different preposition.”
“Dante.”
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
“You promised not to control my life.”
“I’m not controlling anything.”
“You’re surveilling my block.”
“I’m watching for Vale.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I told you, you’d say no.”
“That is the definition of why you should have told me.”
Another silence.
Then Dante said, “You’re right.”
It disarmed her again.
She leaned against the storefront.
“I hate when you do that.”
“Admit you’re right?”
“Yes. It ruins my prepared argument.”
“I can lie if it helps.”
“No.”
He became serious.
“Can we compromise?”
“What compromise?”
“You choose who watches.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“I’ll send you three names. Retired police. Licensed security. You meet them. You pick one. Their job is the block, not you. You can fire them.”
Lena considered it.
“That is weirdly reasonable.”
“I have moments.”
“And if I say nobody?”
“Then nobody.”
“You mean that?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Yes.”
Lena looked through the glass at her shop.
“Send the names.”
When she hung up, Sophia was standing behind the counter holding carnations.
“You are negotiating private security with a mafia boss.”
“Apparently.”
“Do I get a gun?”
“No.”
“A panic button?”
“Maybe.”
“Can he be handsome when he installs it?”
Lena rolled her eyes.
Outside, across the street, a man in a gray cap watched the shop from inside a delivery van.
He raised his phone.
Took one photograph of Lena.
May you like
Then sent it to Rafael Vale with three words.
SHE MATTERS NOW.
