Chapter 6 - The Price of Saving Someone
Three weeks later, Ara stood outside The Crumb.
Or what remained of it.
Plywood covered the windows.
The sign hung crooked.
Inside, half the walls had been stripped to studs.
Kalin stood beside her.
“You hate it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’ve been staring at the front door for seven minutes.”
Ara looked at him.
“You timed me?”
“I notice things.”
“Yes. I’m familiar with that problem.”
He smiled.
It came easier now.
Tomas had been charged with weapons trafficking, conspiracy, extortion, theft, and enough financial crimes to bury him for years.
Kovatch and Rossi had agreed to a ceasefire.
Not friendship.
Ara had heard Anton describe that distinction four times.
Kalin had barely left her side.
Which was becoming a different problem.
She looked through the damaged window.
“You replaced the ovens.”
“Yes.”
“The counters.”
“Yes.”
“The espresso machine.”
“Yes.”
“The floor.”
“Yes.”
“The entire plumbing system.”
“It was terrible.”
“It was old.”
“It was illegal in three places.”
Ara turned.
“And you bought the building.”
Kalin went silent.
She crossed her arms.
“You bought my landlord’s building.”
“He was charging you unreasonable rent.”
“Kalin.”
“He was also unpleasant.”
“You cannot purchase every inconvenience in my life.”
“I disagree.”
She tried not to smile.
Failed.
Kalin watched her carefully.
“What?”
She sighed.
“This is what scares me.”
His amusement disappeared.
“What?”
“You.”
He stepped back half a pace.
Ara continued.
“Not because you’re dangerous.”
“I am dangerous.”
“I know.”
She pointed toward the bakery.
“You do things before asking.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was trying to repair what I damaged.”
“And I appreciate that.”
“But.”
“But I don’t want to become another thing you own because you saved it.”
Kalin’s face went still.
“Ara.”
“I need my bakery to be mine.”
“It is.”
“Then sell the building to me.”
He frowned.
“At market value.”
“You cannot afford market value.”
“I’ll pay over time.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Kalin.”
“The interest alone—”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Deciding what I can handle.”
Silence.
Kalin looked through the bakery window.
His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
“My whole life, hesitation got people hurt.”
Ara studied him.
“My father taught me that control keeps people alive.”
“Did it?”
His eyes moved toward her.
She had never asked about his family.
Kalin looked down at the tattoos covering his hand.
“My mother was killed when I was eighteen.”
Ara said nothing.
“She wanted to leave a restaurant without security. My father said no. They argued. She went anyway.”
His jaw worked.
“Someone knew.”
Ara’s expression softened.
“Kalin.”
“I spent twenty years believing that if I controlled every door, every route, every person near me, nothing like that would happen again.”
“And then you met me.”
“You are very bad for my blood pressure.”
She laughed softly.
“So are you.”
Rain began to fall.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Kalin reached into his coat.
Ara stiffened.
“If that is a deed—”
“It is.”
She stared at him.
He handed her an envelope.
She opened it.
The building deed.
Her name was listed as owner.
Ara looked up.
“What did you do?”
“Transferred it.”
“I said I wanted to buy it.”
“I know.”
“Kalin.”
“So buy it.”
She frowned.
“How?”
“One dollar.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
His mouth twitched.
“Ten?”
“No.”
“Twenty-five?”
“You are infuriating.”
“One hundred and one dollars. Final offer.”
She shoved the papers against his chest.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Why?”
Kalin looked at the damaged bakery.
“Because The Crumb existed before I walked into it.”
Then at her.
“And I need to prove I understand that your life belongs to you.”
Ara’s anger faded.
Kalin continued.
“Pay whatever you think is fair. Five years. Ten. I don’t care.”
“You care about everything.”
“Not this.”
She stared at him.
“What do you want in exchange?”
His expression changed.
“Nothing.”
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
She smiled.
Kalin took a slow breath.
“There is one thing.”
“I knew it.”
“Dinner.”
Ara blinked.
“What?”
“One dinner.”
“You nearly got me killed and your grand romantic strategy is dinner?”
“No bulletproof car outside.”
“Good.”
“No guards at the table.”
“Better.”
“No buying the restaurant.”
He hesitated.
“You already own it, don’t you?”
“A small percentage.”
“Kalin!”
He actually laughed.
Ara stared at him.
It was the first time she had ever heard the sound fully.
Not a smirk.
Not a breath.
A real laugh.
And she hated how much she liked it.
“Friday,” she said.
His laughter stopped.
“What?”
“Dinner. Friday.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
He looked almost suspicious.
Ara stepped closer.
“But if you send a convoy—”
“I won’t.”
“If you order for me—”
“I won’t.”
“If you threaten the waiter—”
“That seems unfairly specific.”
“Kalin.”
“I won’t.”
She offered her hand.
“Then it’s a date.”
He looked at her hand.
Then slowly took it.
No possessiveness.
No command.
Just warmth.
“Friday,” he said.
Ara smiled.
“Don’t be late.”
“I have never been late in my life.”
“First time for everything, criminal prince.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I blame Viktor for that nickname.”
“You should.”
Kalin looked at the bakery.
“For what it’s worth, I like the name.”
“The Crumb?”
“Yes.”
“You called it stupid.”
“I was wrong.”
Ara raised an eyebrow.
“Say that again.”
“Absolutely not.”
She laughed.
May you like
And for the first time since the bullets had shattered her windows, Fourth Street sounded normal again.
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