Luca reached for the lid, right as a voice boomed from the open doorway. “What do you think you’re doing in my bakery?”
The thin morning light framed Antonio’s shoulders as he stood on the threshold. Stella moved toward Antonio, her heart in her throat, but Luca pulled her back more gently than she would have expected. Antonio looked from one to the other. He frowned. “Was I robbed? Was it Aldo? What did they do?”
“I . . . ” Stella couldn’t remember the last time she struggled to find words. Usually phrases leapt like sinewy fish into her mind, whether she wanted them to or not. But now . . . nothing. She glanced at Luca. The hardness in his face reminded her, these were not her words to tell. She noticed Salvo slip out the shop door and move behind Antonio, taking photographs of the foo
