Dante (Hell's Ankhor #6) - Aiden Bates

1

Dante

I folded the sweet-smelling dough over itself once, twice, again, and then shaped it into an oval and set it aside with a dozen others that looked exactly the same. I still had a few loaves to shape, and then after that, I had to get started rolling out tomorrow’s bagels.

I paused and rubbed the back of my hand across my forehead. It was always hot in the bakery, even this early in the morning, when the air outside was still cool from the summer night. It was just before six in the morning, and Stella’s would open in about thirty minutes.

I was the only one in the building—at least until Mary arrived any minute now to brew the coffee and prepare the displays for our morning regulars. But as the sole baker on the premises, I always arrived at four—sometimes even earlier—to prepare all the bread and pastries for the day.

The immense timer in the center of the oven beeped, and I slid the freshly baked sourdoughs from the oven and deposited them on the cooling rack. Sweat beaded on my forehead from simply standing so close to the beast of an oven. Couldn’t help but love her, though, even if she was fickle with temperature, and I had a hell of a lot of scars from reaching inside—enough that they’d ruined a few of my tattoos.

I’d owned Stella’s for six years now, but I’d been baking professionally in this building for fourteen years, ever since I finished my baking apprenticeship at twenty years old. And Stella’s was my baby. I was proud of my bread and pastry, which I’d lovingly cribbed from my grandmother’s recipes that she’d baked for me growing up. She’d raised me just as much as Dad had, especially since my mom took off after I was born. My grandmother had worked in the bakery for nearly two decades before her death, and when I bought the business from my former boss when he retired, I had decided to rename the bakery after her.

Stella’s was a cornerstone of the Junee community, too. It’d grown from a tiny operation to a bustling business, and if I had to guess, I’d say about half of Junee came in at least once a week for a treat and some coffee. Dad had helped me out financially when I wanted to buy the business, but by my fourth year in business, I’d paid him back double. Running the business gave me a sense of accomplishment and responsibility—not that being vice president of the Liberty Crew didn’t. I’d been born into the club: Liberty Crew was my family, and Stella’s helped keep our coffers flush.

Once the bread was out and cooling, I finished shaping the next batch of loaves, moved them to the proofing cabinet, and then checked on my muffins, which were finishing up in the smaller pastry oven. At this point in my career, I had my baking schedule down to a science. The muffins were perfectly done, which rounded out the pastry for the day.

But these muffins weren’t going out on display with the croissants, cookies, and scones.

“Morning!” Mary chirped as she hurried into the bakery. “Sorry I’m late!”

I glanced at the clock. Mary was barely two minutes later than her scheduled shift. It was nice to finally have some reliable help around here, even if it was only a couple hours a week—and a family member, as well. My younger cousin. Grandma would be proud.

Mary started the coffee brewing up front, her voice carrying easily from the small, rustic front counter into the bright open kitchen. “Did you get the issue with the register fixed?”

“No,” I said sourly. “I’m going to have to go into the books for the past week or so and try to dig up the discrepancy. It should be fine for today, though.”

“Okay,” Mary said in a tone that suggested she very much did not believe that it would be fine. “You won’t get mad at me if the count’s all off at close tonight, right?”

“No, Mary, I won’t get mad,” I said. She stuck her head into the kitchen just enough to grin at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

I loved working at the bakery, loved having something all my own to shape that I could use to support my family, and I loved being a good boss. But God, the actual business side—the numbers, and the financials, and the paperwork, and the bureaucracy? I was getting really sick of

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