146. Bread, Basil and Beginnings. (Patreon)

“Sometimes redemption doesn’t begin with a sword laid down but with a loaf of bread, shared without fear.”

---

The Crock residence was unusually quiet that afternoon.

Artemis had gone to Mount Justice for a mission, Paula was sketching storyboards for her Webtoon and Jade lay sprawled on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling fan as it lazily spun circles above her head.

“Maybe I should get a job.” She muttered to herself.

Then snorted. “Yeah. Because League of Assassins graduate looks real nice on a résumé.”

She sighed, rolling to her feet. “I didn’t even finish preschool.”

The thought stung more than she expected. She’d learned seventeen different ways to kill a man with a spoon before she’d ever learned multiplication.

"Mom, I'm going job hunting." Yelled Jade as she swung her jacket over her shoulder and the black baseball hat on her head.

"Good luck, sweetie. Also love you." Yelled Paula as Jade shut the door from behind.

Her boots clicked softly against the Gotham sidewalk as she wandered aimlessly, hands shoved into her jacket pockets.

The city was alive with its usual chaos — honking cars, chattering street vendors, the distant sirens that Gothamites ignored like background music.

Then her eyes caught on a tall, glimmering tower nearby — its name engraved in bronze at the base:

PEACE.

She raised a brow. “How ironic.”

Jade didn't know what happened but she entered and there she saw it.

Nestled between clothing shops, was a charming Italian restaurant with a bright red sign painted in careful cursive:

“La Fiamma di Casa — Pizzeria Tradizionale.”

The scent hit her before the sound did — warm dough, melted cheese, basil, tomatoes and something rich and comforting she couldn’t quite name.

On the window, a hand-written pamphlet flapped gently in the AC breeze.

“HELP WANTED — Must be good with knives and cutting mozzarella. Generous pay. Family atmosphere.”

Jade stared at it for a long moment.

“Good with knives, huh?” she murmured, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Guess I qualify.”

---

Inside was a riot of life — the kind only a big Italian family could generate. Laughter bounced off tiled walls, music hummed softly in the background and the air smelled like heaven had learned to bake. The customers were endless and the chatter never died.

Behind the counter, she spotted a familiar figure — Maya Ducard.

Hair tied up, floral headscarf on, apron dusted with flour, she was kneading dough with the precision of a trained artisan. There was a calm joy about her — one Jade couldn’t remember ever feeling herself.

Jade turned to leave quietly.

But fate had other plans.

“Eh! You! Ragazza!” A voice boomed.

A stout older woman — flour on her cheek, eyes sharper than any blade — had caught sight of her.

Before Jade could react, the woman grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her inside.

“Too thin! You need food! Come, come!” The woman said, her accent thick and her strength terrifyingly disproportionate to her size.

“I—I was just looking—” Jade tried, but it was useless. The Nonna had her in a death grip.

“Nonsense! You want job, sì? Come, we see how you cut. You have the hands of someone who knows knives — I can tell!”

Jade blinked, half-stunned, half-impressed. “How the hell—?”

“Language!” Nonna scolded, swatting the air near her head. “Now! Chop these — peppers, basil, mozzarella. Show me you have respect for the food.”

There was something so commanding about the older woman that Jade found herself obeying without argument.

Within seconds, the rhythmic sound of steel on wood filled the kitchen. Her hands moved instinctively — slicing vegetables into perfect, precise ribbons, each cut identical to the last.

When she stopped, Nonna examined the board like a general inspecting soldiers.

Then she nodded approvingly. “Good. You cut like someone who used to cut… worse things. But no matter. Knife is knife — depends on what heart tells it to do.”

That hit harder than Jade wanted to admit. She exhaled slowly, setting the blade down.

“Used to work for bad people.” She said quietly. “Trying to stop. Not sure what I am now.”

Nonna’s face softened. “Then today, you are a cook. Tomorrow, maybe a friend. That is enough.”

Jade felt something in her chest loosen — a knot she hadn’t known was there.

“...You’re something else, you know that?”

“Of course. I’m Nonna.” She replied matter-of-factly, then pinched Jade’s cheek with a grin. “You help Maya with the oven now. She will show you. She is good girl, strong heart.”

As if summoned, Maya turned from the counter, eyes widening slightly when she recognized Jade.

“Cheshire.” She said softly.

Jade raised a brow. “Still using the old codename, huh?”

Maya just smiled. “Old habits. But here, I’m just Maya. No Nobody.”

She handed Jade a fresh apron and a pair of gloves. “Come on. I’ll show you how not to burn your eyebrows off.”

They worked in quiet rhythm for a while — Maya kneading dough, Jade slicing toppings with clean precision. It was peaceful in a way Jade hadn’t expected — every sound, from the bubbling sauce to Nonna’s distant singing, felt like a lullaby to a life she’d never lived. The chatter of satisfied customers felt like the cover of a melodious song.

At one point, Maya glanced over. “You know, King said the same thing about you.”

“What thing?”

“That you’d find your way back. When you were ready.”

Jade’s knife paused mid-cut. She didn’t answer — didn’t know how to.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t make her uncomfortable. It made her… curious.

---

Later that night, Jade returned home with flour on her sleeves and a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Paula was sketching at the table when Jade stepped in.

Her mother looked up. “You look… different.”

Jade shrugged, dropping onto the couch. “An Italian Nonna just poached me.”

Paula blinked. “What?”

“I got a job.” Jade said, grinning despite herself. “Pays good. I chop cheese now instead of necks.”

Paula’s laugh filled the room — warm, genuine, and wet with emotion. “I’m proud of you, Jade.”

Jade leaned back, arms crossed behind her head. “Yeah. Kinda proud of me too.”

For the first time in a long, long while, the Crock household felt whole.

And somewhere, deep in her heart, Jade Crock — assassin, fugitive, sister — began to believe that maybe, just maybe…

normal life wasn’t so impossible after all.