Page 52 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

With a resigned sigh, I leave the sanctuary of my office and make my way through the kitchen to the front of the house. The staff is in full swing, setting up tables and polishing glasses, the usual pre-service buzz filling the air.

I spot him as I approach the bar. He is a man who doesn’t just wear a suit but defines it, exuding an air of quiet danger. His demeanor isn't loud or overt, but there's an undeniable presence about him, a calm sort of menace that seems to say he’s used to being listened to and obeyed.

Steeling myself, I straighten my chef’s jacket and head over. This is the bed I’ve made, and now I have to lie in it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The man stands as I approach, offering a firm handshake that's as calculated as his gaze. "I'm Matteo Rossi," he introduces himself with a slight nod, his voice smooth and confident. "I've been looking forward to meeting the chef Luca speaks so highly of."

I nod in acknowledgment, keeping my expression neutral. "Well, you’ve found him. I’m Patrick Spellman. What can I do for you, Mr. Rossi?" I ask, cutting straight to the point. Time is precious, and so is clarity in these sorts of dealings.

Matteo's smile doesn't waver as he responds. "Luca was exceptionally pleased with last Tuesday's service. So much so, he'd like to book the restaurant for this coming Tuesday as well."

I raise an eyebrow, my interest piqued despite my reservations. "That soon?" I ask, already calculating the logistical adjustments needed.

"Yes," Matteo continues, his gaze steady. "He has a very important guest arriving from Sicily. Luca wants to ensure that his associate experiences the best cuisine New York has to offer. Naturally, he thought of Savor."

I pause, letting the implications of his words sink in. Luca’s satisfaction could mean good business, but it also deepens the ties that I'm increasingly unsure about. Yet refusing isn't a simple option—not without consequences.

I weigh his request against the restaurant's schedule, feeling the pressure of his insistence. "I appreciate the urgency, Mr. Rossi, but we're already booked for that evening. I can't just cancel on other patrons. It would be bad for business," I state, keeping my tone authoritative yet open to negotiation.

Matteo, unflinching and clearly used to getting his way, leans forward slightly. "Mr. Amato was very clear about wanting this upcoming Tuesday. He's willing to make it substantially worth your while," he presses.

The mention of additional payment piques my interest, especially with twins now on the way, but delving in deeper with the Mafia is a dangerous path, one I’m not willing to risk the safety of my family for. My arrangement with Luca Amato was originally for one night a month. Asking for another night only a week later will most likely turn into asking for more nights throughout the month.

What have I gotten myself into?

Turning back to Matteo, I make a decision, allowing my business acumen to take over. "If I can rearrange the reservations, we'll have a deal. I'll offer them something on the house to shift to another night. But let me make myself clear, Mr. Rossi. This is a one-time occurrence. I will not adjust reservations again, not for Mr. Amato or anybody else. Got it?"

Matteo's expression shifts to one of smug satisfaction akin to a shark smelling blood in the water. "That sounds like a plan. Luca will be very pleased," he states confidently, the underlying threat clear.

I extend my hand, sealing the tentative deal with a firm shake. "I'll get on it right away and confirm with you by tomorrow."

As Matteo prepares to leave, he throws one last proposition into the mix, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Luca wanted you to know that he has some connections with the Michelin Guide reviewers. He believes Savor is a prime candidate for their attention."

I stiffen, my brow furrowing. "I trust you're not suggesting anything improper. We earn our accolades fairly here."

"Of course, nothing untoward," Rossi assures quickly, a sleek smile playing on his lips. "Luca would merely ensure that your talents are appropriately showcased sooner rather than later."

I exhale slowly, the lure of a Michelin Star not lost on me, but the potential strings attached regarding Luca make me wary. "Perhaps," I concede, my response noncommittal but open.

"Excellent," Rossi says, satisfaction evident. "Expect ten guests. I’ll need the menu details by tomorrow to pass along to Luca." He passes me a business card with his contact information.

"Understood," I reply, my mind already racing through possible dishes that could dazzle the toughest critics. "I’ll draft something and send it over."

With a final nod of approval, Rossi departs, leaving me to ponder the fine line between seizing opportunity and maintaining integrity. As the door closes behind him, the depth of the moment hangs heavily in the air.

I watch Rossi slip into a sleek black luxury car, his departure smooth and swift. As the vehicle glides away, I stand there for a moment longer, the weight of our agreement settling over me.

Running a hand through my hair, I try to shake off the unease that clings stubbornly. The money is good—great, even—and this could catapult Savor into a new realm of culinary acclaim. Yet the nagging feeling in my gut tells me I'm playing with fire.

This isn’t just about me anymore.

With a deep breath, I turn toward the kitchen, the familiar clatter and bustle drawing me back to reality. As I push through the doors, the heat from the stoves and the focus of my team reorients me.

My kitchen, my restaurant, is my haven, and no one is going to change that.

Chapter 32

Allie

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