Page 3 of Boss of Brooklyn

As Brooklyn looms before me, my kingdom of concrete and steel, I shake my head to clear these crazy thoughts. I can never show weakness. And I’ve got to deal with this girl soon.

Chapter 2

Sofia

Iwipe my brow with the back of my hand, the kitchen's heat a stark contrast to the quiet dining room beyond. The night has been slow, almost painfully so, and I can't help but worry. Opening a restaurant at twenty-three was a risk, I knew that, but nights like these make me question everything.

I lean against the stainless steel counter, my mind drifting to all the sacrifices I've made to get here. The sleepless nights, the missed family gatherings, the relationships left by the wayside. How long has it been since I’ve even been on a date? I can’t even recall. My fingers absently trace the scar on my forearm – a reminder of the countless burns and cuts endured during my culinary journey.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard. I'd dreamed of owning my own restaurant since I was a little girl, standing on a stool in my Nonna's kitchen, barely tall enough to see over the counter. I can still smell the rich aroma of her famous ragù simmering on the stove, hear her gentle voice guiding my small hands as we kneaded pasta dough together. I even named this place after her.

“Cooking is love made visible, Sofia,” she'd say, her eyes twinkling. “Remember that, and you'll never go wrong.”

But love doesn't pay the bills. Love doesn't keep the lights on or the staff paid. I glance at the stack of invoices on my desk, the numbers blurring together in a dizzying dance of red ink. I'm behind on payments to several vendors, and the bank has been calling about the loan payments. I wonder if they take lasagna as payment.

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. I've come too far, sacrificed too much to give up now.

My mind wanders to my parents, to the look of disappointment in my father's eyes when I told him I was dropping out of college to pursue my culinary dreams. “You're throwing your life away,” he'd said, his voice heavy with disapproval. “A restaurant? In this economy? You'll be bankrupt within a year.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was naive to think I could make it in this cutthroat industry, especially in a city like New York. But I couldn't let go of the dream, couldn't ignore the fire that burned within me every time I stepped into a kitchen. This restaurant is my everything. My dream, my passion. For better or worse, it's become my whole world.

The soft chime of the bell at the entrance pulls me from my thoughts. Customers, finally. My hostess called out sick tonight, so I’m doing that job too. I straighten my chef's jacket and make my way to the dining room, a welcoming smile already forming on my lips. As I push through the swinging door, my breath catches in my throat.

Standing in the entryway is quite possibly the most attractive man I've ever laid eyes on. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that falls slightly into his face. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw that could be carved from marble. His piercing blue eyes seem to see right through me.

He’s older, but his suit can’t hide the muscles in his bicep as he raises an arm and rakes his fingers through his hair. Wow. He exudes an aura of power and confidence that makes my pulse quicken despite the brooding expression on his face.

My eyes flick around the room, noticing how the few patrons present suddenly seem intensely focused on their meals, heads bowed. It's clear they know who this man is, even if I don't. The air in the room feels charged, as if his mere presence has altered the atmosphere.

Gathering myself, I approach him. “Good evening. Welcome to Nonna's. Table for one?”

His eyes lock onto mine, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body. He looks at me with an intensity that makes me feel like prey – and to my surprise, I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth before vanishing.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. “Somewhere private.”

I nod, suddenly hyperaware of my every movement as I lead him to a secluded corner booth. As we walk, I can feel his presence behind me, the heat of his gaze almost palpable. I gesture to the table, and he slides in with a fluid grace that belies his size.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” I ask, proud that my voice remains steady despite the way my heart is racing.

He considers for a moment, those piercing eyes never leaving my face. “What would you recommend?”

The question catches me off guard. I feel a blush creeping up my neck. “Oh. Well, personally, I'm partial to our house-made limoncello. It's my Nonna's recipe.”

He nods, almost imperceptibly. “Then that's what I'll have.”

As I turn to leave, he speaks again. “I didn't catch your name.”

I look back at him, caught once more in that magnetic gaze. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes my breath hitch. “Sofia. Sofia Romano.”

He nods, his expression unreadable but somehow knowing. “Pleasure to meet you, Sofia Romano. I'm Luca.”

The way he says my name sends a thrill straight to my core. It’s like he savoring it, tasting each syllable. I nod, not trusting myself to speak further, and hurry back to the bar. As I pour the limoncello, my hands trembling slightly, I can't shake the feeling that something significant has just happened. This man – Luca – is dangerous, that much is clear. But there's something about him that draws me in, despite my better judgment.

“What’s with the shaky hands, sis?” My sister Gia is washing dishes, eyeing me as I work.

“Nothing!” Shoot, that was too loud. I lower my voice as she stops what she’s doing. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Oh really? Then why can’t you look me in the eye?” She moves toward me, but glances to her left through the kitchen when she does. As she looks out at the dining room, she lets out a low whistle.

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