Page 1 of Mafia Kings: Valentino

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Caterina

As far back as I can remember, I loved to cook.

My grandmother used to teach me when I was little. I would crack eggs for her, then spend several minutes fishing out the broken shells that always fell in. Nonna would smile and not say anything, but she would always double-check before she combined the eggs with the other ingredients.

I would knead dough with her on the kitchen table, my tiny hands chubby and pink next to her wrinkled ones.

When I was older, she let me cut up the tomatoes, garlic, and onions that formed the base of many of her sauces. The recipes were a family secret passed down fromhergrandmother.

She taught me how to brown the meat just so… how to tell exactly when to remove the pasta from the boiling water…and how to combine ingredients so that all the flavors blend harmoniously, with no one taste overpowering the others.

I loved my grandmother, and I know she adored me.

Because of her, I have always seen cooking as an act of love.

So I guess it was fitting I met the man of my dreams in a kitchen.

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Iwas the middle child of five kids. Our house wascrazy– total chaos. The only peace I found was with my grandmother in the kitchen. She lived with us and cooked for the entire family.

My father was a bricklayer, and my mother was a schoolteacher. With so many mouths to feed, their salaries didn’t stretch nearly far enough.

My father was very serious. People used to joke that he was more German than Italian.

Always be early. If you’re on time, you’re five minutes late.

You owe your employer your very best efforts.

Never, EVER give less than 100%.

My mother prized getting good grades above everything else.

I was not serious at all, which irked my father – and I was terrible in school, which exasperated my mother.

Me?

I just wanted to cook.

My grandmother passed away when I was 11, and it was the saddest day of my life…

At least for another ten years.

But I kept on cooking and preparing all the family’s meals by myself.

I didn’t mind. I actually loved it. Working in the kitchen made me feel close to Nonna, like she was still with me.

I’ll say one thing: my parents never complained about my cooking. That was the one thing they didn’t criticize about me.

When I hit 12, I developed another obsession:

Boys.

I wentboy CRAZY.

All I could think about was the cute boys at school. I would fantasize about kissing them.

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