Page 16 of Empire of Temptation

“You know I can’t cook. And I have no staff. How am I supposed to makethat happen?”

“I don’t know, but I have some free time this afternoon.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.” And I did. Sam was one of the kindest, big-hearted people I knew. She baked a custom cake for each of her friends on their birthday. Mine was a limoncello cake with mascarpone frosting and white chocolate shavings. I looked forward to it all year. “See you guys later.”

The drive to the restaurant only took a few minutes. I’d kept the dependable blue minivan my mom bought years ago to drive me around to softball and soccer when I was a pimply faced tween. I could still picture her behind the wheel, making me listen to the boy bands of her youth. Maybe that was why I didn’t want to get rid of it.

When I pulled up to Trattoria Rustico, there were two men waiting outside the front door. One was wearing a white chef’s coat, holding a tiny case. The other man was wearing a nice double-breasted suit and carrying a leather portfolio.

What the hell?

I parked and got out, then walked around to the front instead of going in the back door. “Hello?” I called. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed this week.”

The men turned to face me. They both looked as tired as I felt. The one wearing a suit said, “We are here to apply for jobs, signorina.”

Another Italian. What was in the water these days? “I haven’t posted any job listings.”

“May we come in and talk with you?”

This was weird, but also serendipitous? I mean, I did need to hire a chef. And at least one server. Were they here for those jobs? If so, I couldn’t really afford to turn them away. “Sure. Let me unlock the door.”

I put my key in and opened the door. I went through first and flicked on the lights, illuminating the empty dining room. No one else was here, which was eerie. Normally, the kitchen staff would already be in to prepare for lunch.

I didn’t want to think about all the money I was losing.

“Have a seat.” I gestured to the tables. “Let me put my things in the office and I’ll be right back.”

I flicked on the lights in the kitchen and went to the tiny office. The stacks of papers and bills awaiting me made my stomach hurt even worse. I put everything down except my coffee and returned to the dining room. The two men were seated at the same table. I could see resumes on the white linen.

Taking a seat, I placed my coffee on the table. “I’m Val Montella.” I offered my hand to each of them.

“Signorina Montella, a pleasure. I am Roberto Ferrara,” the man in the suit said, shaking my hand.

“Giovanni Peruzzi,” chef coat said as he shook my hand. “Signorina.”

The chef also spoke with an Italian accent. Alarm bells started going off in my head.

Roberto slid over the two resumes. “We are here to work at your restaurant, signorina. You will see we are very qualified.”

“Yes, but how did you know of the openings?” Did Luca have something to do with this?

“A friend said you needed help with your restaurant,” Roberto said by way of an answer.

Yep, definitely Luca. I sighed. Did I want to take more help from him? Could I afford not to? I was skating by as it was, and closing this week would seriously hurt my ability to stay afloat. The sooner I could reopen, the sooner we could earn revenue.

“I do need help,” I admitted as I lifted the first resume. It was Giovanni’s, and it wasn’t very long. He’d worked in a total of one restaurant, but he was there for more than fifteen years. I kept reading. The restaurant was in Rome and had a Michelin star. Holy shit!

Jaw falling open, I glanced up at him. “Why in the world would you want to workhere?”

“I was the sous chef. Working here would allow me to have my own kitchen.”

I couldn’t process this. My mind tripped over itself in disbelief. “You realize where you are, right? A small town in New York State? We’re not in Manhattan.”

The edge of his mouth curled through his thin layer of scruff. “I understand, signorina.”

I grabbed my coffee and sucked a big mouthful through the straw. Maybe I was still dreaming? I set Giovanni’s resume aside and started reading Roberto’s. His was longer, but as I started reading, I could tell he’d worked as a maître d’ in some very prestigious restaurants. I recognized some of the names from social media. “You’re a maître d’.”

Roberto nodded once. “I am the front of the house, sì. But I can do almost anything you need, signorina. Balance books, oversee the staff, place food orders, greet customers. I am very experienced.”

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