Page 66 of Wicked Rivals

After so many times making these cookies with me at the café, Enzo got started without the need to even peek at a recipe, measuring out the dry ingredients on his own before dumping them into the mixing bowl.

I almost suggested we stick with half or even a quarter of our usual batch size but fuck it. Worst-case scenario, they didn’t all get eaten. There were greater tragedies.

It wasn’t like we had anything else to do either.

I preheated the double ovens and mixed up the dough. Once I had it rolled into little balls and laid out on the cookie sheets, Enzo and I sat for a minute while they chilled.

“Should we make some chocolate ones too, Mama?”

“Let's bake these first and see how we feel.”

But with my anxiety returning and unraveling my nerves with every second, I was already certain we would make more than enough cookies to feed everyone who worked for Stefano.

We had our entire system in this new kitchen worked out and streamlined by the time I pulled the third and fourth dozen out of the ovens and put them on the cooling rack.

As Enzo finished getting the next batch ready to bake, I noticed how my nerves had calmed and my heartbeat settled.

Doing something my grandmother had taught me always gave me the strength to persevere, just like she always had.

“Hello there,” a soft voice said behind me.

I spun around.

A beautiful woman dressed in a classic sheath dress came into the kitchen. Her dark caramel hair spilled in loose waves over her shoulders.

I held my breath to avoid panicking.

Stefano was marrying a woman named Benedetta, I knew that. But I didn’t know it was Benedict Capaldo’s daughter.

It had been fifteen years since I last saw Benedetta Capaldo, and I prayed she didn't recognize me.

My heart thundered in my ears as I pasted on a smile.

“Hi. I’m Valerie. This is my son, Enzo.”

She stared like she was trying to place my face, shrugged one shoulder, then gave me a warm smile and introduced herself.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I came by to see Stefano for a minute, but this amazing smell distracted me, and I just had to see what was happening.”

“It’s our orange spice cookies,” Enzo said with a big smile. “Do you want one?”

He extended the platter to her, and Benedetta stared at his face while picking up a cookie.

What did she see?

Stefano’s unmistakable eyes?

His smile?

“Thank you,” she said before taking a bite.

I noted the way she covered her mouth while she chewed, as if being seen with food was a punishable crime. Or maybe she really was just that polite.

“These really are amazing, Enzo,” Benedetta added.

Then they talked about the cookies for a minute, and I couldn't help but wonder if this woman was behind the attack.

Stefano had said he didn't think so. Now I could see what he meant. Benedetta didn't seem like the type.

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