Chapter 2
Sofia
I wipe 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.
“My oh my. Hot guy alert!” She turns to me, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Hey! I’ve got an idea. It’s been forever since you’ve had a date, Sof. If he’s on the menu you should definitely try a bite!”
Shaking my head, I blow out an anxious breath. “Gia, enough already. You know I’m too busy for a relationship.”
Gia frowns at me. “You keep using that as an excuse, just so you don’t put yourself out there. You’re afraid to get hurt. I get it. But look at that man, sis! You don’t cross paths with someone like that very often. Go see if he wants a taste of what you’ve got cookin’!”
She cackles at my mortified face before returning to the dishes.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for another encounter with him.
As I return to his table with the drink, I can’t help but notice how his eyes track my every movement. It’s like he’s committing every detail to memory. I set the drink down carefully. “Here you are. Would you like to see a menu?”
Luca takes a sip of the limoncello, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation. The sight of his throat working as he swallows is inexplicably captivating. “Excellent,” he murmurs, shoulders relaxing.
Then his eyes trail up my body, starting at my feet and lingering on my chest before finally landing on my face. I feel a quickening between my legs from the heat of his gaze. “What's the specialty of the house?”
I blink for a moment, wondering if I am still able to process words. Then I find myself smiling, genuinely this time. “Well, our osso buco is particularly popular. It's another family recipe, slow-cooked for hours until the meat falls off the bone.”
Luca's eyes light up with interest. “Then that's what I'll have.”
I nod. “I'll put your order in right away.”
As I head back to the kitchen, my mind is whirling. Who is this man? Why does he affect me so strongly?
“OMG he was totally checking you out! I mean it, go for it, Sofia.” Gia must have been spying from the kitchen.
“Too busy. Like I said. And, no he wasn’t.” I give her a look. That look. The one she knows means I’m done with this conversation.
Gia shrugs. “Your loss.”
I throw myself into preparing his meal, grateful for the distraction. The familiar rhythms of the kitchen soothe my nerves, the sizzle of the pan and the rich aroma of the food grounding me in the present. But even as I focus on the dish, I can’t shake the image of Luca’s intense gaze, the way his presence seems to fill the entire restaurant.
When I bring out his dish, Luca's eyes widen in appreciation. “This looks delicious,” he says, his gaze moving from the plate to my face. “Thank you, Sofia.”
A shiver down my spine hearing him say my name again. “Enjoy your meal,” I manage to reply, before retreating once more.
For the rest of the evening, I find my eyes drawn to his table. I watch as he savors each bite, his expression neutral other than his eyes. When other customers enter, I serve them mechanically, my attention always drifting back to the mysterious man in the corner enjoying my food but scowling while answering texts on his phone.
As the night winds down and the last customers leave, Luca remains. I approach his table one last time.
“I hope everything was to your satisfaction,” I say, beginning to clear his plates.
He catches my wrist gently, stopping me. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through my body. “It was perfect,” he says, his voice low and intense. “You have a real talent, Sofia.”
I swallow hard, caught in his gaze. “Thank you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
His grip on my wrist gets stronger and he stands, drawing me close to his body. My heart rate skyrockets and my body responds in ways I’ve never experienced before. I inhale his scent - it's woodsy and spicy and utterly intoxicating. For a brief moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to be wrapped up in his strong arms, to feel his hands on my skin. I have to look up to meet his eyes.
“You know, it would be a shame for anything bad to happen to you or your restaurant. I’m wondering if maybe Brooklyn isn’t the best choice for your restaurant location. Maybe you would feel safer somewhere further out?”
“Wh… what?” Alarm bells sound in my head. What in the world is he talking about?
His eyes darken as he leans down, the intensity in his gaze sending a thrill down my spine. But this time, it’s tinged with fear.
“What I mean, little girl, is that you are in Del Toro territory. And I don’t take kindly to a Romano setting up shop in my territory without permission. You have no idea the trouble you are stirring up for me.” He stares at me. “Think about it.”
I stand there stunned as he releases me and turns, walking out with a predatory grace. My heart skips a beat as realization slams into me. Luca Del Toro. I know exactly who he is. The way everyone else in the restaurant reacted to him makes sense now.
“Hey Sofia, you just gonna stand there?” Gia walks out of the kitchen, pulling me from my shock. She walks up to me. “Hey. What is it?”
I swallow hard. “I think the Boss of Brooklyn just told me to leave town.”