Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Valentina
W e were busy. Roberto and I worked together on a plan to hire new staff, rearrange the dining room, and update the decor. I also met with Giovanni to discuss his vision for the menu. He deferred to me, though I could tell he was more than capable of doing this alone. Would probably do a better job, even.
But this place was mine. I wasn’t letting anyone take over.
Like when Roberto wanted to remove my friend’s wines from the wine list. Roberto argued New Yorkers could not produce a proper red table wine, but Maggie and I went to school together. Her family, the Fiorentinos, ran one of the biggest wineries in the Hudson Valley. We were leaving their wines on the wine list, period.
So when Roberto said that he had a surprise for me outside, I was instantly wary.
I wasn’t a fan of surprises.
“Roberto, what’s going on? ”
“You will like this, signorina.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I followed him through the front door and out onto the walk. A large white delivery truck was parked at the curb. A guy was putting a ladder away in the back.
“What do you think?” Roberto asked, pointing up.
What the hell? No. Wait. I blinked several times.
The sign. The restaurant’s sign had been replaced. Not only that, the name of the restaurant had been replaced.
Trattoria Rustica.
I didn’t know what to say. This sign was elegant and beautiful. Eye-catching and classy, with black block serif letters on a white background.
But it wasn’t the old sign.
The old sign had been there for as long as I could remember. It had a 1970s font and colors like the Italian flag. No doubt it went up when my grandfather opened the place.
My tongue felt thick, emotion strangling my throat. I couldn’t cry. It was stupid, to be upset over a sign with its incorrect name and outdated font. God knew keeping the sign wouldn’t bring my mother back. But I stood there, looking at this beautiful replacement, feeling like I’d failed. Like I’d disappointed her.
The ache in my chest multiplied, grief gathering like a wave, building and swirling inside me. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move.
“Signorina,” Roberto said, his eyes searching my face. “We thought you would like it.”
I should. Any fool would be grateful for the upgrade. Anyone except me, apparently.
Wait, we?
Roberto hadn’t made this decision alone. And immediately I knew who else was involved.
There is no shame in accepting help from others when you need it.
Damn it. Why did he do this? The old sign was perfectly fine, even if not technically correct. It was one little letter. Who really cared?
This restaurant was mine, my legacy. My link to my mother and her family, the generations of Montellas who’d lived in the Hudson Valley. And now it was transforming into something totally different, something unrecognizable. Something I hadn’t approved.
Tears burned behind my eyelids. Jesus, was I going to cry over a sign? I dug my fingernails into my palms and tried to hold myself together. I felt brittle and helpless, a little girl trying to stay afloat in stormy waters.
“Signorina,” Roberto tried again. “Say something.”
I couldn’t. If I spoke, I feared that I would crumble onto the asphalt.
A horn honked behind us, and I automatically turned. A familiar red pickup truck slowed at the curb, my friend Maggie behind the wheel. We’d chatted briefly last night as I caught her up on what was happening at the restaurant.
“Look at this!” She pointed to the new sign as she came around the front of her truck. She wore a tight Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs t-shirt, flared jeans and Chucks, her shoulder-length brown hair tucked under a baseball cap. This was her usual attire. I think I’d seen her in a dress only once, and that had been at my mother’s funeral.
She came over to where Roberto and I stood and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Holy shit, Val! You’re fancy.”
I swallowed and tried to sound normal. “Is it too much? I mean, the old one was fine, right?”
“The old one went out with disco and key parties. This sign is really nice, babe.”
“But . . .” I wasn’t sure. “Does it fit?”
“Val.” Maggie turned me to face her, hands holding onto my shoulders. “You like things to stay the same. I get it and I understand why. But you can’t hold onto the past through signs and chicken parm. ”
I felt my eyes starting to burn again. I stared at Maggie helplessly, but my friend was rock steady. As always. “I’m being silly.”
Her smile was kind. “No, but you are being given a gift that almost any restaurant owner would kill for, especially one who has worked as tirelessly as you have the past few years. Embrace it. Change can be good for you.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now, introduce me to your bespoke friend.”
Oh, I’d forgotten about Roberto. Wiping the edges of my eyes, I shifted to Maggie’s side. “Roberto, meet a very good friend of mine, Maggie Fiorentino.”
“Of the Fiorentino wines?”
“Yes.”
He inclined his head. “Buongiorno, signorina. A pleasure.”
Maggie didn’t crack a smile. “You’re the one who thinks my red table wine sucks.”
“Margaret!” I hissed. “You promised.”
Roberto seemed undaunted, his expression cool. “I mean no disrespect, Signorina Fiorentino.”
“But you don’t like it.”
If I thought Roberto was too polite to quibble, I was dead wrong. He said, “There is no acidic backbone. Perhaps it is a personal preference.” He shrugged, which somehow managed to come across as charming instead of asshole-ish.
“I’ll show you no backbone,” she muttered under her breath, then turned and started for the truck.
“Wait, where are you going?” I called. Was she leaving?
“I’m grabbing the wine for book club.”
Oh, shit. I forgot about book club! That was tomorrow night.
“Book club?” Roberto asked.
“Yeah, it’s the first Saturday night of every month. We always host it here. With everything going on, it totally slipped my mind.”
“The restaurant is open on Saturday nights, no? ”
“Yes, but we usually start around nine, after the dinner rush. Not that it matters tomorrow because we’re still closed.”
With his wrinkled brow and flat expression, his disapproval was evident. “Is this a good idea? The remodel is not yet complete.”
“It’ll be fine. We hardly ever break anything.” Roberto’s olive skin lost its pallor, his eyes going wide, so I hurried to say, “I’m kidding! It’s six or seven women, sitting around gossiping and drinking wine. And after the sign surprise, you and my secret investor owe me.”
He held up his palms. “I will return inside, signorina. There are more CVs to read through before our server interviews begin this afternoon.”
Roberto strode to the front door and disappeared into the restaurant. I shifted to look at the sign again.
It wasn’t terrible. It was actually nice.
But Investor Daddy and I needed to have a serious conversation. Too much was happening too fast. New chef, new kitchen staff. A ma?tre d’. The restaurant my mother had loved and labored over, her legacy, my grandfather’s legacy, was slipping away from me. I needed time to adjust.
“Stop freaking out and help me with this wine.” Maggie shoved a crate into my arms.
I sighed and tried not to drop the crate. “I’m not freaking out.”
“Please. I know you and I know that look on your face. Come on. I don’t want this wine to overheat and lose its acidic backbone.”
I laughed softly. “I’m learning that Italians are snobs when it comes to food and wine.”
“Did Mr. Late Night Pasta teach you that?”
I’d confessed the entire story of Luca’s visit to the restaurant to Maggie. Twice, because she made me repeat it. “Stop. Don’t make up nicknames for him.” Bad enough that I’ve already made up my own nicknames, and each one had the word “daddy” in it.
We walked inside and stopped, our eyes needing a minute to adjust. “Holy shit,” Maggie exclaimed. “Is this really your place? ”
I tried to see the changes through my friend’s eyes. New coat of paint, new tall bar tables and chairs that Roberto found for a steal. The clutter was gone from the walls, and there were fewer dining tables, which made the place feel bigger, less cramped. “It’s not finished,” I said. “We’ve reached out to some local Hudson Valley artists for pieces to hang on the walls. And we hired guys to sand and stain the old wooden tables, so they’ll look like farm tables.”
“No more tablecloths?”
“No more tablecloths.”
“Wow. This is major.”
I set the crate on a chair. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“Are you kidding?” Maggie gaped as she looked around. “It’s gorgeous. It’s like a place you’d see in New York or Boston.”
“But will people want to eat here?”
“Babe, the entire valley is talking about it. You’re going to have lines around the block.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. I didn’t like everyone gossiping about me, even if it benefitted the restaurant. “What are they saying?”
“At first it was about Tony and Christina. But now that the jobs are posted, some people think you sold the restaurant to an investor group.”
That hit a little too close to home. “Why is he helping me?” I whispered, voicing my deepest fear to Maggie.
Maggie walked closer so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because I’m afraid of the answer.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re a hot piece of ass and he has money to burn.” She shrugged. “I wish some gorgeous Italian fairy godfather would show up at the vineyard and make all my problems go away.”
“What if he expected you to sleep with him in return?”
“Then I would count myself super fucking lucky.”
The front door opened and daylight cut across the entryway. I couldn’t see his face, but it was a tall man wearing a suit—and my heart jumped in my chest. Every part of me went on high alert.
Then the door closed and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. Mayor Lombardi. Christina’s father.
Shit.
The mayor looked around, his gaze taking in the restaurant, before finding me. The smile he gave didn’t reach his eyes as he drew closer. His suit coat was unbuttoned, which meant I could see the way his too-small dress shirt stretched across his middle. He wasn’t heavy, but he wasn’t trim, either. I knew he liked to eat, though, because he usually came in once a week when Christina was working. He never paid—“It’s a privilege for you to have the mayor eat here, honey,” he told me the first time I brought him a check—but always tipped his daughter with a few hundred dollar bills.
Regardless, I hated how he stared at me over his chicken piccata.
He walked in like he had the right. “Hello, Val. I see you’ve been busy.”
“Hello, Mayor Lombardi. Sorry if you came for lunch, but we’re closed.”
“I’m not here to eat.” He nodded once at Maggie, then returned his stare to me. “I’m here to talk about how you fired my daughter.”
Technically, Christina quit. I don’t bother to say it, though.
“And,” he continued, “you let her get involved with a member of your staff.” He paused. “I thought we were friends, Val.”
I could feel Maggie edge closer to my side. She never liked the mayor, either.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“It’s the talk all over town. How you fired Christina and your chef because you discovered they’d been dating.”
“Dating” was a stretch. Something told me Tony wasn’t taking the girl out to dinners and movies.
“That’s not true,” I offered. “If something was going on between them, I didn’t know. ”
He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Margaret, do you mind if I speak to Val alone?”
Maggie didn’t budge. “Val?”
The mayor stared at me pointedly.
I could feel all the things my friend wanted to say, but she had a business, a livelihood here. Pissing off the four-time re-elected mayor wasn’t wise, not if she wanted to keep afloat. “It’s okay, Mags. Why don’t you put the wine in the back?”
Maggie grabbed the crate of wine off the chair and walked it into the kitchen. When the swinging door shut behind her, Mayor Lombardi edged closer. “Val, my daughter is only seventeen. This employee of yours was twenty-six.”
“The age of consent in New York is seventeen. No laws were broken.”
The lines around his eyes deepened as he squinted at me. “You’re right, of course. But I expected you to look after her when I asked for her to work here. You broke your promise to me.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea it was happening. If I had, I would’ve put a stop to it.”
He studied me like he was looking for flaws, a police detective waiting for a suspect to crack. I held firm, though. He couldn’t prove anything.
After an excruciating moment, he relaxed and chuckled. The laugh sounded forced. “Kids, I guess. What are you gonna do?”
I attempted a smile, but my face felt awkward. Stiff.
He took a tiny step back, but his gaze darted to my chest before he looked around the dining room. “Now, Val. I see you’ve been doing some remodeling, including a new sign outside. I assume you went through the proper channels and such forth with permits.”
My stomach dropped. But I knew the laws.
“I didn’t think we needed a permit. We aren’t doing anything structural or moving any electrical or gas lines.”
“Well, oftentimes these things are up to the discretion of City Hall. I'll tell you what. I’ll have someone from the Department of Buildings come down here tomorrow and we’ll sort this all out.”
This was because of his daughter. I was certain of it. “That isn’t necessary. The building code?—”
“Val.” He moved in, closer than he was before. “There’s no need to argue, honey. It might just be a small fine after we fill out some paperwork.”
Paperwork took eons here. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, that’s not for me to say.” He cocked his head. “But we could talk about it, if you like. At dinner tomorrow night, maybe? I know a great place over in Woodstock.”
Woodstock was almost an hour away. Eating there meant he didn’t want anyone—namely his wife—to see us together and this wasn’t a business dinner. A wave of revulsion went through me.
Everything inside me wanted to say no.
But I thought about Roberto and Giovanni, Maggie and her wines. My mother, my grandfather. Book club. The stupid sign out front.
I couldn’t afford for him to shut me down or fine me. My finances were stretched to the brink as it was, thanks to the renovations, new salaries, and being closed this week. I needed every penny left of my mother’s life insurance.
One dinner. You can do it, if it means reopening on time.
I had to say yes.
Except the words wouldn’t come. I willed my lips to work. Say it, Val! How hard was it to agree to one measly meal?
Still, the silence stretched.
I heard the slap of the kitchen door behind me. “Buongiorno, signore,” Roberto called loudly—and relief flooded me. Had Maggie sent him out here?
Instantly, Mayor Lombardi took a step back, but his eyes remained locked with mine for another beat. Then he turned to enthusiastically greet Roberto, who joined us near the front. “Good morning. I’m Mayor Lombardi. ”
“Mayor!” Roberto offered his hand smoothly. “How nice to finally meet you. I am Signore Ferrara, the business manager for Signorina Montella.” The two men shook hands.
I dragged in a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. I didn’t like the feeling of being rescued, of not being able to handle the mayor on my own, but at least this bought me some time. I could figure out how to deal with the mayor’s threats later.
“The place looks great,” the mayor said to Roberto. “Very impressive.”
“Grazie, signore. We are pleased with the results. You will come in when we reopen, no?”
“Of course, of course. I eat here all the time, don’t I, Val?”
He glanced at me meaningfully, so I nodded. “Yep.”
“Va bene,” Roberto said. “Was there something we can help you with, signore? I could give you a tour of the place, if you like.”
“No, that’s not necessary. It seems like you have everything well in hand here. I need to get back to the office.” He plucked his sunglasses out of his coat pocket. “We’ll catch up later, Val, yes?”
“Of course.”
He turned and walked out, disappearing out the front door. When the wood closed and we were alone, Roberto studied me carefully. “Was he giving you trouble, signorina?”
“His daughter used to work here. She was sleeping with my chef, which I didn’t know until the night I fired him.”
“Ah. He blames you?”
“How did you guess?” I raked my fingernails across my scalp, then adjusted my pony tail. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with him later.”
“What does this mean, deal with him?”
“He says we need permits.” I waved my hand. “Paperwork. But I can’t let him delay the reopening or fine us. So I’ll talk to him.”
“Do not go near him alone, signorina. My mother would say he is un lupo , capisce? A wolf.”
I didn’t respond. I knew he was right, but what choice did I have? This was my problem and I would fix it.
“Is that creeper gone?” Maggie called from a crack in the kitchen door. “Is it safe to come out?”
“Yes,” I said. “I assume you sent Roberto out here.”
“Uh, yeah. You think I trust that man alone with you?”
I rubbed my eyes, despite my mascara. It was that kind of day. “Is it too early to start drinking?”
“No,” Maggie said while Roberto said, “Yes,” at the same time.
Maggie threw her arm around me. “Come on. Let’s find our acidic backbone and open a bottle over lunch.”