Chapter 28
EMILY
The sunlight hits me before I’m even fully awake, pouring through the floor-to-ceiling window. It lands across the bed in a wide, warm stripe.
I lie still for a moment, blinking at the ceiling.
Then I become aware of the heaviness of my body, the unfamiliar stickiness between my thighs. The events of last night come rushing back to me all at once, like a wave.
Is what happened last night, a dream, or did it really happen?
I look at Lorenzo’s side of the bed. The pillow wall is long gone, but his delicious scent of spicy cedar remains.
Frustrated, I push aside the tangle of crisp white sheets and head to the shower.
As I wash my hair with strawberry scented shampoo I think through all the events of the previous night.
Why I let sex happen is really the question.
Had I been influenced by the Scotch, since I rarely drink?
Or was it the drama of the evening that set everything in motion.
Lorenzo, I remind myself, is only a temporary part of my life.
Then I correct myself.
Lorenzo was not part of my life until last night.
Last night, I made the conscious decision to let him in.
Now, there’s no taking that back. What’s happened has happened.
But how do we move forward from here?
I quickly get ready for the day ahead, beginning with my hair.
I mold my hair into a tight French twist, appreciating the sense of restraint it gives me.
Then I lace myself into a pristine white button-up blouse that buttons up to my neck.
I’m not sure what it symbolizes. The white shirt of Purity? No longer possible.
Grabbing my phone, I automatically tap at Anna’s phone number.
Then, I look at my phone. Last time we spoke, we had ridiculed Lorenzo as a modern-day Darcy in today’s world.
But now that I know him, Lorenzo’s so much more than that.
Some things aren’t ready to be spoken aloud.
I put down the phone and head toward the kitchen. Gina sits in her usual place. She sweeps me over with large worried eyes.
“Oh my God! I heard what happened!” She comes toward me, Biscotti in hand. The poor little dog yelps as he’s almost crushed between us.
“I’m okay.” I force a smile.
Gina’s eyes venture to the spot on my neck, well covered by my white shirt.
“Lorenzo told us what happened. Why didn’t you tell me you were going so I could have Ernesto drive you? Or you could have asked him to drive yourself.”
“It’s all good,” I assure her. “And hey, what would I tell the folks back home if I didn’t have a horror story for them?”
Gina doesn’t laugh.
“This is serious. You could have been killed.”
“Like I said, I’m okay,” taking my place at the kitchen island. Ciro serves me my coffee hot and black.
“The important thing is what I discovered at the restaurant.”
“What was that?” she asks, stroking Biscotti.
“You were right about the pizza. It was unique and delicious.”
“Excellent! So my research paid off.
“Yes. But Antonio Rodriquez is not the right chef for us.”
She frowns. “Why is that?”
“He’s a prima donna. We definitely do not need that kind in our kitchen. Lorenzo would not be able to work with him a single minute.”
“But going forward Lorenzo won’t have time to work in the restaurant. After the little guy is born,” she says, touching her belly, “I’ll be in charge.”
“Of course you will. But why make more work for yourself by forming an association with an argumentative chef?”
Gina’s silent for a moment. I feel like I’m getting through to her.
“Think about all the time and effort you spent creating your murals. And how painful it would have been if you had to argue every brush stroke to a boss or professor.”
“But you don’t understand. We can’t serve ‘simple pizza.’ For the restaurant to stand out, we need to be bold and innovative. So we need Antonio Rodriguez.”
“Wrong,” I say firmly. “We need to be bold and innovative without the baggage of an egotistical chef bent on building their own reputation.”
Gina looks at me.
“But we need his reputation. Antonio Rodriguez attracted attention to himself with his blistered crusts, fermentation techniques …”
“That’s all marketing bullshit. We’ll find some innovative angle and publicize the hell out of it. Just leave it to me.”
Gina looks up at me, a smile forming on her face.
“Does that mean you’re going to stay and help me run it?”
I hesitate. Committing to the restaurant means committing to a life in New York I had never planned.
And committing to Lorenzo as well.
Both huge decisions that are far too soon to make.
But then I remember Aunt Jane’s golden words.
“Just live life day by day, Emily. It’s the only way to make it out alive.”
“I don’t know how long I can stay. So I can’t commit to anything now. But I will tell you that whether I stay or go back to Boston, your restaurant problems are solved.”
“How so?”
I signal Ciro to pour me another cup of black coffee and tell her about Mike.
“I met him last night at Antonio Rodriguez’s restaurant. He was there to spy, just like me. He’s the former general manager of a large pizza chain that folded last year due to no fault of his own. It’s him that we want to hire.”
“I don’t get it,” says Gina.
“Mike is an operations guy. He knows how these things work. Last night, he was at the restaurant to absorb Antonio’s style.
His plan was to master Antonio’s techniques, then train one of the young chefs studying at the Institute of Culinary Arts.
He also teaches restaurant management at the Institute. ”
“But what does that have to do with us,” says Gina.
“Don’t you get it? We grab Mike and have him run the new restaurant and indoctrinate the new chef. Someone that we can train and can control.”
“When I was a teen I waited tables at my friend’s family’s upscale restaurant. I learned the most important thing about a restaurant is the brand. And the restaurant’s brand is represented by the chef.”
“No,” I say. “It’s determined by the brand’s controllers. And in our case, the chef should not be the showcase.”
I surprise myself with the passionate way I speak these words. I only stepped into the Ricci family restaurant yesterday, but I already feel like it’s my own
“Then what will the brand be? We’ve agreed to an upscale pizza concept. Italian wine list. Dante took me to Rome last year. You can find this style of restaurant all around the world.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Not understanding, Emily. Be clear.”
“Salvatore,” I say with a smile.
“What?”
“Salvatore. The great-great-grandfather of Dante and Lorenzo.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
“He’s our icon. Our brand. We call the restaurant Salvatore and everything else falls in place.”
“Salvatore was a gunrunner,” says Gina. “A bootlegger …”
“Exactly. And that’s a great origin story if I ever heard it. You told me he was honored by the museum of the city of New York.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, he’s our mascot. We can brand later, but I suggest I arrange for Mike to meet you. I can even ask him to handpick one of his student chefs to come to the meeting, if you want to move quickly.”
“Wow. You really have this figured out fast.”
I look pointedly at her belly. “The baby’s coming fast, the license renewal is approaching. Why wait?”
Gina shoots a look to Ciro, at the far side of the kitchen. Of course he overheard everything. But he’s too polite and well-trained to enter the conversation.
“I appreciate your helping out like this. But you tell me being here in Manhattan is temporary. Why waste your energy? What do you have to gain?”
I hesitate. I don’t like putting my cards on the table in general.
“Next year at Boston University was supposed to be our internship year,” I say quietly.
“I don’t want to go into the details, but my tuition wasn’t paid. When I go back – if I go back – I’ll be a year behind my colleagues. If I use my experience with you launching Salvatore’s they’ll consider me on track.”
“Then please arrange a meeting. But what will we tell the brothers?”
“Nothing,” I say. “At least until you’ve met Mike and agree to the plan. Are you free today?”
“Yes.” Gina smiles. “Let’s build a restaurant.”