Chapter Three
Dante rushed into the kitchen of Muccino’s, tossing his coat carelessly onto the rack. A few pairs of eyes looked up as the staff sat around the large table in the middle of the kitchen, giving him nods of acknowledgment as they looked up from their newspapers, smartphones, or cups of coffee.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. Traffic back into Manhattan from Jersey was a bitch, especially since he caught the worst of the morning rush hour wave. Having lived in New York City for the last couple of years, he had forgotten how he hated the drive over and going through the Lincoln tunnel.
Still, he didn’t have any choice. Frankie’s youngest, Julianna, had fallen and broken her arm the other day. Her Lycan healing hadn’t kicked in yet, so she was rushed to the hospital. His sister usually did the pre-weekend meeting with the staff at their original Jersey location, but she couldn’t make it. Thus, it was up to him to head over there and make sure everything was okay. They’d recently hired a new sous chef to help Nonna Gianna with the cooking duties. The old bird had been resistant at first, but she just turned eighty-two last month. Despite being spry for her age, there were certain things she simply couldn’t do anymore so she had agreed to some help.
But what was supposed to be a three-hour meeting turned into an overnight trip as Nonna Gianna used the greatest weapon all matriarchs possessed—guilt. While she didn’t say outright that she had been feeling abandoned by her only blood relatives, she certainly implied it. Dante chuckled to himself, thinking of the sly old woman. It was nice though, chatting with his great-aunt late into the night, sipping some Chianti, and talking about old times. Nonna Gianna didn’t let the opportunity pass to scold him about not giving her grand nephews and nieces, which he jokingly brushed off.
Nonna Gianna’s questions stuck in his mind, even now that he was miles away from Jersey. Of course he wanted kids. That feeling that crept up on him months ago was growing stronger, that exhaustion with his life and running around in circles. He tried dating, but he kept going back to his old habits, his restlessness making him unsatisfied with each date and hookup.
An image of blond hair and frosty blue eyes appeared in his mind. Damn. Why did Holly Taylor suddenly pop into his mind? That was happening a lot lately, but for different reasons. He cringed, thinking of that video. It was a private conversation, a joke that was taken out of context. When he saw it online, he wanted to kill that blogger who put it up. He told Enzo to never let that douche come back ever again.
Surely Holly had seen it by now. He could only imagine what she was thinking and feeling. Even his own damn wolf was mad at him, growling and snapping inside him. Fuck. He had scrounged up all his courage to go over there and explain. And then Frankie had called to say Julianna had been hurt, and he had to set aside his feelings to deal with things. Family was first, after all.
Was it too late to apologize? Should he bring some sort of peace offering? Holly seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t be happy with anything less than his head on a silver platter. Well, if that’s what it took to make her forgive him and make this tightening in his chest go away, then he’d bring the platter, the chopping block, and his best knives over himself. But he’d figure it out later. Right now, he had to get ready for lunch.
“Greg, where’s the swordfish?”
“I got it, Chef,” he said, getting up from his seat. He disappeared into the walk-in freezer and came out with a tray.
Dante frowned as he looked at the tray. “What the fuck is that?”
“Swordfish?”
“I know that’s swordfish.” He lifted up the piece of fish. “Look at that. It’s tiny. And the color is off. Did Guiseppe bring this crap this morning?” he asked, referring to their fish monger.
Greg’s eyes widened. “Y-y-yes, Chef! He dropped it off. There was no one else around so I signed for it and—”
Dante let out a sigh. “It’s fine. We can put it in the stew. Tell Enzo the swordfish is off the menu. Now, did you prep the beef tenderloin?”
This time, Greg’s face went ashen and his lower lip trembled.
“What now?”
“Chef, er … Bruno … our meat guy … he said he didn’t have any beef tenderloin today.”
“What? How am I supposed to …” He rubbed his palm down his face. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
Greg looked like he wanted to faint.
***
Dante slammed the door open with his fist and marched into the alleyway behind Muccino’s. Lunch service had been a nightmare, as half the ingredients for his carefully-planned menu had been missing. Needless to say, he had to get creative, but there were definitely a few disappointed regulars who made their displeasure known.
Something was off. He spent years cultivating relationships with his suppliers. It was like the Goddamn mob, and he did everything he could to get an in with the best fish mongers, butchers, and farmers in the city and ensure they came to him first so he could get the choicest ingredients. Sure, they all had off days, but four of them on the same day? Something was wrong.
The door to the alley burst open and Enzo stepped out. “Yo, Dante, tough lunch service, but you got through it.”
“Let’s give our guys a call and see what’s up, yeah?” He hated to have to find new suppliers. “And I—” He stopped as he saw something familiar across the street.
Enzo followed his gaze. “Hey, is that what I think it is?”
“Let’s go and find out.”
The two brothers crossed over to the other side of the street. They peeked into the alley that led to the back of Petite Louve. The familiar white and blue truck with the fish logo stopped by the doorway and its driver hopped out, then opened the back to remove a crate.
“What’s Giuseppe doin’ here?” Enzo asked.
Dante didn’t answer, but he had a feeling. A stinking feeling, which proved true enough when the back door to the restaurant opened and Holly stepped out. She greeted Guiseppe warmly, and the old man smiled back at her, proudly showing off his crate of goodies.
“That sonafa—” Enzo rolled his sleeves up and attempted to march over to Holly and Guiseppe.
“Enzo!” Dante hissed, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Stop.”
“Stop? Stop! That double-crossing asshole! He’s giving her the best of his stock I bet! And leavin’ us the dregs! I bet she did the same with Bruno and all our other guys. Who are these people runnin’ this restaurant? Everyone knows you can’t snipe other peoples’ suppliers.”
Dante sighed and shook his head. “Enzo, just let it go.”
“Let it go? What do you think she promised him? Think she’s got something on the side with him?”
He dragged Enzo away from the alley. Even if Guiseppe had been forty years younger and not happily married, he wouldn’t have suspected that. Surely Holly would never stoop so low. His inner wolf growled, and he told it to pipe down.
“We gotta get ‘em back,” Enzo said.
“No.”
“She can’t just—”
“Basta. No, Enzo. It’s …” He deserved it, he supposed. Besides, letting her get away with this seemed much easier than crawling over there to beg for forgiveness.
Coward, an inner voice said.
Shit. He was a fucking coward. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, and he already had a reason to. He could have gone over there and said sorry. But no, it was better this way, he supposed. They should just stay out of each other’s way.