Page 88 of Dante

“You’re too young to understand,” he says, shaking his head. “The Russians want your head. They’re gonna smell your weakness, and they’re going to attack. Mark my words.” He points a finger at me. “Mark my words.”

I say nothing, staring him down until he leaves the office.

Then I settle in my chair and think back to the Silvio of my childhood. He taught me to play chess. But it wasn’t long before I’d mastered the game and put his moves to shame.

It’s been more than a few decades, but the game is still going on. And just like always, I’ll win.

CHAPTER 33

GINA

Five o’clock finds me still sitting in front of my computer at the restaurant, clicking through video resumes an agency sent over. Biscotti lies snoozing at my feet.

“Hey, Gina. You called?” Lorenzo appears, knocking at the half-open door.

I gesture to the chair across from my desk.

“Have a seat. Now that Enrico Pisa backed out of the deal, we need to find a new chef. I thought you might want to take a look with me.”

“Sure,” says Lorenzo.

When I don’t start the video right away, Lorenzo looks at me closely. “Something wrong?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, Lorenzo. I’m feeling overwhelmed. I toured an art school this morning. I already have a deadline assignment. And the restaurant project is moving forward so fast. Then there is the Petrovs and —”

There I go, about to tell Lorenzo about the shooting lessons again. But how is it that he doesn’t even want his own brother to know?

“Nothing,” I say, thinking it best to change the subject. The brothers are close. I don’t want to get between them.

I grab the remote control. Lorenzo and I relax on the office sofa to watch the video chefs from my computer.

In the first video, a middle-aged man with a pencil mustache and slicked-back hair stares into the camera. His chin tilts upward, and the toque on his head must be at least four feet tall.

When he speaks, his Italian accent is so thick I can barely understand him.

Lorenzo laughs. “Pompous jerk.”

“Maybe,” I say, grabbing my sketchpad and drawing his portrait. I make sure to zero in on his exaggerated toque. “But he suits my purpose just fine.”

“Your purpose?” Lorenzo asks with an arched eyebrow. “You’re looking to sketch a chef, not hire one!”

“Maybe,” I say.

Feeling a sense of being watched, I look up to see Dante leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes taking in the scene.

He’s got that half-smile that always makes my pulse race.

“These are working hours,” he says in a mock-stern voice. “No fun allowed.”

I jump up so fast my sketchpad slides off my lap.

I rush over to him, reaching up on my toes to kiss his lips.

“I caught Malibu Barbie in a lie, bro,” says Lorenzo, smiling as he rises. “She called me in to watch video resumes, but that’s just an excuse to find eccentric chef faces for her caricatures.”

“Guilty as charged,” I say.

“If it’s eclectic faces she wants, take Gina to Little Italy, Dante. She’d love it.”