Page 68 of Lorenzo

“He has an enormous ego. Won’t take orders. Clearly, his word is law.”

At that moment, a clean-cut man with a crisp white shirt walks toward us.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Mike Roy. Mike, this is my husband, Lorenzo Ricci, and his brother, Dante.”

I shake Mike’s hand, for Emily’s sake. Dante eyes him with suspicion.

To break the tension, I look at my brother.

“Hey Dante, let’s sit down. I feel like eating some pizza.”

“Speak now,” Dante says, staring this Mike guy down.

Mike doesn’t flinch under my brother’s gaze.

“Emily Ricci and I met at Antonio Rodriguez’s restaurant. Then she invited me to meet with her and Mrs. Gina Ricci about assembling a crew and managing the restaurant.”

“So this is what this lunch is all about,” Emily says, looking at Dante. “The best thing you two can do is sit down and enjoy lunch while I deliver a presentation.”

Once we’re seated, Emily springs into action. First she hands us a professional-looking presentation document. Then she stands in front of the table.

“Let me show you the figures,” she says. “I worked out the operating expenses for the following year. And I amortized the initial costs, like tables, chairs, various kitchen necessities over a five-year period.”

I watch as Dante listens to Emily, flipping through the pages as she speaks.

Finally, he snaps her proposal shut.

“Got it. But Gina and my brothers wanted a celebrity chef. If this Rodriguez guy is a problem, let’s find another. And why do we need this Mike character?”

Emily is calm as she faces my brother.

“As you see in the brief I prepared, his resume is impressive. He’s had twenty years of restaurant experience. And access to an endless crop of talented and ambitious chefs. We can train them as we wish.”

With that, Emily gives a signal.

Angie comes out from the kitchen and serves us an aromatic pizza.

She gives us a professional sounding description of what we’re about to eat before departing with a saucy wink.

Dante takes the first bite. “Oregano is fresh,” he says, sounding surprised. I know he’s an oregano man.

“Very good,” he says, examining the crust the way I would examine a woman.

His eyes turn to Mike with more than mild curiosity.

“How did you pull that off? Crispy bottom yet puffy cornicione?”

Mike smiles, pleased.

“It’s the way we prepared the dough. And the temperature of the wood-burning pizza oven we purchased for exactly that reason.”

Dante nods.

“If this all goes according to plan, the place will be packed with overflow from the casino and the nightclub. Traffic will likely pour in at midnight. Can your young chef handle a crowd of 200 all at once?”

“We have that planned out,” says Mike. “It was the same way at my pizza chain.”

With that, Mike claps his hands to signal the chef.