by Chloe Blake
Upon securing a reservation the hostess noted any allergies or preferences. Once recorded, Chef designed a seven-course prix fixe menu of his choosing paired perfectly with two to three wine recommendations. She had never seen one dish come back to the kitchen. In this space, eating was purely for pleasure.
Dani’s heels clicked up the stone steps and she breathed in the fragrant pastel-colored lilies that lined the entrance. Easter was in a couple weeks and she made a mental joke that what she gave up for lent was her job. She slowed, wondering what to say to Marcello. How do you tell your mentor that you’ve given up on life?
The hostess was gracious when Dani told her she was just visiting Marcello and turned down her offer to be announced. Dani wanted her visit to be a surprise. She walked past the tables, glancing around to see if she recognized any of the servers. She didn’t. Then she looked for Wendall, the maître d’hôtel of almost forty years, but he was nowhere to be found. Strange. He never left the dining floor.
Reaching the bar, she ordered a drink and asked the bartender to tell Marcello someone had a complaint. Game for a prank, the bartender went to the back. She smiled, anticipating Marcello’s blustering red face. She heard a muffled crash of pots and pans and envisioned Marcello yelling at his staff. She smirked. She’d felt that rage and had given it to her own staff many times.
She turned to the packed tables to see if anyone else had heard. She saw only smiles and laughter while a bar back went table-to-table lighting the tea candles.
An audible shout came from behind the bar. Dani put down her drink and leaned over the bar. She spied someone sprint past the windows in the double doors. Something was wrong.
Dani pushed through the double doors. The wall of heat that assaulted her was forgotten when she saw the kitchen staff gathered around Marcello, who was laying supine on the floor in the bartender’s arms. His right hand held his left arm close to him and his face was scrunched with pain.
Wendall stood to the side with a phone to his ear speaking in urgent Italian. Dani’s Italian was rusty but she recognized the word for hospital.
“Signora, please. You cannot be in here.” One of the staff came forward. Dani ignored him, trying to get her head around the fact that the man that had once been like a father to her was having a heart attack.
Amid quizzical looks, she dropped her clutch and dropped to her knees, taking Marcello’s free hand.
“Marcello. It’s Dani,” she whispered through budding tears. He’d aged the superficial way men do. His hair was thinner and had turned white, but his face held few wrinkles.
Marcello pried his eyes open and they widened in recognition. His mouth hung slack with breaths and grunts. Dani could see him straining to speak, but he couldn’t form the words. Medics burst through the back door.
Dani backed away as they huddled around Marcello armed with medical supplies. In seconds his black chef’s coat was ripped open and monitors were attached to his chest. Dani feared the worst and wrung her hands as she prayed a silent prayer.
Servers came through the kitchen doors and stalled. No one moved as Marcello was strapped to a gurney and hooked to an oxygen tank. His eyes drifting open then closed. Dani watched the deep movement of his chest as they began to wheel him away.
As they passed by her, his arm shot out and swung at the air between them. She stepped forward, grasping his hand. His other pulled at the face mask.
“Per favore, I think he wants to say something,” Dani shouted.
“Cuh...Cuh...” Marcello stuttered.
“Chef, stay calm. I’m coming to the hospital.”
“Nuh.” Marcello shook his head. “Kit-en.”
Dani frowned. Kittens? “Marcello, put your mask back on. We can talk later at the hospital.”
Marcello rapidly shook his head and a medic stepped forward.
“Step back, signora. We must get him to the hospital.”
She did as she was told, watching the pointed look in Marcello’s eyes. The medics were quick to restrain him and the mask was placed back on his face, but not before she heard him speak one last time.
“Kitchen.”
The man was staring death in the face and he was concerned about the kitchen?
Wendall did a double take as he followed the gurney out the back door. “Danica? Oh, Dani! My God, it’s so good to see you.” He ran over and gave her a quick hug. When he pulled back, tears sprang to his eyes. “They are taking him to Milan General. I must go with him. Please, find Gianni, the sous-chef. Please!”
“Go. I’ll find him.”
Just as quickly as they arrived, the medics and Wendall departed, leaving Dani and the staff bereft in their wake.
No one moved. The hostess cried. The line cooks blinked. The waitstaff were gaping from inside the double doors.
A burnt smell filled the room. Dani looked around and saw filets burning. Pots boiled over. A steak was sitting idle on a plate under the heat lamps. Vegetables lay midchop.
Kitchen.
Dani looked around the room for the sous-chef, who would be attired in black just as Marcello was, but she only saw white coats.
“Which one of you is the sous-chef?”
Heads swiveled, but no one came forward. She asked again, this time in her choppy Italian. “And get those fillets off the burners. Now.” A line cook jumped.
The hostess came out of her stupor and raised her voice.
“Start shutting down. There will be no more service tonight. I’ll inform our guests that we will be closed for the unforeseeable future and—”
“You will do no such thing,” Dani interrupted.
“Signora, it seems you are a friend of the chef, but—”
“But nothing. Chef wants this kitchen open. And it will stay open. You have a room full of people out there expecting a Marcello Farina dining experience. Chef put his blood, sweat and tears into this restaurant. I’m not going to let you ruin that. I practically grew up in this kitchen, and I’m happy to stay and help. Now, where is your sous-chef?”
“Yes, where is Gianni?” the hostess asked the room.
“He’s on break in the cellar,” someone shouted.
“I’ll get him,” the hostess said, turning to leave. Dani stopped her.
“No, I’ll get him. I know where it is.” Dani had taken many breaks herself in the basement pantry. “You go out there and keep our guests happy.”
The hostess gave Dani a wary look, then walked through the double doors.
“Start two new fillets and put a steak on the fly. I’ll be right back.”
Dani marched down the short hallway to the fridge, her mind racing with how to explain who she was and what happened to Marcello. She hoped the sous-chef could handle taking over the kitchen for a night. Or several nights if needed.
The cool air of the cellar was like a balm on her skin and she surveyed the frigid cuts of meat as she found her way around the shelving to the back.
“Ciao? Hello?” she called out. “Gianni? Oh, scusa,” she apologized; startled when she found him bent over a rack. At first she thought he was gathering food, and then she saw the thin white line spread on the shelf and noticed the same powder dusted on his black coat.
He pinched his nose and looked at her quizzically. “Scusami. Are you lost?”
Dani blinked, trying to keep a lid on her emotions. If this were her kitchen, he’d be fired. And she doubted Marcello knew about this man’s habits or he wouldn’t be wearing that coke-dusted jacket.
But she didn’t have time for morals and ethics. What she needed was a chef. Quickly she explained who she was and what happened, with Gianni seeming genuinely concerned. Yet he balked when she asked him to run the kitchen, but then reluctantly agreed.
Gianni sweat bullets as he looked at the backup of orders. An erratic waitress burst into the kitchen needing her m
eals, her table was becoming belligerent. Then the hostess followed, with more problems.
“The key to the wine cellar is missing. I think Wendall had it.” Dani knew that was where they kept the most expensive wines. What a disaster.
“Scusami,” Gianni said with a sniff. The room watched Gianni put down the orders and walk out of the back door.
Dani looked around. “Did he just leave?”
The hostess’s face drained of all blood.
Useless, Dani thought. She looked down at her cocktail dress, then grabbed an apron off the wall. Entrées began to fill her mind and she cursed the irony. Yesterday she quit this life, now she was thrust back in it. Taking a deep breath, she addressed the staff.
“Okay, first, my Italian is rusty. I need a volunteer to translate for those that do not speak English. Grazie. Consider yourself sous-chef,” she said to the young man who raised his hand. “Second, someone needs to gather the orders that have come in so we can start at the top. Third, Marcello created something special here. We won’t let him down tonight. My name is Dani, but tonight you can call me ‘Chef.’”
Dani kicked off her heels and slid her feet into a pair of spare Crocs by the wall. She yelled out the first three orders to which she received a resounding “Sì, Chef.”
Dani turned to the hostess. “What are we going to do about the wine locker?”
“I just called the owner. He should be here soon.”
Immersed in her preparation of the dishes, a song played in her head as she chopped, sautéed, skewered and assembled each dish to an artful perfection. Her heart was pounding; she was sweating the edges out of her blowout and getting oil stains all over her dress.
But she also just pumped out three of the best entrées she’d ever created on the fly. Linguine con scampi, osso buco and risotto alla Milanese were prepared and served at lightning speed. She’d forgotten what it was like to cook like this.
Marcello had warned her about working for Andre. That he’d do none of the work and take all the credit. Those Michelin stars were hers and that poser knew it. But no one else did.
When the mazzancolle was ready she was bent over the plate, trying to ignore the crick that was building up on her neck. On a slow inhale she picked out the herbs and spices in the air. Saffron, cardamom, cumin, paprika, basil...a whiff of burned butter caught her nose.
“Who is watching the octopus?” she shouted.
“Capito, Chef!” came from behind.
The line cooks were pumping out dishes like crazy and servers were pouring complimentary champagne from the few bottles left in the fridge.
“Coming in!” A frantic server announced in an English accent as he burst through the kitchen door. He stopped just inside. “I’ve got a table asking for Lafite ’82. Please tell me the cellar is open!” Dani sighed. It was a two-thousand-dollar bottle of wine and if that locker didn’t open soon she had a feeling that all hell would break loose.
“Someone is coming,” one of the line cooks shouted.
“Well, where are they?” the server repeated, running a hand through his perfectly gelled hair. He began to mutter softly, then grabbed his apron and chucked it to the floor. “I quit! I quit!”
Dani understood his tantrum. In this business your reputation was everything and losing a customer for whatever reason was bad for business.
“Coming in!” said a deep male voice. The door opened behind the irate server and Dani shot upright. Lean frame. Impeccable suit. Electric-blue eyes.
“Pick up your apron, Liam. I need to open the cellar and—Danica? Is it really you?” His eyes traveled over her, then a wide smile burst onto his face. “What is it with us and kitchens?”
Chapter 6
Dani picked her mouth up from the floor and froze. She couldn’t believe that Toni was standing in front of her, and that his first image of her since the wedding was like this—frazzled and sweating.
“Buona sera, Chef. It’s good to see you.”
His voice washed over her and for a second she’d forgotten that they weren’t the only two people in the room, until one of the line cooks jolted her out of her head.
“Chef? The mazzancolle?” The young man slid a plate in front of her and scurried away. She looked down at the bright orange prawns, then back to Toni.
“What... How... What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same.”
Liam clapped his hands and steepled them as if in prayer. “But we have no time for reunions. Sir, please, my table.”
Toni’s curt nod was followed by a look Dani interpreted, as “we’re not done.” And by the aggressive way her blood was pumping through her veins, they weren’t done. Not by a long shot.
Dani turned back to her dish, but her mind was on the man that was opening the wine locker. How did he have keys to Marcello’s wine locker? More images of the two of them in Brazil had her sending out the dish with the server, then calling it back when she forgot the sprig of parsley. She needed to get it together. On a deep inhale she focused on the spices in the air again. Oregano, red pepper, sultry musk...huh?
Dani whipped around and there was Toni leaning against the stainless steel counter, his arms and ankles lightly crossed, smiling. He looked gorgeous, maybe a little leaner than she saw him last, but his facial hair was perfectly trimmed, his navy suit over the white T-shirt was impeccable and his sandy-blond hair was just the right kind of messy.
Liam was shouting a thank-you to the heavens and waving around bottles of Lafite.
She wanted to go to the bathroom and freshen up. She wanted to kiss that smile right off his face.
“How is this possible?” he said, his gaze roaming down her front, then behind her to the entrées at her back.
“You tell me. How do you have keys to Marcello’s locker?”
“We own this restaurant. How are you standing here cooking for my guests?”
“I came to visit Marcello. What do you mean we own? This is Marcello’s.”
“And his family’s. I am his nephew. How do you know him?”
“I used to be his sous-chef.”
Toni jumped up. “Here? When?”
“It’s been eight years now.”
“I was in London at school then.” Toni’s eyes narrowed. “How did this never come up at the wedding?”
Dani’s eyes darted around the room before she spoke.
“We didn’t do much talking.”
His wicked smile took Dani’s breath away. “No, I guess we didn’t.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you are the one saving our asses.”
“I can’t, either,” she said, grabbing the floral displayed artichoke she cut by hand.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” His tone turned serious. “He would have wanted—”
She shot upright, tears rushing to her eyes. “Oh God. Don’t tell me—”
He grabbed her shoulders. “No, no, no...he’s stable. My mother is with him.” Dani sighed in relief. “I was saying he’d want to thank you himself. I’ll be happy to take you to the hospital later.”
People buzzed all around them, heat rose from the ovens and pots clattered on granite tops, but she felt the tension ease from her body and realized he was lightly rubbing his thumbs over her shoulders. It should have been awkward, but it felt grounding.
“Ahem!” They both stepped away from each other and turned their heads. A tense Liam stood on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“This reunion is lovely, really, but are any of these dishes mine?” Ignoring Toni, she bent over and worked quickly, handing Liam two plates and a “get the hell out of here” look. Liam studied the steaming plates, then gave her a once-over before loading them both on his arm.
Toni chuckled behind her. “Liam is our best server. His Instagram is full of our regular customers. They all ask fo
r his table.”
“He’s intense.” Dani stood and turned around, catching his gaze sliding back up to her face. She blushed and adjusted her dress, realizing that the skirt was probably riding up as she bent over.
“I’ve been thinking about you. It’s good to see you,” he said, the emphasis on see. Dani shivered, hoping she wasn’t giving him “fuck me” eyes, because it was all she was thinking about.
“Coming in!” Another server burst through the doors, giving her a welcomed jolt.
She had to pull herself together. She had a kitchen to run. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too. Look, I need to get back to work.”
Toni clapped his hands. “How can I help?”
Her brows rose. In her experience, many restaurant owners did nothing but cash their checks. Kind of like Andre.
“I don’t know, Toni, what can you do?”
“Where is Wendall?”
“He went with Marcello.”
“Then it looks like I’m the new maître d’.”
Toni straightened to his full height, buttoned his jacket, then tossed a white towel over his arm. He crossed the room in long easy strides and picked up a bottle of champagne. With the swift flick of his wrist, he popped the cork. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was. Toni caught her gaze and winked before disappearing through the kitchen doors. Dani couldn’t help it. She left her plates and peered out the small window to the dining room.
There was Toni, smiling, engaging customers, pouring champagne. The hostess was running a hand through her hair and righting her dress, watching him seductively. She walked back to her plates thinking that scene was way too familiar.
Movement in the corner caught her attention. Dani got closer and found a young slim girl with waves of dark hair fixated on the screen of her phone. Dani scrounged up some Italian.
“Scusami? Sei qui con qualcuno?”
Her head came up and electric-blue eyes appeared out of the dark curtain. “I’m waiting for my papà.”