The Devil Served Tortellini Read online

  Dante turned around, the loaf of herb bread in his arms. The late Tuesday afternoon sun peeked through the glass windows, causing Dante to squint a little against the glare. "Excuse me?"

  The old man nodded his white head toward the baked goods. "My granddaughter, she can get ciabatta anywhere. You'll have to do better than that."

  Then the voice and the face connected in Dame's brain. He'd seen him briefly the day he'd stopped by Maria's mother's house. Salvatore Pagliano, Maria's grandfather. "This isn't for-"

  "I remember you now. You, I'm sure, don't remember me." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I come into your father's restaurant all the time years ago. Your father, he was a good man. Proud of his job, and of his son."

  Dante blinked. "He loved Vita."

  "A good man often raises a good man." He wagged a linger in emphasis. "Are you a good man?"

  "I like to think of myself as one."

  Salvatore Pagliano nodded, considering Dante and thr bread in his hands for a second. "I believe you. Giovanni Del Rosso never cheated anyone. Always treated you fair. "

  "That he did."

  "Having a Del Rosso in the family would be good," he said. "Very good. The Paglianos, we like to eat."

  "I'm not proposing-"

  The old man pshawed him. "You will. You first have to win her, though. She is a tough one. Sing to her. Caress her with your voice." He added a flourish with his hand. "Do it on a full moon and she'll be yours."

  "Mr. Pagliano, I'm not trying to-"

  "Please, call me Sal. Uncle Sal if you want to be formal, because that's as formal as I get." He laughed. "She likes you, my granddaughter. She's stubborn as an ox in mud, though, and won't tell you. All the women in our family are like that." Sal pointed at him. "Are you made of strong stuff?"

  "Uh-"

  "You have to be. Pagliano women-hard to woo, but easy to keep, if you are smart. You must be strong, like a lion"-he flexed a slightly shaky arm under his green diamond pattern cardigan-"but whisper like the wind in her ear."

  "I'll remember that."

  Sal took a step forward, raising a fist to emphasize his point. "Don't you give up on her! Maria, she's worth it. She's worth ten men, but the church only lets her marry one."

  "I'm not marr-"

  Sal shook his head, cutting Dante off. "I'm an old man, but not a stupid one. I have the same wife for fiftytwo years. She can make a man scream when she wants to, but she has the face of an angel."

  "She sounds, uh, wonderful."

  Sal waved a hand at him. "No, she sounds like a wife. But a good woman. And the only one with a leash big enough for me." He gestured to the loaf still in Dante's arms. "You come for dinner. Tomorrow night. But don't bring bread."

  "Wednesday? But-"

  "Bring dessert," Sal went on, as if he hadn't heard a word of Dante's protest. "Sweeten my granddaughter's tongue first, then her heart." Sal tipped his hat at Dante and gave him a grin. "I tell Biba to expect you." Then he left, moving surprisingly fast for a man of his age, getting out the door before Dante could even formulate an excuse to get out of the dinner.

  Dinner at the Paglianos? Surely, Maria would kill him if she saw him there again. She'd made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him. And yet, when she'd kissed him

  When she'd kissed him, his entire world had come to a screeching halt. When was the last time he'd felt that way? When was the last time he'd been so distracted by thoughts of a woman that he'd ended up writing "Maria" instead of "marinara" on his menu? When was the last time he'd found himself watching the clock, wishing he were anywhere but at Vita?

  Never.

  Dante looked at the ciabatta in his arms. Sal was right. This was no way to win a woman.

  Dante was just going to have to sweeten the deal.

  Maria opened the back door to her mother's house, took in a high-calorie breath and let it out in a sigh. "Mamma, why do you torture me like this?"

  Mamma retied the bow on her rooster apron and put on her best innocent face. All Italian mothers, it seemed, had mastered this "who-me?" mask that managed to look both blank and hurt at the same time. "It's not torture to feed my child. It's love."

  Maria placed a focaccia bread on the counter, then leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. "Love can smother you if you eat too much of it."

  "You have a beautiful figure. And my food is good for you." Her mother waved a dismissive hand at her and ratcheted up the hurt in her brown eyes. When Maria didn't cave on the guilt trip, Mamma pivoted toward the stove, picked up a wooden spoon from the rooster spoon rest and gave the risotto a stir. "Dante seemed to like it."

  "Mamma, I don't care what Dante thinks. I'm not dating him." Maria crossed to the refrigerator, opened it and pulled out a two-liter Diet Coke.

  The spoon circled along the metal pan. In the pattern of a noose. `Just kissing him, hmm?"

  Maria paused, her hand halfway to the cabinet for a glass. "You saw that?"

  "What, you think I'm blind? You and he, in my yard that day, right by the roses. I look for new buds and I see you."

  "To see the roses from the kitchen window..." Maria withdrew a glass and filled it with Diet Coke, "you have to stand on a chair and peek around the corner of the window."

  Mamma shrugged. "I'm eager for spring."

  "It's March. Much too early for roses," Maria said. "Mamma, I love you, but you're nosy. You were hoping to catch him down on one knee."

  "The soup, it works."

  Maria replaced the soda in the fridge. "He didn't propose."

  Mamma busied herself with stacking dirty dishes in the sink. "He will."

  "No, he won't." She paused a moment, leaning against the counter and sipping from the glass. "I'm not going out with him. I haven't even seen him in days."

  Well, technically, she already had gone on a sort-of date with him. If she counted the dance in the North End street. Oh, yeah, and the chess game at her apartment. The ride to the Chubby Chums. The conversationhell, that wasn't a conversation, that was mouth soccer-outside on the church steps. And the order he'd placed at the shop on Friday.

  But, well, she wasn't going to see him anymore. Or think about him. Even though she had been, every day since he'd walked away with that half-finished kiss between them.

  She wasn't going to think about him ever again. Starting today.

  Somehow, that resolution didn't sound any stronger than her vow to stay away from snack foods.

  "Why not? He's a nice boy," Mamma said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Maria sighed and settled into one of the maple kitchen chairs. Across from her, two six-inch high, ugly white porcelain roosters stared back from a wooden shelf perch, their faces blank and stony. "You wouldn't understand."

  Mamma turned away from the sink and crossed to the kitchen table, taking the seat across from Maria. "Then tell me, cares."

  "There's nothing to tell. He's not my type."

  Mamma's eyes zeroed in on Maria's, the Italian mother lie detector clicking away. She pursed her lips and gave a little nod. Whether that meant Maria had convinced her or not, would remain to be seen.

  "When you were little, you dream of being the ballerina. Remember?"

  "Yeah. And the dance teacher always put me in the back so I wouldn't ruin her "Swan Lake." Or break Prince Charming's back."

  Mamma let out a gust. "You too good for that class."

  "Oh, Mamma." Maria shook her head, smiling at the same argument she'd heard for years. "I wasn't too good. I was too heavy. You never saw the truth."

  "Maybe it's not me who doesn't see the truth."

  "And maybe you're just biased because you're my mother." But Maria's voice was soft. Despite her matchmaking, Mamma loved her and that alone was comforting.

  From the front of the house came the sound of the doorbell. Maria glanced at her mother. But she'd already slipped into her "who-me?" outfit again.

  No one in the Pagliano family rang the doorbell. Only company announced their p
resence at dinner. And there was only one person Maria could imagine her mother inviting over for Wednesday night dinner.

  "We have company tonight?" Maria asked. "Anyone I know?"

  "The veal. I think it's burning." Mamma got to her

  feet and hurried to the stove.

  "Mamma-" "What?"

  "You invited him, didn't you?"

  "Who?" Mamma shrugged, like she had no idea who Maria meant. From the front hall, the evidence in question could be heard greeting her grandfather.

  "Dante. He's here. I can hear him, so don't deny it." "He likes my cooking. His own mamma, she so far away."

  "Dante can cook for himself. He's a chef."

  "I also like to be spoiled once in a while." Dame's deep tenor seemed to fill the small, bright kitchen, and reminded her that she'd been talking about him behind his back.

  Good thing she hadn't said anything too stupid.

  She turned around and saw him standing there, holding a bottle of the same Chianti Classico. Immediately, her mind rocketed back to the night in her apartment. The chess game.

  And the unanswered game between them.

  Something hot uncoiled in her gut at the sight of him. Damn, he looked good. If there was ever a Survivor for dating, Dante would win, hands and corkscrews down.

  "Sit, sit," Mamma said, ushering him in like he was the king of England. "You work so hard. You need a woman to fuss."

  Dante cocked his head at Maria and grinned. Spoiled as Zsa Zsa Gabor's poodle.

  "I'll set the table," Maria said.

  Dante started to rise.

  "Oh, no, don't get up," Maria said sweetly, giving him a condescending pat on the arm. "Wouldn't want you to tucker yourself out before dinner. Just let the women wait on you."

  "If you insist. .."

  "I do. You are, after all, a guest." Then she grabbed the stack of plates on the counter and stalked out.

  She'd been right. He was like every other Italian man she'd vowed to stay away from. Next he'd be parking his feet on the coffee table, the remote under one thumb and her under the other.

  No, thanks. She didn't need that. Been there, done that, and didn't need a repeat history lesson.

  Mamma's Joining-of-Two-Hearts Double Cheese Risotto

  4 tablespoons butter

  1 small onion, minced

  1 3/4 cup Arborio rice

  1 cup white wine, a good vintage from a lucky year

  4 cups boiling chicken stock, ready and waiting to make the rice perfect and hot

  1 cup Gorgonzola cheese, chopped

  1 cup Fontina cheese, chopped

  Salt and pepper

  Walnut halves for garnish and extra fertility

  Melt the butter in a pan, add the onion and cook until softened like your daughter's heart. Her resistance to him is weakening, so don't let this opportunity go.

  Add the rice and stir, until the grains are ready to burst, like his heart. Add the wine for a little sweetness from the vine. Now pour in a little of the stock, stirring and stirring until it's absorbed.

  Risotto requires tending, just like a new love. So add a little stock, then stir more. Add and stir until the risotto is al dente and creamy. Now it's time to marry the cheeses. Bring in the sweet Gorgonzola with the nutty Fontina and stir together, until they have completely blended. Taste for extra seasoning and add if needed.

  Sprinkle with walnuts, which the Romans say bring fertility to all who eat them. Then serve quickly to a couple who needs a good shove in the right direction

  The direction of the altar, of course.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mamma was clearly on Dante's side. She seated him beside Maria. Before dinner, he noticed her pushing their chairs a tiny bit closer when Maria wasn't looking, too.

  Taking the night off from Vita had been a damned good idea.

  Dante poured the wine for everyone at the table. He noticed, however, that Maria didn't sip from her glass. Did she not want to bring back the memories of that night? Or was she afraid of a repeat performance?

  Maria brushed by her grandfather on her way to her seat, giving him a kiss and a hug. Sal Pagliano gave Dante a wink from across the table, mouthing, Give her time.

  Time didn't seem to work with Maria. The more Dante stayed away, the more distant she became. If he wanted her, he'd better put a plan into fast forward.

  Of course, that would presume he had a plan. Between the restaurant's insane schedule and dealing with the problems of Vinny, Rochelle and everyone else, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had five minutes to think about his own life.

  All he did know was that Maria intrigued him more than any woman he'd ever met. She had the perfect combination-brains, sass and a talent for chess. Every time he saw her, his desire for her multiplied. All he needed now was a way to steal her heart before she knew what hit her.

  That required a plan, which he didn't have. Damned good thing he could improvise.

  Sal cleared his throat and introduced Dante to his wife Ada, a diminutive white-haired woman sitting to Sal's right.

  "Pass the zucchini, ma petite," he said loudly to her when he finished the introductions.

  "You old fool. I haven't been petite since you married me." But Ada passed the vegetables anyway.

  Sal scooped some zucchini onto his plate, grinning at the woman across from him. "In my eyes, you are but a beautiful rose."

  "You're legally blind."

  "I can still see my heart's true love."

  She scowled and reached for a slice of bread. "That's the cataracts."

  "You have lost your romance. Where's the little butterfly I married?"

  "She got old. Now pass the risotto."

  "Are they always like this?" Dante whispered into Maria's ear. Her dark brown hair curled against her earlobe, and for an insane moment, he longed to toy with the springy tendril.

  Probably not a good thing to do at the family dinner table.

  "Pretty much." She shrugged, smiling at them. "Wait till they really get going. My grandmother's a little hard of hearing so they sometimes end up practically screaming at each other by the end of a conversation. Nonna and Nonno would give the best presidential candidates a run for their money at a debate."

  "I think it's wonderful." He'd always craved that kind of family. That kind of life for himself. This exact kind of setting.

  Maria turned and looked at him, fork hovering over her plate, big brown eyes catching his. God, she had gorgeous eyes. Like deep pools of mink he could settle into, and be comfortable there for a million years. "You need mental help," she said.

  "Oh, come on, look at them. Still in love, still flirting."

  "That's not flirting. It's verbal combat." But her voice was soft and admiring, full of love for her grandparents.

  "Ah, ma petite," he whispered, his voice a much sexier version of her grandfather's, "where's your romance?"

  Her eyes widened and filled with something that simmered hotter than the steam coming off the veal. He clenched his free hand in his lap to break the urge to reach out and touch her, to draw her to him and taste her ruby lips again.

  "So, Dante, what are your intentions with my little girl?" Maria's father leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back.

  Dante straightened and coughed, tearing his attention away from Maria. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk. The grilling had begun. "To drive her crazy until she finally says yes and goes out on a date with me."

  "He's a smart man, that one," Sal said to his wife, emphasizing the point with a fork. "Comes from strong stock. I know his father. Good man."

  "What?"- She cocked an ear at him, cupping her hand around it.

  "I said he's a smart man."

  "A smart-ass? You shouldn't say those kinds of things at the dinner table. There are young people present."

  Maria's father turned his attention toward Dane again. "You have a good job?"

  Dante cleared his throat. "I own a restaurant."

 
"A what?" Ada asked. "A rest stop? How can you make a living at that?"

  "A restaurant," Dante repeated, louder. Her father raised a brow. "And?" "And that's it. It keeps me pretty busy."

  "In my day, a man worked three jobs," Sal said, nodding. "Supported his family in style."

  "What style?" Ada snorted. "I drove an Edsel. We lived in a two-room walkup with three kids for fifteen years. Style, my-"

  "Mamma!" Maria's father cut her off. "There are young people present. Remember?"

  She went back to her zucchini, muttering about Edsek under her breath.

  Biba bustled in from the kitchen, depositing additional bread onto the table and then hurrying from place setting to place setting, refilling the wineglasses.

  "Sit, Biba," her husband said. "You never eat with the rest of us."

  "My kitchen-"

  "Will not burn down if you stop to eat." He grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the chair beside him.

  "Maria's boyfriend is here. We need to make sure he's the one."

  Dante grinned at Maria. She let out a sigh that said her parents had visited this territory more often than Lewis and Clark. "He's not my boyfriend. And he's not the one."

  He thought about holding up a sign saying he was interested in the position, but figured Maria wasn't taking applications.

  "Good for you," her grandmother said, adding salt to her zucchini. "Don't settle down. Men are a pain in the ass."

  "Mamma!" Biba gasped.

  "What? It's true. They're about as useful as a dead elephant in the freezer."

  Dante stifled a laugh. Maria choked back one of her own.

  Sal grabbed his wife's hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a loud kiss. "Later, I'll show you useful."

  "Don't you dare." She jerked her hand back. "I took that self-defense class at the community center last year. I know how to use a fist."

  Sal chuckled. "There's no defense against amore."

  Ada let out a chuff of disgust. "Are you sneaking those Viagra pills again? I swear, that Sonny is a terrible friend, giving you those things. Make you act like an animal."

  "Mammal" Biba said.

  She dug into her plate again. "I'm old. I can say whatever I want now."

  Biba started in on her plate at a furious pace, her cheeks pink. Dante cast an amused glance at Maria, who made a concerted effort to ignore him. He could see the amusement in her gaze, though, and knew as much as she wouldn't admit it, her family and all their quirks were dear to her heart.