The Devil Served Tortellini Read online

  "You won't find a cabbie here, not tonight," Dante called to her. "Not unless he's lost."

  She pivoted, and he straightened, Vinny and the smoldering food critic forgotten. She had the shape of an hourglass, and shoulder-length dark hair with ringlets curling around her face like a frame. He stepped out of the shadows and into her line of vision.

  She was as intoxicating as the grappa. No, hotter and definitely sweeter. He edged toward the sidewalk, now only separated from her by two narrow lanes of old, bumpy street, a leftover from the seventeenth-century city design.

  Without her coat on, he had an unblocked view of shapely legs beneath a straight black skirt and a curvy chest pushing at her T-shirt. Her breasts jutted out seductively, as if they were introducing themselves to his gaze.

  Hello, he thought. Very pleased to meet you both.

  "There were a bunch of cabs outside when I came I sere tonight," she said. Her voice had the slight tinge of an Italian accent, telling him she'd grown up in a family that interspersed English with the colorful native tongue.

  He pointed over his shoulder at Vita, the only business open after eight on the small North End side street. "No customers, no cabs."

  "No customers? Did you file bankruptcy between dinner and dessert?"

  He laughed, but the sound of it was a bit too bitter to be funny. "No, we just had a small fire."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Fire?"

  "Long story."

  "Oh." He could see she wanted to ask, but didn't. Someday, over drinks maybe, he'd tell her. Hell, with a face and a body like that, he'd tell her his credit card account numbers, too.

  They stood there a minute, in the uncomfortable silence of strangers who didn't quite know where to take the conversation next. Dante glanced again at her, standing in the soft pool of light across the street. His gaze traveled back down to his two new acquaintances.

  He figured he better make a move before some Red Top made him into a liar and came cruising down the street, taking her away and leaving him with a bunch of regrets and an empty shot glass. He crossed the street, noting how her eyes widened when he approached. Yet, she didn't move, not so much as a flinch. One tough cookie. "You hungry?"

  She shook her head. "No. No, not at all. Really."

  He grinned. "Are you trying to convince me? Or you?"

  Her face reddened and she paused a minute before speaking again. "Me, mostly. I'm on a diet."

  " Why ? "

  She gave him an are-you-crazy look. "I think that's pretty obvious." She spread her arms wide.

  Now that he was standing a foot away, he took his time perusing her voluptuous form. Much better close up. "Maybe you need a new mirror, because you look pretty damned good to me."

  "Maybe you need glasses."

  "Let me guess." He waved a hand toward the church behind her. "Chubby Chums support group?"

  "Yeah, how'd you know?"

  "They meet every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday night from seven to nine. After the others have gone home, a couple of them head over to the restaurant for the all-you-can-eat pasta special."

  "You're kidding me! Geez, and they bashed me for having manicotti for lunch."

  "Ah, the food of the gods, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yeah. " Her eyes rolled back and she smiled a contented smile that said the manicotti had been very, very good.

  He hoped his was better. A lot better. Because he def(rritely wanted to see her smile that way after eating one of his meals. He gestured toward Vita. "Come on, I know the owner. He'll fix you something nice. I promise."

  She shifted and turned on her high heels, causing her calf muscles to flex into little hearts, then release. lead in heaven.

  "I ... I really shouldn't," she said.

  lie took a step closer. "I really think you should. You look like you've had a bad day."

  Her lips, full and glossed with cranberry, curved into a smile. "A bad life is more like it. But. .." She glanced over at the restaurant, then back at him. She slid her coat on. "No. Thank you."

  "How about a salad? That counts as diet food."

  She swallowed and he could see the longing in her ryes, like a child spying a new bike in a department store window. "What kind?"

  "Whatever you want. The chef will take care of you, even custom-make something if you don't like what you see." He grinned. "On the menu, I mean."

  Her smile turned flirtatious. "How can you be so sure?"

  "' Trust me."

  " I don't even know you."

  He put out a hand. "Dante Del Rosso."

  She hesitated only a second, then took his hand. Her fingers were long and delicate, yet strong in their grip. Despite his better sense, he pictured her fingers grasping a very different part of his anatomy. His body temperature spiked like an August heat wave.

  "Maria Pagliano."

  He didn't let go right away. "Have a salad with me, Maria Pagliano. I've had a hell of a day, too."

  She tilted her head, considering.

  "Listen, I don't bite, my shots are up to date, and if you want a reference, my sixth grade teacher is listed in the phone book."

  Maria laughed, a full, hearty sound that seemed to come from some well deep within her. "Okay."

  As they crossed the street, the lights over "Deliziosa " came on again. Dante took that as a sign.

  Actually, a damned good sign. Maybe his luck was about to change. As long as he kept Vinny away from anything flammable, things were bound to improve.

  Dante glanced at Maria and decided they already had.

  Dante's Taste-of-Heaven

  Tortellini Temptation

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter

  2 ounces minced ground pork

  2 ounces minced ground turkey

  2 ounces finely chopped sausage

  2 ounces minced mortadella

  1/2 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano

  Pinch grated nutmeg

  1 pound fresh pasta dough, made with your own two hands

  Salt and pepper to taste

  In a large skillet, heat the butter over medium heat, watching it melt while you're thinking of the beautiful woman you want to impress. Add the meats and saute until cooked thoroughly. Remove from heat, add the remaining filling ingredients, choosing only the best quality for her. If needed, dice additionally in a food processor so everything is even and beautiful. Set aside.

  On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pasta dough (or use a pasta machine) to a thickness of 1/8th inch. Drop 4 teaspoon of filling along the length of the dough, about two inches apart. Then carefully cut the dough Into squares with a pastry wheel.

  With a pastry brush or your finger dipped in water, moisten the dough around the filling. Don't overdo this because you want it to be a perfect tortellini circle. Fold the squares into triangles and press the dough to mold around the filling.

  Shape into the sexy curves of a belly button with your pinkie, pressing the ends together very well-don't want this to come undone; much better for her to do that when she eats this delight.

  Allow tortellini to rest on a floured tea towel for at least an hour while you cook up something else with the pretty lady at your table. Later, boil in salted water, being careful not to crowd the tortellini.

  Serve with a meat sauce and a good red wine. Cap the meal with a kiss and a promise of more dessert to come.

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as Maria entered Vita, she knew she'd broken the first cardinal rule of dieting-never, ever surround yourself with the very temptation that had contributed to the problem in the first place. If Dante hadn't been holding her hand, she'd have turned and ran as far as her high heels could take her.

  The aromas of the restaurant ganged up on her, teasing and tempting like a hundred dancing virgins in front of

  "Maria Pagliano, meet Franco Vaccaro, our maitre d' and"-Dante smiled-"the one person who keeps me from getting into too much trouble."

  "Ah, you not so much trouble," Franco said. "He has a tempe
r, this one, and a head like a mule. But with a bells donna like you, he behave." Franco clapped Dante on the shoulder.

  "Hush, Franco. You'll scare her away."

  "Maybe, a good idea." Franco wagged a finger at him. "I know you when you were this high"-he raised his hand three feet off the ground. "Trouble, but with a smile that could charm the fishes out of the sea." Franco shook his head. "Even my Isabella, God rest her soul, she called him an angel."

  "That's because I am one."

  Franco's laughter was hearty and rich. "Ah, a devil more like. No, no angel here." Franco leaned closer to Maria and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He's a good boy, though. Like my own son. He treat you right."

  "Whoal " Dante put up a hand. "Don't start your matchmaking again." Franco gave an innocent, who-me? shrug. Dante turned to Maria. "Franco won't be happy until he sees me married and saddled with a dozen kids."

  "He should meet my mother," Maria said. "She'd help fit you for the bridle."

  "Marriage, it's not so bad," Franco said. "Good for the head and the heart. You should-"

  Dante shook his head. "All I want is to get this pretty lady a meal."

  Franco smacked his forehead. "Ah, mio Dio, I forget myself. I see a beautiful woman, my mind, it is a hole." He cleared his throat, then spoke again, his voice now as formal as his pose. "Your coat, signora?"

  "Allow me," Dante said. Before she could move, his nimble fingers were at her nape, sliding the camel cashmere off her shoulders, down her arms and over her hands, smooth as a waterfall.

  He lingered behind her, his aftershave teasing at her senses. If she backed up one step, she'd be pressed to his pelvis.

  Now another part of her started shouting gimme, gimme, gimme.

  Franco took her coat from Dante's hands and the two men stepped over to the coatrack, talking quietly. She heard the name Vinny mentioned, but the conversation didn't interest her anywhere near as much as Dante's rear profile.

  He was wearing black jeans, and they fit him like the peel on a banana. Definitely a Grade-A rump. Maybe even A -plus, if there was such a thing.

  God, when was the last time she'd had sex? She had to think for a minute, which told her it had already been too long.

  January twenty-third. With Harvey Waite, the exterminator from Stoughton who her mother had introduced her to at Cousin Rosina's wedding reception. Foreplay had started at eleven P.M. and Harvey had finished at vleven-ten, leaving Maria still waiting at the starting line.

  Needless to say, she had not gone out with Hog-theOrgasm Harvey again. Since then, she'd had a twomonth-well, she didn't want to call it a dry spell just si period of no acceptable men on the planet.

  This had caused her mother no end of worry and muttered impromptu prayers for the Lord to please give her daughter enough sense to settle down with a good Italian boy. After all, Maria was twenty-eight, and in her mother's mind, a hair's breadth away from her eggs drying up and her body falling all to hell, leaving her a lonely old maid who would never produce a grandchild to smother.

  a sultan. Garlic bread, fresh Parmesan, simmering pasta sauce, sweet ricotta. Her stomach, which had settled into quiet complacency, roared to life, screaming gimme, gimme, gimme.

  A portly man with a friendly face came around the mahogany lectern in the reception area, his hands exknded in greeting. "Welcome to La Vita Deliziosa, the Delicious Life." The words rolled off his tongue with all the romantic beauty of her mother tongue.

  She'd seen the restaurant a hundred times. The North end was, after all, a small place, but she'd never been inside. Clearly, she'd missed a stop on her culinary jourpey through life.

  Maria wasn't looking for marriage right now-hell, she had trouble sticking to a diet, never mind a relationship. But lately, she'd had this constant, aching need she couldn't identify, making her wonder if there was something missing in her life.

  Yeah, a good-looking man who didn't have sex by a stopwatch.

  There was Antonio, who'd made it clear he wanted to resurrect the past when he saw her again-and Lord, if she were lucky, he'd start with a repeat performance of prom night. But he lived in California and she wouldn't see him until the class reunion in May. Good thing, too, because she fully intended to diet down to someone resembling the cheerleader he remembered. The way he'd said "pom-poms" on the phone had left her weak in the knees.

  Clearly, two months without sex was one month and twenty-nine days too long.

  Then, there was Dante. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her chest, like a barracuda spying a beefy scuba diver. He was definitely interested. He'd even offered to feed her, and in Maria's book, that practically equaled a marriage proposal.

  Dante was a few inches taller than she, and walked with a confidence that said he was a man used to being in command. He had broad, powerful shoulders, tapering down to a lean waist, and powerful legs that flexed beneath the denim. The washboard of his stomach stretched at his T-shirt, and the bulge of his arms said he could lift a woman with ease.

  And have a hell of a lot more duration than Harvey, who'd complained about his biceps cramping up halfway through.

  Dante finished his conversation with Franco and returned, taking her by the elbow and leading her gently toward a table.

  Antonio was hundreds of miles and two more, very long months away.

  Dante, however, was right here. Right now.

  Maria Pagliano was not a patient woman. She wanted a dress, she charged it. She wanted to eat, she grabbed the nearest available nourishment. She wanted a man, she told him. And Dante Del Rosso was definitely a wantable man.

  He stopped and turned to face her. Dark hair, dark eyes, slightly olive skin, punctuated by a grin that seemed to tease and flatter her, all at once.

  She swallowed when he came closer, resisting the urge to throw him on the floor and demand he end her nine-week celibacy.

  "Hungry?" he asked in a voice that to Maria didn't mean salad.

  "Starved." Her heart began to race. Franco had faded into the background. The restaurant was deserted, not even so much as a waiter to interrupt them. Around her, the scents of the food acted like an aphrodisiac, giving her a heady rush that propelled her toward him another step.

  "Then I won't keep you waiting."

  "Oh," she said, almost on a sigh. "Good." Her lips parted and her breath became ragged.

  "Right here is a great spot." He motioned toward the vinyl banquette, handing her a menu.

  Damn. He really had meant food.

  She slid into the booth and opened the menu, wondering if she was due for her Depo shot again. Her hormones were completely off track, raging through her like an out-of-control train.

  She glanced at her watch and realized she hadn't eaten in eight hours. Stomach first. Dante later.

  But maybe ... she should replace food with sex. Get a little exercise, keep the calorie count down while burning a few hundred. The idea did have merit.

  Plus, that approach didn't come with unnecessary heart involvement, which was how Maria usually liked to handle dating. Get in, get what she wanted, then get out and never, ever get too attached. Ever since David the Gynecologist, she'd realized monogamy and men went together about as well as chocolate and tuna.

  Dante had taken the opposite seat and was waiting for her decision, his hands clasped. His eyes were wide and deep, crinkled a bit at the corners, as if he laughed often. She liked that.

  A lot.

  "What do you recommend?" she asked. "Is the chef good?"

  He smiled. "His food will take you on a journey you'll never forget."

  She rolled her eyes at the hyperbole, then returned her attention to the menu. "How about the antipasto?"

  Dante kissed the tips of his fingers. "Heaven."

  Maria folded the menu and slid it to the side. "Then I'll have the antipasto and a Diet Coke." Not quite a lowcalorie meal, but she figured the soda helped reduce the damage.

  "No wine?"

  She shook her head. The only thing Maria
did in moderation was drink. Alcohol had a way of rushing straight to her brain, obliterating all common sense, and leading her to do incredibly stupid things, like go to bed with Harvey the Exterminator.

  "I'll be right back." Dante left and returned a few minutes later with the most delicious-looking antipasto she had ever seen. Colors and tastes crowded the white plate like an array of butterflies.

  Paper-thin prosciutto, creamy white provolone, thick sausage bits, deep red roasted peppers, plump marinated artichokes, mushrooms, pepperoncini, tiny green olives, stuffed cherry peppers and generous wedges of Parmesan. Maria held her fork over the plate, hovering, wondering where best to dive in and give her taste buds a culinary orgasm.

  "Unless you want some botulism with your bill, I wouldn't eat anything in this place."

  Maria turned and saw a short, white-haired man in a gray suit standing in the doorway, next to a tall, plump man in a darker gray suit. Mutt and Jeff, going to a funeral. Franco stood behind them, gesturing a wild apology to Dante for letting them get past him.

  Dante scrambled to his feet and crossed to the men, putting out his hand to the short one. "Mr. Whitman. I didn't expect you to come b-"

  "I'm here to slap you with a lawsuit." He waved a hand at his companion. "Meet my lawyer, Jerome F. Finklestein the Third, with the law firm of Finklestein, Finklestein and Jones."

  Finklestein didn't clarify if he was the first or second said partner. He just dipped his head in greeting, his face about as cheery as Al Gore at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

  "What you did was negligent, Del Rosso." Whitman pointed a finger at him, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I didn't get killed."

  "Vinny got a little overexcited lighting the flambe at the next table. It was an accident."

  "He set my tie on fire."

  "I'm very sorry about that."

  Maria remembered him mentioning a fire in the restaurant. She hadn't realized he meant one of the customers had been ablaze.

  "My daughter gave me that tie."

  "I'm even more sorry, Mr. Whitman."

  "And then, you sprayed me with a fire extinguisher." Whitman shook his head. "A fire extinguisher!"

  Dante put his hands up in a what-could -l-do gesture. "Instinct. I saw fire, I reacted."