Chapter 5 - A Maid Promoted to Personal Chef: Hidden Under the Don’s Shadow
Nell stared at the black ink on the yellowed document. The signature Silvio Orsini was written with the heavy flourish of a man who believed he was above the law.
"Your family..." Nell whispered, looking up into Carmine’s dark, unblinking eyes. "Your family helped him do it."
"My uncle was a parasite," Carmine said without hesitation. "He made backroom deals with politicians and racketeers while my father was sick in the hospital. When I took control of the family four years ago, Silvio was removed."
Carmine didn't elaborate on what removed meant, but the cold finality in his tone left no doubt.
"The Orsini name does not carry dishonor," Carmine continued, leaning forward. "We control shipping, we control imports, and we settle disputes. But we do not burn down craftsmen to build cheap tourist traps. Your father was an artist. My grandmother still speaks of the almond croissants he sent to her salon every Sunday morning thirty years ago."
Nell felt a tear escape her eye and wiped it away angrily. "What do you want from me, Mr. Orsini? Charity? Pity?"
"I don't offer charity, Miss Fontaine. And I certainly don't offer pity." Carmine stood up, walking around the table until he was standing beside her. He placed a firm hand on the back of her chair. "Bellarose wants an exclusive distribution contract with me. He thinks I am going to supply his restaurants with imported Italian wines and prime meat at wholesale prices. He is coming to this house on Friday for a formal banquet to finalize the terms."
Nell looked up, her pulse racing. "And?"
"And you will cook the meal."
"You want me to serve the man who ruined my family?"
"I want you to serve him the exact meal your father served the night Bellarose stole his business," Carmine whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. "I want to watch his face when he tastes the pastry he thought he buried in the ashes eight years ago. And when he breaks, I will take everything he owns."
A shiver ran down Nell’s spine, not of fear, but of a fierce, dormant fire that had been smothered under three years of scrubbing floors.
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"He will recognize the taste," Nell said, her voice turning resolute. "My father had a secret blend of ground roasted chicory and orange peel in his crust. Bellarose tried for months to steal the recipe before the fire."
"Then bake it," Carmine said softly. "Bake it so well that it haunts him."
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