Envy by Eve Marian

5

Natacha

This was a disaster. I’d nearly lost this job before I’d actually begun.

My cooking had to improve. It had to be good enough to please Giancarlo at least until I finished what I’d come here to do—find out the truth about Chase’s car accident. And, the baseball, of course.

On my way to the grocery store, I called Luke.

“Hey, Natacha. How did it go last night? How was the roast beef?”

I groaned. “Terrible. He fired me.”

“What!”

“Don’t worry, I begged for a second chance and thankfully, he gave me one. I can’t mess up again.”

Luke blew out a breath, and it bounced off the windows of my car. “You can’t get fired. We won’t get another chance to be inside his home like this again.”

“I know.” I checked my blind spot before changing lanes. “I downloaded a few simple recipes I can make. Positano Grocery also has some prepared meals I can pass off as my own.”

“That’s a good idea for now. Also, I have lasagna in the freezer I can give you, as well as some extra sauce for spaghetti the next day. Make the lasagna tonight. He’ll love it. It’s one of my best dishes.”

Turning into a parking spot in front of the grocery store, I parked the car and exhaled in relief. “That’s perfect, Luke. Thank you. It’ll buy me some time, for sure.”

“No problem. I’ll bring the lasagna to the grocery store in thirty minutes.”

“All right. See you soon.”

Pushing the cart down the aisle, I checked my list. I’d planned a menu for the week and had written a few ingredients down. Luke’s lasagna tonight, spaghetti tomorrow, roast chicken on Thursday, and steak on Friday. Pete said Giancarlo often ate out on Saturday nights, so I didn’t have to worry about that one. If I could make it through this week, that should give me enough time to search the house.

A little while later, Luke waited for me outside the store with a large crate. “Thank you,” I said as I loaded the food into my trunk.

“Keep me posted. Let me know how it goes.”

Closing the trunk, I turned to him. “I will.”

His face grew somber and he searched my eyes. “Is he treating you all right?”

“Well, other than firing me, he hardly spoke to me.”

“That’s a good thing, Natacha. We know little about him, but what we do know isn’t good.”

I nodded. “I appreciate your concern, Luke. But you wouldn’t be giving my father this speech. I can handle myself.”

“Giancarlo wouldn’t try to push himself onto your father.”

I crossed my arms. “Have you heard something about Giancarlo assaulting women?”

He shook his head and frowned. “Well, no. But I wouldn’t assume he’s a saint, either. Just be careful.”

I knew the man was a notorious mafia boss, so I didn’t know why I was offended on Giancarlo’s behalf.

“I’ll keep you posted on my progress in retrieving the baseball,” I said and opened the driver’s door. “Thanks, Luke.”

He nodded and watched me as I drove away.

Once inside Giancarlo’s home, I was thankful for the hidden kitchen. It allowed me to thaw the lasagna in a place where no one could see it. I stashed the extra sauce in the fridge there as well. After putting away the rest of the groceries, I opened the pantry door and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Ah!” shouted Nonna, clutching her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, realizing my scream must have startled her as much as she had startled me. “I didn’t know anyone was in the kitchen.”

Pressing a hand to her cheek, she stared at me as though I should have known. “I didn’t know you frightened so easily.”

I didn’t, but it was better she thought that than the truth. That I was a little jumpy at having to hide the food Luke gave to me. Noting the onion and celery on the counter, I realized she must have been in there for several minutes. “What are you doing?”

She tilted her head and asked, “What does it look like? Cooking, of course.” She picked up the celery and washed it in the smaller sink. “Giancarlo is healing. My minestrone will work wonders for that.”

A part of me wanted to act offended. She was trespassing on my territory, after all. But as I watched her expertly chop the onion and celery, I realized this could be exactly what I needed. To watch a master at work. This was way better than watching a video. Without realizing it, Nonna was offering me some much-needed training.

“Will that go well with the lasagna I’m making for dinner?” I asked, taking note of the way she only moved the vegetable instead of her hand while she chopped.

“No. The minestrone is for lunch.”

“Oh, Pete said Giancarlo doesn’t have lunch at home.”

She raised her eyebrow but didn’t take her eyes off her onion. “He’ll eat lunch at home while I’m here.”

After finely chopping the onion, she brushed it onto a small plate. Grabbing a bunch of carrots and string beans, she dropped them in the sink and washed those, too. “So, you made lasagna?”

I sucked on my teeth. “Yes. I’ll be serving lasagna tonight.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?

“Is it vegetable or meat?”

I swallowed and closed my eyes briefly. I hadn’t asked Luke that question. Praying I chose correctly, I said, “Meat.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Meat will help him heal faster.”

She poured some olive oil into a pan and threw in the onions and celery. Then she chopped up some garlic. I wondered why she didn’t add garlic at the same time as the onions.

I noted the ingredients she used inside her soup and the order in which she used them. She added some green leafy vegetables that looked like lettuce but had a red stem. I pulled out my phone to look up the different types of lettuce. Swiss Chard. Oh, yes, of course. I’d eaten that before. It didn’t look the same raw.

After giving the pot a few good stirs, she wiped her hands on her apron and smiled. “That should do it. It’ll be ready in a couple of hours.”

Checking her watch, she smiled. “Time for my Telenovela. I’ll see you later.”

I returned her smile. “See you later.” Then a thought popped into my head and the smile faded. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Lasagna is my favorite.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and whispered. “Perfect.”

Nonna walked out of the kitchen, and I quietly followed her. I noted which room she went into to avoid it during my initial search.

Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes. I hoped Luke was as good of a cook as everyone said he was. Otherwise, this may be my only chance at finding that baseball and any answers regarding Chase.

Steeling my nerves, I pushed off the wall and began my search.

Giancarlo had left the house even before I’d gone to the grocery store. I hoped he wouldn’t return until noon, at least. If Pete was right, he would be out until dinner, but Nonna suggested he’d be back for lunch.

I pushed back my shoulders and walked down the hallway. Pete’s office was closest to the kitchen. Fortunately, the washroom was past his door. If he saw me walking by, he’d assume I was going there. Instead, I walked past the bathroom door and stepped into Giancarlo’s office.

My heart raced as I shut the door behind me. If he found me in here, I couldn’t explain to Pete that I’d gotten lost. No. I had to pray that no one would open that door.

Rushing over to Giancarlo’s desk, I opened the first drawer to the right. Pens, a pad of paper, and a granola bar. Nothing of note.

When I opened the second drawer, however, I pulled my hand back. The gun in an unlocked drawer shouldn’t have surprised me. I guess it made sense—there were no children around but I’m sure plenty of enemies.

I carefully closed the drawer and opened the third one. This one held files. Nope. Nothing.

Next, I turned toward the shelves behind the desk. I ran my fingers across the spines of the leather-bound books. Inadvertently, I inhaled their woodsy scent. There were no boxes or drawers on the shelves, nothing to hide a baseball inside.

With my hands on my hips, I spun and looked around the room. There were two chairs placed in front of the desk, and other than a replica of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on the wall, there was nothing else left to check in the room.

I walked toward the painting. The brushstrokes were incredible for a replica. Placing my fingers on the intricate gold frame, I pulled it from the wall. Nothing. No secret safe or compartment behind the frame.

As far as I could tell, this room was clean.

I pressed my ear to the door and listened. I couldn’t hear a sound on the other side. Slowly, I turned the doorknob and stuck my head outside. Not a soul in sight. Exhaling, I walked straight toward the bathroom. I flushed the toilet and ran the water for a few minutes before walking past Pete’s office door. He didn’t look up from his desk, and I took that as a good sign.

I checked two other rooms within the hour that Nonna and Pete were occupied. The living room and the games room. Someone had left the pool game in a hurry, as the balls were still scattered across the table. I was tempted to take a shot but resisted.

I’d just returned to the kitchen when the front door opened. Giancarlo and Vito were back. I guess Nonna was right.

Returning to the second kitchen, I checked on the lasagna. The frost had evaporated and the sauce was less solid, noting a few meatballs sticking out.

Thank god it wasn’t vegetarian.

I pulled out my phone and looked up a salad recipe for tonight. Part of me needed to make something to not feel like a complete fraud. Even though the entire setup was a ruse, there was something satisfying about preparing a meal. I liked how Nonna prepared her minestrone with care and intention. She wanted to help heal her grandson.

My intentions for this evening were less noble. I wanted to keep my job and continue my search. But I could afford no less effort.

I grabbed an onion from the fridge and washed it before chopping it. After a few slices, I smiled.

Nonna was right. No tears.

*

Three hours later, the kitchen smelled fantastic.

The warm scent of the cheesy lasagna wafted through my nose. I checked on it three times to make sure I wouldn’t burn it, but Luke texted me to set it to broil for the last two minutes so that the top layer would be crunchy. I watched the cheese bubble as my nose nearly touched the glass oven door.

Finally, as I cut into the lasagna and pulled out the first slice, the mozzarella cheese hung on until I had to twirl it off with a fork. It was breathtaking.

Vito and Nonna were joining Giancarlo for dinner, so I plated three portions and walked to the dining room. Everyone dressed more casually tonight. Perhaps because it was Tuesday. Vito wore a black T-shirt, while Giancarlo’s gray long-sleeve shirt fit him snugly, shaping the contours of his chest and arms.

Nonna wore a simple black skirt and blouse with a thin gold crucifix around her neck.

I held my breath as I set the dishes down in front of them. Vito raised his eyebrows. “This actually smells good.” He grabbed his fork and poked at the pasta. Sauce and steam oozed from the punctures.

Nonna lifted a layer of pasta to inspect the inside of the lasagna. Stringy cheese held the pieces together. “I can see you used the good mozzarella.”

But the big test was Giancarlo’s reaction. He didn’t inspect his food, he simply cut into his slice with the side of his fork and shoveled a large chunk into his mouth. He chewed quickly at first. Then his jaw slowed.

His eyes flew to Nonna, seated to his left. “Did you help her with this?”

Nonna pointed to her chest with all four fingers and thumb touching. “Io? No, not at all.”

Intrigued, she cautiously took a bite. When she frowned, my heart nearly stopped. She took another bite and chewed slowly. She nodded her head knowingly and said, “This is very good.”

Putting another forkful in his mouth, Giancarlo moaned so gutturally that the sound caught me off guard and hit me straight in the stomach. He closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes fanned just above his high cheekbones, and fluttered. For just a moment, he was lost in pleasure. And I couldn’t look away.

“Damn, that was good.” The clanking of Vito’s fork on his plate startled me. He had finished his portion in less than two minutes.

“Does this mean I can stay?” I asked, returning my gaze to Giancarlo’s face. His eyes searched mine and they narrowed. “You need to work on your meat dishes, but I can survive on pasta for a while.” He wiped his mouth with his white napkin. “You can stay.”

Relief washed over me and my shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” I said and turned to leave.

“Oh, Natalie,” Giancarlo called.

I turned to face him. “It’s Natacha.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, not bothering to turn his head to look my way. “Vito needs another slice.”

I nodded and took a step forward.

“I’ll get it for him,” Nonna said, pushing back her chair.

“It’s no problem. I’ll be right back.”

“I insist.” Her voice was stern and my shoulders stiffened again.

The sound of Nonna’s open-backed shoes snapped behind me, but I continued to the kitchen without turning.

Lifting the aluminum foil on the lasagna tray, I cut another slice for Vito and a second for Giancarlo in case he was still hungry. I thought to save myself another trip.

Turning, I found Nonna standing behind me, her arms crossed. Her eyes held mine when she said, “I know you didn’t make that lasagna.”

The plates in my hands trembled, but I gripped them tighter. My chest constricted when I tried to inhale deeply to slow down my racing heart. “Of course, I did.”

“No. You didn’t. I noticed you while I made my minestrone. You watched me like a hawk. Not as one trying to steal my recipe, but as someone with no idea what I was doing. Your eyes followed my every movement. Did you know you frown when you are unsure about something?”

“That’s not true.”

Was it?

“I have not lived as long as I have in this family without the ability to read people.”

She stepped closer to me, her mouth firm, and her hands on her hips. “Now, tell me,” her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, her face only inches from mine, “who are you?”

My throat tightened and my mouth went dry. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t get a word out. My palms felt sticky, and beads of moisture gathered at the base of my neck.

I could still smell the lasagna behind me and the scent mixed with fear tightened my stomach. I was ready to hurl.

She was at least half a foot shorter than me, but that look had me shaking in my boots. I felt like a teenager caught sneaking back into her room.

But I didn’t think Nonna would ground me. Truthfully, I had no idea what she was capable of.

“You’re right. I didn’t make the lasagna. But it’s not what you think.”

She crossed her arms but loosened her stance. It was only slightly less intimidating. “Go on,” she said.

I believed this woman when she told me she could read people. So, I inhaled and spoke from the heart. “I don’t work for another family. I…” I racked my brain for the truth and blew out a frustrated breath. “I just really need this job.”

She pursed her lips, but her eyes didn’t leave mine for a second.

I held her gaze, knowing that if I looked away, she’d think I was lying.

Despite the grooves along her eyes and mouth, Nonna Angela appeared quite young at that moment. She looked like she could take on the world to protect her family. She was fierce and unafraid to confront me herself. I admired that.

I wished I could tell her everything. That I was here to find out the truth about my boyfriend’s death, but that was impossible. Even if Giancarlo had nothing to do with his death, perhaps he knew who did.

“Have you ever cooked before?”

“No,” I answered truthfully. “Please don’t tell Giancarlo. I already have a menu planned for the week and I’m a quick learner. I’ll be the best cook your grandson ever had.”

“Have you ever betrayed a friend?” Her eyes assessed my every breath. Again, I answered evenly and honestly. “No. I’m a good person, I swear.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Finally, she uncrossed her arms and washed her hands in the sink.

Confused, I asked, “What do you mean ‘you’ll be the judge of that’?”

“From your eyes, I believe you’re telling me the truth, at least what you’ve said so far. But my instincts tell me there’s more. So, I will stay close to watch you and also teach you how to cook. Killing two birds with one stone. That’s an efficient plan, no?”

I gulped. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Nonna being my watchdog. She looked like she could bite.

I forced a smile. “Sounds great,” I said, with no enthusiasm.

She smiled, genuinely. “Perfetto. Now, write this down. These are the basic ingredients you should always have in your fridge and pantry.”

Did she want to start now? It was nearly eight o’clock.

“Are you confused already?” she asked. “Mizzica. I don’t think I could start any simpler than that.”

“No, no,” I said. “I just didn’t think you’d want to begin tonight.”

Didn’t little old ladies go to bed early or something?

But I should have known Nonna Angela wouldn’t be like any other grandmother.

She stared at me with her lips pursed. “Give Vito and Gigi their second plates, and then we’ll get started.”

Resigned, I grabbed the plates and followed her orders.