His Forbidden Conquest: A Moment on the Lips / The Best Mistake of Her Life / Not Just Friends

‘And a little advice when he bought the first restaurant.’

‘Exactly. He feels he owes you. That’s why he’s mentoring me.’

‘Hmm. Well, just be careful,’ Gino said.

Carenza was still seething about the way Emilio Mancuso had gone to her grandfather behind her back when she called in at Dante’s office for her mentoring session on Wednesday evening.

He took one look at her. ‘I’m feeding you first. You need carbs.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. Trust me to order for you?’

‘Anything except clams.’ She pulled a face.

‘That’s a shame, because Mario’s been experimenting with pasta vongole—it has a chilli kick and it’s seriously good.’

‘Really not clams, please,’ she repeated.

Rosemary bread and olives helped settle her temper; the pasta Alfredo, followed by a rich beef stew with tiny new potatoes and steamed mangetout, helped even more.

And then Dante gave her ice cream.

She tasted it gingerly. ‘Not as good as mine,’ she said, though she finished the bowl—the sugar rush was just what she needed to get rid of the last bit of her bad mood. ‘I think you need to change your supplier.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’

He was teasing her, and she knew it. She smiled. ‘I might do.’

‘Give me a quote, and we’ll talk about it.’ His smile faded. ‘Talking of quotations—I heard back from your supplier.’

‘And? ‘

Without comment, Dante cleared away the plates, then placed the quotation in front of her.

She stared at it. ‘But—that’s an awful lot less than they’re charging me.’

‘I thought it might be,’ he said.

‘Is this why my business is going downhill? This is what you thought when you said it was more than just the recession?’

‘It’s one of the reasons,’ he said. ‘But what’s really worrying me is what you told me on Saturday—that your input is going up when your output is going down. It’s not as if your business is something like a bakery, where you have to throw out unsold bread and pastries because they’re stale, or sandwich shops where you have to get rid of the fillings because they’re perishable and food hygiene rules demand it. By definition, gelati’s frozen. It doesn’t go off from one day to the next. Unless you have a freezer break-down—when you’d be throwing out everything and your losses would be insured in any case—there’s no reason why you should throw the leftover gelati away each day. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.’

She absorbed his words—and what he hadn’t said explicitly really shocked her. ‘You think someone’s cheating us?’

He was silent.

‘Mancuso?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But why? How?’

He spread his hands. ‘At this stage, it’s only a suspicion. I don’t have the proof to back it up. But I’d advise you to take a close look at your business processes. When the ingredients are delivered, who checks them in and checks against the invoices that everything’s there?’

‘I’m not sure. So you think there might be fake invoices? Or Mancuso’s ordering more ingredients than he should, then taking the excess and selling it on elsewhere?’

‘Either of them is a possibility. And, when the ice cream’s made, how do you know where it goes?’

‘I don’t know. And I should know.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I hate the thought that he’s doing this. Nonno trusts him.’

‘You don’t know for sure it’s him—and you can’t accuse him without having the facts.’

‘So it could be someone else in the business?’ She bit her lip. ‘Did you know Nonno gives all the staff an extra week’s wages at Christmas? And he does it at the end of November, so they have enough time to go out and buy Christmas presents and what have you.’ She sighed. ‘And most of the staff have been there for years. I hate thinking that I can’t trust anyone.’

‘Trust no one. It’s a pretty good business rule.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s cynical and horrible.’

‘You’re being naïve, Caz.’

She rested her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. ‘I can’t take this in. And how the hell am I going to tell Nonno?’

‘Wait until you have proof of who it is and what they’re doing. Then you can decide what to do next.’

‘God, this is such a mess. And you know I was looking at the invoices and what have you? Mancuso went to Nonno and complained about me—he says that I don’t trust him.’

‘Well, you don’t,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I take it Gino wasn’t happy about it?’

‘No. He actually came down to the shop to see me, yesterday, and told me that Mancuso deserves better.’ He’d warned her off Dante, too—not that she was going to tell him that.

‘Better tread carefully, Princess.’

‘“One may smile, and smile, and be a villain,”‘ she quoted bitterly.

‘So you really think Mancuso’s at the bottom of this?’

‘I don’t know. Part of me thinks he’s resentful because he feels he should’ve stayed as manager and I should just be a—well, a figurehead, someone who clip-clops around in designer heels.’

He stole a kiss. ‘You have to admit, you do do that.’

‘But there’s more to me than just my shoes. I don’t want to be a figurehead. I want to run Tonielli’s properly. And I want people to take me seriously.’ She sighed. ‘I guess I’m just going to have to make my peace with Emilio Mancuso. Somehow.’

‘Like I told you before, don’t rush into anything,’ he advised. ‘Be polite. And stay wary.’

Like Dante was, himself? she wondered. ‘Are you still going dancing with me on Saturday?’

He gave her a pained look, as if he hoped she’d forgotten about it. ‘I guess so.’