Page 92 of Dante

“He doesn’t show it.” I sigh, folding my arms across my chest.

“That’s just Dante’s way,” Lorenzo says. “He adores you.”

I allow that pleasant thought to wash over me. Even though I wonder if Lorenzo’s just trying to smooth over Dante’s brusque manner.

“Well, the sketch isn’t quite finished. Not for the final presentation I’ll be making for my professor, anyway. I’ve narrowed the chef figures to three from the original five. But I’m only satisfied with the expression on one of the faces.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he assures me. “It’s all coming together, Gina. I can already see the opening night six months from now.”

“I’m betting it will be longer than that,” I correct. My mind flashes back to Alice’s parents struggling to build their upscale bistro years ago.

It seemed like it took forever.

I was a kid, but I still remember her parents complaining about tough-talking contractors, plumbing issues, and the endless wait for permits.

“There’s so much we still have to coordinate. It’s never as fast as you think,” I tell him.

“Ah, but you forget that not every restaurant has the Ricci magic touch,” he says with a wink.

I know what he’s implying. In New York, the “Ricci touch” means the kind of influence that makes city inspectors look the other way and contractors show up on time out of pure fear.

“How are you doing in your search for a mural installer?” he asks.

“Good. I’ve narrowed the list of candidates to Eugene Dureff. He installed the murals for ABC Delight and a few other celebrity-chef restaurants downtown. I’ve had a few phone conversations with him already.”

“And?”

“He impressed me with his questions. He asked if our existing walls need prep, priming, or repairs. Details that never occurred to me. I’ve scheduled a meeting with him at his Long Island City warehouse next week. Will you come with me?”

“Sure. But will your caricature of the chefs be finalized by then?”

“Probably not,” I say, laughing a little.

“I’m always looking for new inspiration. But the important thing is to lock down the mural installer. So much of the success of the restaurant design rests on his shoulders. If he delays, the restaurant opening could be set back months.”

Lorenzo shoots me a look that’s part pride, part brotherly amusement.

“Gina, you’ve done the research, and you have the vision. If you don’t get the right vibe from this Eugene Dureff guy, choose another mural installer. One you trust. You’re the boss on this one.”

The word boss sends a jolt through me.

I’ve spent the last three nights researching the famed, reclusive muralist Eugene Dureff. I know his industrial process, I know the way he uses large-format projection for his murals.

And I know exactly how he’ll turn my chefs from a notebook sketch into a twenty-foot masterpiece.

When I emailed Professor Washington with his name and the reasons I wanted to select him, Washington agreed with my choice and my reasoning.

“Thanks for the encouragement, Lorenzo.” I close my notebook as I stand. “I’m going home early to cook lasagna for Dante tonight. A surprise.”

“Why a surprise?”

I shrug as I put Biscotti in his carrier. “Dante and I live in a literal castle in the sky. We had a fantasy wedding, and it’s been great…” I turn to Lorenzo. “But we’ve barely had time to talk.”

“Hence the home-cooked dinner trick, huh?” says Lorenzo with a knowing smile. “Well, have fun.”

“Ciro, hi,” I say, arriving in our penthouse to find Dante’s house manager in the kitchen organizing the groceries I had delivered.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ricci. Would you like me to help you prep the sauce?” His hand hovers over a jar of imported tomatoes.