Chapter 14 - THE SACRED KITCHEN
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On Christmas Eve, the temperature in Chicago dropped to ten degrees, but inside the Moretti mansion, the heat blazed with glorious comfort.
The delicious scents of roasting garlic, simmering San Marzano tomatoes, rosemary focaccia, and braised beef filled every single room.
Down in the massive industrial kitchen on the garden level, a miracle was taking place.
Teresa Romano stood before the central stainless steel island, wearing an embroidered white chef’s apron with her name stitched in gold thread.
Her gray hair was pinned up neatly, her face had regained its healthy rosy color, and her eyes sparkled with youthful vigor.
Beside her stood three young sous-chefs and two kitchen assistants, all moving swiftly according to her rhythmic, joyful commands.
“More fresh basil in the marinara, Marco!” she called out, waving a wooden spoon with cheerful authority.
“And don't you dare rush that prime rib in the lower oven!”
“It needs another twenty minutes of slow basting or the crust won't sing!”
I walked down the service stairs holding a basket of fresh winter truffles that had just arrived by courier from Italy.
“Here are your truffles, Chef Teresa,” I said with a teasing bow.
Teresa turned around, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a clean towel, and pulled me into a fierce, bone-crushing hug.
“Stop calling me chef, Claire, you silly girl!” she laughed, kissing both of my cheeks with immense maternal warmth.
“I am just an old woman who loves to feed people who have good hearts.”
The kitchen door swung open, and Luca stepped inside, carrying an enormous box of imported Sicilian cannoli shells.
He wore no formal mafia tuxedo tonight; he wore comfortable clothes, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, ready to work.
“Is the cook going to let the boss taste the sauce, or do I need permission from the head of the house?” Luca teased, walking up to the massive copper pot.
Teresa slapped his reaching hand gently with her wooden spoon, making the entire kitchen staff burst into hearty laughter.
“You wait like everybody else, Luca Moretti!” she scolded affectionately.
“Just because you own the city doesn't mean you can skip the blessings of the table.”
Luca laughed—a rich, deep, joyful sound that banished every lingering shadow of betrayal from the walls of the mansion.
He wrapped his arm around Teresa’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head with unreserved tenderness.
“Whatever you say, Mama.”
“The guests have all arrived upstairs.”
“The dining room is ready.”
Teresa looked up at him, her eyes glistening with happy, peaceful tears.
“Who is sitting at your table tonight, sweetheart?”
Luca smiled down at her, his voice full of solemn pride.
May you like
“Only family, Teresa.”
“Only the people who truly earned their seat.”
