Recipe For Disaster

‘Come on, Jerry. This is your city. Surely you can find one deli? Please. I would like to get there before midnight if that is okay with you.’

‘Hey,’ Jerry chuckled and rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you know every street in Milan? No. I didn’t think so.’

Then he gestured with his head towards the sat-nav display. ‘We can’t be more than five minutes from the address but it looks like a pedestrian-only area to me. Which means I need to find a parking space and stay with the motor while you make the drop. The traffic wardens around here are ruthless.’

‘I’ll take your word for that.’ Fabio sighed and shrugged into his suit jacket as he scanned the street. ‘This is not what I was expecting. No big businesses. No factory units. Which makes me curious. What has the Caruso family got to do with someone who lives around here?’

‘Your dad didn’t tell you anything at all?’ Jerry replied, his attention on the traffic lights.

Fabio shook his head once. ‘My grandfather Salvatore only kept a few personal clients after he retired and Mrs Caruso was the last. There are bundles of sealed paperwork waiting to be opened but the ball only starts rolling once I make the delivery and the client opens the box and takes the prize.’

‘Didn’t you look inside? I would have.’

‘Look inside? Hell no,’ Fabio choked. ‘My grandfather would come back and haunt me. It could be anything inside that package. And frankly I am not so sure I want to find out. The Carusos are not labelled the smiling assassins for nothing. You won’t find tougher business people. The sooner we can get back to our new business, the better, as far as I am concerned.’

‘Amen to that,’ Jerry replied. ‘Here we go. Lights are on red. If you want to go, go now. I’m parking in that supermarket just around the corner. Be waiting for you there. Best of luck.’

Bunty sat back in her hard wooden chair and swayed a little from side to side as her whole crew of pals and teachers from the convent school and catering college joined in a very loud and very out-of-tune version of ‘Mambo Italiano’ that Elena was playing at full volume in her honour.

Normally the background music would have been Greek bouzouki music or Elena’s favourite classical opera CD, so this really was a special treat. Just for her.

There were wine spillages and salad-dressing smears and breadcrumbs all over the tablecloths, and probably over the new plum-coloured wrap dress Alex had squeezed her into. At some point she had lost her shoe under the table.

Then Fran had presented her with a crown she had made from gold paper and wire and insisted that she wear it as a party princess — at a jaunty angle, of course.

Worse, her make-up was probably a wreck after a brief but intense crying jag after Sister Teresa had made the sweetest speech about how proud her mother would have been of her and what she had achieved, which had everyone in the room reaching for the tissues. There was not a dry eye in the house. Even Alex the strong ‘accidentally’ dropped her napkin on the floor and had to drop out of sight for a couple of minutes to find it.

Bunty glanced up across the tables spread out around the room. It didn’t matter that she looked a mess. Not to her friends and family who had come out on a cold January evening to help her celebrate her birthday.

She grinned across at Maria who was carrying out yet more plates of lamb and roast potatoes. Her friend replied with a jaunty wink as one of the catering students patted her bottom the second the plate hit the table and Maria pretended to squeal, and then sat down heavily on his lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

These were her real friends. Her real family. Girls from the local convent school she had known all of her life and their husbands and boyfriends, pals from the local shops, students she taught at the catering college. All loud, boisterous and having fun. And that was precisely how she liked it. No false pretences here. Real people who shared her life each and every day.

She was so lucky to have them.

A warm glow of happiness and contentment spread from deep inside her like a furnace that pumped the heat from her heart to the very ends of her fingertips. She had never felt so safe and secure. Protected. And cared for and part of a very special community of friends who looked out for one another.

Maybe turning thirty was not so bad after all when she had friends like these in her life. So what if she didn’t have a mega TV career like her cousin Luca? She had something much better.

Bunty leant sideways and rested her head on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Have I said thank you yet for pulling this all together? It’s amazing and I love it.’

Alex laughed out loud and gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Several times. It’s the wine, you know, causes short-term memory loss in older women. I have built up resistance over the years so it takes a lot longer to kick in.’

Then Alex started rubbing her hands together and humming the last verse under her breath. ‘Now. Back to the important stuff. What totally outrageous thing have you decided to do before the end of the day? Remember the rules – it has to be spontaneous, the opposite of what you would normally do, and fun! Points will be awarded for the most ingenious solution!’

‘Dance on the table?’ Bunty suggested, then shook her head and waved her arms around. ‘No. Forget that one. The table legs wouldn’t cope with my current body weight and this food is too good to waste. Something outrageous. Um…’

Then she looked over Alex’s shoulder back towards the entrance to the restaurant and her breath caught in her throat.

Standing not three feet away from her was one of the best-looking men that she had seen in her life. She was five feet nine inches so he had to be at least six feet two inches in his very shiny, slim, smart black shoes. Her gaze tracked up his body before the sensible part of her brain clicked in to stop it.

Slim hips. Broad shoulders. A handmade cashmere and silk business suit in a shade of midnight blue, which was so perfect it made her drool. A tailored white shirt open at the neck. Dark chestnut-brown hair that curled into neat waves, which simply begged to be touched.

‘Hello,’ he said in a rich deep male voice that crossed the air space that separated them and reverberated inside her head. ‘I’m looking for a Bernadette Caruso Brannigan. There was a note stuck to the door at Brannigans deli telling me that the party was at Elena’s. Have I come to the right place?’

He was Italian mixed with a delicious topping of American English. And he had come looking for her.

Bunty whipped around in her seat before Alex caught her open-mouthed staring at the top three buttons on his shirt, which were unfastened, revealing a hint of tanned skin with dark chest hair. Taunting her.

If he dressed like this in January, August would be interesting.

For some reason her breathing had become irregular and she suddenly felt remarkably warm.

‘Oh, Alex,’ she breathed in a low hiss of appreciation. ‘I owe you big time.’

‘This is so true, but what particular thing have I done now?’ Alex replied between mouthfuls of garlic bread.

‘You said there wouldn’t be a male stripper.’

‘Who? What?’ Alex looked up and whirled her head around like a meerkat before it froze in the same direction Bunty was focusing on.

‘Oh. I see what you mean.’ She coughed. ‘Girl, I don’t know who he is, but I think you have just found your challenge. What are you waiting for? He is all yours. Go get him.’

It took Bunty a second to find her shoe and stagger to her feet a little unsteadily but in three strides she slipped behind the other diners. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that her friends were either too busy enjoying themselves to notice, or nudging one another and nodding towards the door.

Little wonder.

Alex or Fran had excelled themselves.

Her Italian treat became more spectacular with each step.

She could almost taste the testosterone he was breathing out in her direction. It was the kind of allure that had worked with cavemen and was still working just fine right now. Which was quite amazing considering it had been quite a while since anyone had fired up her inner cavewoman.

It also made speech a little tricky so she licked her lips and flicked her hair out before hitting him with her best smile.

‘Did I hear you say that you are looking for Bernadette Brannigan?’ she asked in a low voice. ‘Because you have definitely come to the right place.’

His head lifted so that when she was within touching distance she had to look up into a pair of gorgeous caramel-brown eyes. ‘That’s me,’ she said and flicked up one hand coquettishly. ‘But my friends call me Bunty.’ Then she blinked and smiled. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Miss Brannigan,’ he replied, and stretched out his hand to close his fingers around hers. It was only a momentary handshake but long enough for her to recognise soft office-boy skin above a sinewy muscular grip that made all of her girly brain cells go ping. ‘I am sorry to interrupt your meal. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?’

Outside? Well, this was different. Bunty shot a glance back towards Alex, who was grinning like a loon and waving both hands from the wrist telling her to go.

‘Yes, of course,’ Bunty simpered and waited until he had opened the door before stepping out onto the pavement and waiting for him to follow her.

She whirled around too soon and had the pleasure of feeling the gentlest of touches on her arm.

And he had stunning hands. She had always liked hands. Especially clever, clean, nimble hands. Even if these hands were at that moment drawing a wallet from a very professional-looking black briefcase.