Jasmine Cresswell
Payback
For Alexander, always in my heart…
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
One
Herndon, Virginia, October 3, 2007
Luke Savarini took a second bite of the lobster ravioli, just to be sure he hadn’t judged too hastily. He’d been right the first time, he decided, letting the flavors dissolve on his tongue. There was too much oregano, and the sauce splashed over everything was weighted down with excess cream.
Anna, his sister, watched his reaction and then gave a crooked smile. “Not up to scratch, huh? My veal is okay, but not spectacular. Want to taste?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Luke put down his fork, pushing away his heaped plate. With all the food there was in his life, he avoided eating anything he didn’t completely enjoy. His waistline and his taste buds both thanked him.
“Why did you insist on bringing me here, Annie? You’re not usually a fan of second-rate Italian.”
“The restaurant is owned by Bruno Savarini. He’s a cousin of ours, sort of. His grandfather and our great-grandfather were brothers.”
Luke rolled his eyes. The most remote and fragile twigs of the family tree all made perfect sense to his sister, whereas he had his work cut out simply keeping track of the names and birthdays of his six nieces and nephews.
He mentally reviewed the vast clan of Savarini cousins. “Okay, I’m working hard, but I can’t place a Cousin Bruno.”
“He’s Great-Uncle Joe’s grandson. You must have run into each other at a wedding.”
Luke grinned. “Yeah, but that’s almost the same as saying I’ve never met him. Can you ever recall a Savarini wedding with less than two hundred relatives milling around and at least half of the men singing ‘O Sole Mio’ at the top of their lungs?”
Anna returned his grin, tacitly acknowledging the cheerful mob scenes that passed for family gatherings in the Savarini clan. “Bruno had his sixty-fifth birthday last month. He’s short and stocky, with brown eyes and an olive complexion—”
Luke laughed. “Well now, that narrows it right down. Short, stocky, brown eyes. I guess only ninety percent of Savarini men fit that description.”
Anna tried to look severe. “Just because you’re a six-foot, gray-eyed genetic freak, there’s no need to get snooty. Anyway, I brought you here because Bruno plans to retire as soon as he can find a buyer for his restaurant. He has crippling arthritis and he only comes into the restaurant occasionally nowadays. You’d be astonished at how much better the food tastes on the days when he’s here.”
“I wouldn’t be astonished,” Luke protested. “I’m a chef, remember? I know just how much difference it makes when you have somebody talented in charge of the kitchen.”
“The restaurant is in a fabulous location,” Anna continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The decor is attractive and the kitchen is state-of-the-art. And Bruno has plenty of loyal customers. Look around you. The place is full. That’s pretty good on a Wednesday, especially since we’re eating late.”
Far from looking around the restaurant, Luke’s gaze fixed on his sister with suddenly narrowed focus. “Wait. I must be slow on the uptake tonight because I’ve only just realized why we’re here. You want me to buy this place, don’t you?”
Anna had the grace to blush. “Well, you’re a chef. You own restaurants. Bruno wants to retire and he’s our cousin. It seems a natural fit.”
Luke felt a surge of affectionate exasperation. It was a familiar sensation in Anna’s vicinity. She was a brilliant physicist, working for a government agency that she claimed was part of the Department of Education, although he’d believe crayfish grew on trees before he believed that. He loved her more than any of his four other siblings, which was saying a lot. But whereas she found quantum mechanics and string theory simple concepts, the economics of running a family business had always dangled far beyond her ability to grasp.
He took a sip of Chianti and then toasted his sister with the glass. “I appreciate your good intentions, Annie, but I can’t just randomly acquire restaurants all over the country. I live in Chicago, remember?”
“News flash. Have you noticed there must be thirty flights a day between Chicago and Washington, D.C.? A thousand miles isn’t so far.”
Luke laughed, genuinely amused. “From your perspective, maybe. That’s what comes of working all day with astronomers who consider Alpha Centauri to be practically banging on the back door because it’s only a billion miles away—”
“You’re missing several zeroes,” Anna said. “And it is banging on the back door as stars go.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my point, Annie. A billion or a gazillion, it’s all in a day’s work for you. However, when you’re running a restaurant, a thousand miles is a long way. You need to be on the spot so you can keep an iron grip on quality control, not to mention you have to be on hand to step in whenever there’s a crisis.”
His sister wasn’t ready to give up. “But you have three restaurants in the Chicago area already, and you can
