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.’
‘Good. Because, right now, I think I need that.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I know a very good way of releasing tension.’
‘Yeah.’ Except she knew he wasn’t going to let her cuddle up to him afterwards. Or let her spend the night. And she needed to think things through: how she was going to persuade Dante to let this thing between them grow. From where she was standing, she thought it had potential. Huge potential. But he was stubborn, and until she could work out why he was so resistant to any kind of relationship, she was going to back off.
Temporarily.
Didn’t they say that absence made the heart grow fonder? Maybe abstinence would do the same. ‘I’d better leave you in peace. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ She kissed him briefly. ‘Ciao.’ And then she left, before her hormones weakened her resolve and she let him carry her to bed.
Carenza had hoped that she’d given Dante time to think about them. But over the next couple of days she had a nasty feeling that she’d overplayed her hand and he was having second thoughts. Especially about going dancing with her on Saturday night. Maybe dropping into his office unannounced with a box of gianduja, with some trumped-up query, might give her the chance to remind him that she was doing the mentoring, next session.
When she got to the restaurant, the manager told her that Dante wasn’t there. ‘But Signora Ricci may be able to help you,’ he said.
Dante’s secretary, Carenza presumed. He certainly hadn’t mentioned her; and Carenza had never been to his office in conventional business hours, so of course she wouldn’t know any of his staff. And Dante Romano was the kind of man who gave information on a need-to-know basis. He’d obviously decided that she didn’t need to know anything about his secretary.
Hesitantly, she rapped on the door. ‘Signora Ricci?’
The woman sitting at the desk was in her early forties and perfectly groomed. Carenza had a feeling that she might turn out to be the dragon secretary type, who’d protect her boss from every interruption.
Signora Ricci looked up from her desk. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was looking for Dante.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not here. I can take a message, if you wish.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll email him.’ She paused. ‘But I did bring him this.’ She handed the foil-covered box to Signora Ricci.
‘May I say who left it?’
‘I’m sorry, forgive my manners. I’m Carenza Tonielli. His, um—mentee, I guess.’
‘Ah. You’re Carenza.’
Dante had talked to his secretary about her? What had he said?
She blew out a breath. ‘I know I’m taking up too much of his time. I just brought him some gianduja to say thank you for all the help he’s been giving me. It isn’t nearly enough, but …’ She spread her hands. ‘You can hardly send a man flowers, and taking him out to dinner, when he owns a chain of restaurants, feels a bit … well … wrong.’
Signora Ricci nodded.
Was that a slight softening in her face, or was it just wishful thinking? Carenza decided to take a chance. ‘Actually, you might be the person to help me. Have you worked for him for very long?’
‘About eight years. Why?’
‘Because I’ve known him for a month now and I still don’t have a clue what he likes—I don’t even know what kind of music he listens to. I know he’s my mentor and this is strictly business, but by now surely I should know more of what makes him tick?’
‘Not necessarily. He keeps himself very much to himself,’ Signora Ricci said.
And getting information out of him was like
